13. Fallon

Fallon

Brett eats a lot .

"Okay," Cassidy says, leaning over the table and hastily grabbing the last piece of sushi pizza. "You didn't say your husband was a human garbage disposal, Fallon."

I roll my eyes. "Believe it or not, it never came up during our appointments." But something in my chest flutters when Brett meets my eyes over the table, already biting into another piece of pizza, his mouth curled into a goofy grin.

"Are we going to dance, or what?" Chloe asks, glancing down at her watch. "I have a shift in two hours, and I can't be late again!"

"Yeah," Ainsley pipes up, looking particularly smashed between Joey and Brett. "You all had better go dance."

Ainsley is eating her Byte-Sized favorite—the Pickle Lovers' Paradise, a pizza with thin crust and pickle-juice infused white sauce, topped with dill pickle chips and fried pickles. The first time she ordered it, Joey called it the palate cleanser pizza.

" Dance ?" Brett asks, after swallowing down another piece. He raises an eyebrow at me, and it feels like yet another blush layering over all the others on my body.

Having him here is strange—like the colliding of worlds. I'm so used to seeing him in the clinic that having him here, among my friends, is making me feel strange. Like my favorite TV character just stepped through the screen and joined reality without a hitch.

"Yes," Chloe urges, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from the table. He manages to reach out and grab one last piece of garlic bread, which he has gone by the time she has him on the dance floor.

Byte-Size is one of our favorite spots in the city—it's a combination arcade, pizza place, dance club. The last part is a hidden feature that most people don't know about, which we discovered on one drunken night out.

"Cas!" Chloe calls once she and Brett are standing in the middle of the floor. It's cleared out in the middle, which we didn't ever take notice of until discovering the button. "Hit the Mozzarella Mania Switch!"

Cassidy flounces across the room, drawing aside a thick, rich red curtain from the brick wall and revealing a bright purple button covered in glitter. When she hits it, the lights dim and a disco ball turns on, lighting up the room.

Joey slides out of the booth and grabs my hand, twirling me as he forces me out onto the dance floor. I'm laughing and resisting, but not as much as I could.

In a few hours, I'll have to go back to the hospital. I've checked on the baby already this morning, and the doctors informed me that nothing had changed since the last time I called. Right now is a good time to have a little fun before my life is completely swallowed whole by this child.

That familiar piano slide plays, and I'm surprised when Brett lets out a whoop , taking Chloe's hand and immediately stepping into a dance with her.

"You can dance! You can jive," he sings, laughing when Chloe stumbles to the side. "See that girl…" he carries on, turning and taking my hand. "Digging the dancing queen!"

When his hand comes around to the small of my back, pulling me in close, I get a whiff of his cologne. I'm used to smelling it at work, but right now it's different. Headier.

"Who knew you could dance?" I murmur, as he takes my hand and spins me. To our left, Chloe and Joey are dancing together, and Cassidy has pulled Ainsley onto the floor. A moment later, Randall and Gerald join us. When that flows effortlessly into "Stand By Me," Brett slows and I instinctively reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"This is nuts," I whisper, realizing just how close he is to me when he leans down, tilting his head slightly to hear me better. "It's just—I can't believe we did this."

"It's been fun," he murmurs, pulling back to grin at me.

"A new hobby?" I joke, and he nods before pulling me back into him. This man is my platonic, fraudulent husband. His hands on my hips should not make me feel this way, but they do.

"Shh," he says, "we're slow dancing at our wedding. Enjoy it."

***

When I wake up, my back is stiff and my arm has fallen asleep. I blink at my surroundings, trying to figure out where I am. There's a low beeping in the room, and just through the dim lighting, I can make out two figures sitting. One is sitting in an armchair, and the other is standing next to him, whispering instructions.

"That's right, just sit her up. Exactly, perfect."

I sit up and start to shake out my arm, narrowing my eyes in on the scene. It's Brett, sitting in the armchair, with the baby in his arms. A nurse is there, teaching him how to feed her. When the two notice that I'm awake, they look over at me.

"Well, good morning," the nurse says, her eyes sparkling. "He's doing a great job."

"Fallon," Brett speaks up, not taking his eyes off of the baby greedily drinking the milk from the bottle, "are you seeing this?"

I blink again, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. He is such a massive man, with the tiniest little baby in his lap, and he's in awe of her drinking from a bottle.

They did the surgery on the baby yesterday, and so far, she's been recovering perfectly. The nurses and doctors say she's surprisingly healthy, and that she might even be able to go home soon.

"Yeah," I croak, and then, "what time is it?"

Yesterday, after finishing up at Byte-Sized, I got ready to head to the hospital, and Brett insisted that he should come with me.

"I'm your husband now," he'd joked. "Doesn't that mean we spend every waking moment together?"

"That's not how my parents saw it," I deadpanned, but he'd tagged along with me anyway, not giving me a single moment's rest away from the new and dangerous feelings swirling inside me at the sight of him. He's a handsome man.

He's kind.

He's funny.

Of course I'm developing a crush on him.

And last night, when he insisted on staying at the hospital with me, I'm pretty sure all the nurses around us had crushes on him, too. Several of them were whispering outside the room, and even pointing at him.

One of them asked him for his number in the hallway, and I saw him scribble it down for her on what looked like a business card.

So, of course I have a crush on him, but I'm also the furthest thing from what he's interested in. Why would he want a PT drowning in student loans when he could have a hot nurse who is, more than likely, not tethered to a new baby with medical issues?

When Brett's phone starts to ring in his pocket, the nurse takes the baby from him and smiles at me as he ducks into the hallway.

"Is he the uncle?" the nurse asks, glancing after him, her face bright. I don't know why, but the words slip out of me before I can stop them.

"Actually, he's my husband."

I watch confusion, surprise, and disappointment filter over her face. Confusion, probably, at why the father of a month-old baby wouldn't know how to feed her, surprise at the fact that I managed to bag a man like Brett, and disappointment that he won't be going home with her.

Although, I suppose he might.

It doesn't matter, because a moment later, he returns, holding his phone up as though he's presenting evidence.

"Hey," he says, eyes meeting mine. "I have to go—big game today. I'll call you when it's done."

"Okay," I say, and watch as he crosses the room, squeezing the baby's hand before turning and walking out. The nurse watches him, too, then lets out a wistful sigh.

"Big game?" she asks, turning to me.

"Yeah," I say, taking the baby from her and doing my best to pretend like I have any idea what's going on. "The biggest."

***

Traffic on the way to work is horrendous, and I'm trying to decide between driving along the shoulder or giving up completely when my phone rings through the car's speakers, nearly blowing my ear drums out.

I have one of those FM connectors that plugs into the cigarette lighter port, and for some reason, it always transmits the call sound much louder than the music sound. I scramble to turn it down using my phone, and accidentally hit to answer the phone. It's an unknown number, and I sigh internally, sure it's going to be someone calling me about student loan forgiveness.

"Good morning, is this Fallon Stewart?" the voice on the other end asks.

"Actually," I say, clearing my throat. It's still odd, but we thought it would look more believable if we went through with the traditional way of doing things. "It's Fallon Ratcliffe."

"Oh," the person laughs. "That's right! And congratulations, Fallon. This is Solomon Blackstone from A&P Law. I'm calling regarding your petition to remove funds from your grandfather's estate through your trust."

A chill runs over my body, and I get the feeling that I'm just about to go over the other side of a roller coaster. I feel myself switch into my I'm-a-proper-adult voice.

"Yes, good morning, Mr. Blackstone. What can I do for you?"

"I'm pleased to inform you that we're prepared to release the funds from your trust. However, before we proceed, I must emphasize the importance of following the trust's stipulations exactly as they are listed."

"Of course." I swallow and pull to the side of the road. I flick on my hazards and close my eyes, unplugging the phone and bringing it to my ear.

"As per the testamentary provisions stipulated in your grandfather's will, the release of these funds is contingent upon your marital status. I trust you can provide verifiable documentation of said marriage?"

"Yes, I can," I breathe.

"Excellent. Now, Mrs. Ratcliffe, I'm legally required to inform you about the severe repercussions of any attempts to defraud the estate. Such actions would constitute a breach of fiduciary duty and could result in civil litigation, potential criminal charges, and immediate revocation of all benefits derived from the trust."

"Right," I choke, turning to the passenger seat and scrambling to find my water bottle. Suddenly, it's a thousand degrees in my car. I want to roll down the window, but then the sound of the passing cars would just be louder. Of course, now that I've pulled to the side, traffic is moving at a decent pace.

After taking a quick sip, I manage to say, "It sounds serious."

"Indeed. The penalties for fraud in cases like these can include hefty fines, restitution payments, and even incarceration. Not to mention the damage to one's reputation and future financial prospects. But I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, these are just the standard procedural warnings for this kind of situation. You would not believe the number of people who enter into fraudulent marriages without realizing that the estate will investigate."

He lets out a little haughty laugh, and I lean my seat back the slightest bit, worried that I might have a panic attack before we're even able to get off the call.

"Now," he says, not leaving room for me to say anything, thank God, "assuming all documentation is in order, we can proceed with the fund transfer. Can you provide me with your account information? Once we verify all the information, we'll initiate the transfer."

With shaking hands, I put him on speaker and open my banking app. I have $3.19 in my checking and zero in my savings. After reading him the numbers and him reading them back to me, I put the phone against my ear again.

"Everything appears to be in order. Now, Mrs. Ratcliffe, do you have any questions about the process or the legal ramifications we discussed?"

"No," I say, trying to cool my forehead with the backs of my hands. "Not at all."

"Excellent. We'll be in touch if we need any additional information. Good day, Mrs. Ratcliffe."

"You, too," I say, awkwardly, but he's already hung up the call. As soon as it's done, my entire body collapses, like every muscle needs to let go for a moment.

I stare at the stained roof of my car and listen to the thudding of my heart as the cars whoosh past on the other side of the door, hoping this quick marriage to my new husband was a good decision.