20. Safety Net

20

SAFETY NET

Asher

I should feel bad for interfering in her work life, but I don’t.

Sure, she didn’t want to be singled out, but that jerk crossed the line. Even though Maeve’s busy painting again, the sight of his hand on her still burns through me.

I duck away from the action to call Soraya. She’s been texting me all evening about the upcoming fundraiser—something I should be paying attention to—but I’m still stuck on that bastard. And the way he touched my wife. My fists clench.

“So, does that work for you?” Soraya asks.

Shit. I wasn’t listening. I stop pacing, drawing a deep breath. “I’m sure it will, but could you go over that again? I think I missed some of it,” I say, playing it off like I wasn’t distracted.

She chuckles softly. “Sure, and also…congratulations! I’ m sure you have a lot going on, being a newlywed and all,” she says.

I close my eyes, not even surprised anymore. Is there anyone who doesn’t know?

Not after that kiss in front of the photographer, genius.

“Yeah, life’s been a little wild lately,” I say.

“Understandable,” she replies. “Anyway, I was saying it would be great if you could bring your wife to our first fundraiser. It’s coming up soon.” That’s the picnic for the families. “I didn’t want to bring it up before when you were single, but…” she says with a relieved sigh, “It’s better optics if you have a plus-one now. The donors will enjoy meeting your wife. It looks better than showing up solo,” she adds, a little apologetic.

I stop in my tracks, letting her words sink in. And…yeah, I’m smiling. A little wickedly. I like what she said more than I should. But oh hell, do I like it. It feels like a stay of execution for this marriage, and I’m a little elated for the reprieve.

No, a lot .

We finish the call, and I head back to the party. Once the painting session wraps up, Maeve grabs my arm and pulls me toward a secluded corner behind an abstract sculpture. The party’s still humming in the background, but here, it’s just us.

She turns to face me, her hazel eyes sharp. “What was that about? I didn’t want to make a scene,” she says, her voice steady, no hesitation.

I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I meet her gaze, standing firm. “No one should make you feel uncomfortable like that. You were clearly trying to get away, and he kept touching you,” I say, anger bubbling up again. I want to erase the feeling of his hand on her. “No one gets to treat you like that, Maeve. Not while I’m around.”

She blinks, like she’s surprised by the intensity in my voice. But she doesn’t back down. “I could’ve handled it. I was handling it.”

“I know,” I reply, my tone softening just a little. Normally, I don’t get this...protective. But she’s different. She’s my person. “You shouldn’t have to. Not when I’m here.”

“Asher, I appreciate the whole caveman thing, but I was supposed to blend in. That was the opposite,” she says.

A fire burns in me. “That asshole touched you,” I point out.

“I know, but...”

“And the host didn’t want him here anyway.”

“I know…” She pauses, shaking her head like she’s taking it all in. Honestly, this reaction is new for me too, so I get it. Her expression softens. “It’s just…we were supposed to fly under the radar,” she says, her voice gentler. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To try to, I don’t know, keep things quiet?”

I did. But now? I’m not so sure I do.

“I did, but this was different. That guy’s a prick. I’m sorry if it brought more attention to you,” I say, crossing my arms. “But I’m not sorry for stepping in.”

She sizes me up. “Well, that’s clear. You’re unapologetically possessive.”

“I am,” I say, not backing down.

She blows out a breath, then relents. “Fine, he was way out of line. I did need you. And this whole caveman thing? The My wife is so talented . That came out like a hiss? It’s kind of a hot trait in a…” She stops, lifts a brow in question, then says, “fake husband?”

I wasn’t faking anything earlier with that Nigel prick, but I just nod. “Sure, fake husband works.”

“Anyway, I wasn’t expecting it. Or another photo either. Or becoming the center of attention again,” she huffs out a laugh. “Are we magnets for trouble?”

“Looks like it,” I say, scratching my jaw, but smiling now since she seems to have cooled off.

“I guess we’re pretty bad at lying low.”

I laugh too, because what else can you do? “We’re terrible at it.” I pause. “So you forgive your husband?”

She smiles. “It’s hard to stay mad at you. Especially since Mr. Vincenzo invited me back. To paint another party.”

I beam. “Told you my wife is talented.”

Her smile from those words hits me right in the heart. “So yeah,” she says, “it…weirdly worked out.”

Which is an apt way to describe us right now. “About that,” I say, moving on because there’s another topic that’s demanding my focus—one that I like far too much. When we arrived and she needed me to play along as her real husband, I was all too happy to do it. Hell, if she needed me to continue for a day, a week, a month, I’d say yes. But right now, I need her to help me out, and I’m not entirely sure why this thrills me so much. I shouldn’t want this so badly, and yet…I do. “I talked to Soraya as the party was wrapping up.”

Maeve raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“She congratulated us on the wedding, like Angelina did earlier,” I say, then lay it all out about the upcoming picnic. “She also asked if you’d be joining me.” I take a beat, then with some vulnerability ask, “Will you? ”

I want her yes too much. Why am I dying for it? Why do I want it when she’s made it clear she wants to be just friends?

Maeve parts her lips, then sputters out, “So, we’re definitely not lying low? We’re…what? Stepping out as husband and wife?”

I should feel bad for roping her into this marriage last night, and now again for the next few weeks. But I don’t. “Will you go with me? It would look a lot better if I attended with my wife,” I explain, since it would. A man showing up with a plus-one for a charity focused on kids looks better than a man showing up alone. Especially if that man married his brother’s best friend on a whim in Vegas, then annulled the marriage. That wouldn’t look so good at all.

Which is why I’m hoping we don’t annul it quite yet. Then, I let myself be vulnerable as I add, “I need your help, Maeve.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I guess we do need to prove this to someone. Beyond tonight.”

She blinks, shakes her head, like she can’t believe what I’m asking. But then her answer is magic when she says, “Of course I’ll do it. Remember, I’m the one who bid on you to save you from that woman, after all.”

“I guess you’re unapologetically possessive too,” I say.

“Maybe I am,” she says.

Then, since there are details to sort out but pillows calling our names, I add, “We can figure it out tomorrow. How long we’re keeping up the act. I’m sure we don’t need to do this for more than a few weeks. Maybe a month at the most.”

She nods a couple times. “You’re right. That’s probably all it will take. A mural can’t take too long. Maybe we can stay married till it’s done? And then we’ll be on our way. ”

A month. It feels long and far too short all at once. But I’m not about to say that.

Her phone buzzes. She snags it from the pocket of her dress and glances at the screen, her eyes widening. “It’s Angelina again,” she says, but she doesn’t sound enthused. “The couple who owns the Sea Dogs? They invited me to brunch on Tuesday. And they want me to bring… my husband.”

I fight off a grin. I should not be so thrilled about brunch with Eleanor and Spencer Greer. But I am.

Even when she looks up at me with a mix of fear and desperation and says, “I wanted to get this on my own merits?—”

“You did.”

“But what if I’m keeping it on your merits?”

I step closer, cupping her cheek gently. “Hey,” I say softly, “according to your agent, they decided last night.”

I’m not sure she’s convinced, but she manages a smile. “Well, whatever the reason, it looks like we’ve got two performances to prepare for as Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.”

The weight of her words settles over me, and I realize just how deep we’re in. A spontaneous, tipsy decision has snowballed into something much bigger. But the funny thing is, as quickly as this marriage escalated, I’m not mad about it at all. And I think I know why.

I’m not so sure she wants to be just friends, and I can’t leave that possibility alone.

Not after last night.

Whether it’s a bad idea or not, I mostly want this marriage to last a little longer because these feelings for her aren’t going away. They’re getting more insistent, demanding I face them head-on.

A fake marriage could be a safety net as I work through them. I’m no good at making relationships last anyway, but no one will get hurt with a built-in, predetermined expiration date. It’s a relationship we control. It’s like a game of hockey—you give it your all for three periods, then it ends, and you move on to something else.

Our buzzing phones interrupt us. I glance at mine, and a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth when I see who’s messaging.

“Beckett,” I say, holding up the screen to show Maeve his text. “‘Why am I the last to know?’”

We laugh for a few seconds, but when I pocket my phone, something still nags at me. “Stay here,” I say.

Heading to the nearest bathroom, I grab a washcloth and run it under warm water.

Maeve looks at me, puzzled when I return. “What are you doing?”

I step close, gently taking her arm. “Getting that guy off you,” I say, my voice low but resolute. I scrub her shoulder where Nigel’s hand had lingered, wiping away any trace of him.

When I’m done, I press a kiss onto her shoulder.

Marking my wife.