The Marriage Contract by Natasha Black (best novels ever .TXT) 📗

a snack and watch a movie, what do you think?” she asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Though, I don’t think our normal show will work.”

“Well, yeah, the number of severed heads and full-frontal nudity not usually recommended for under one-year-olds,” she joked.

“So, what then? Disney?”

We spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out, marathoning the show, making jokes about the special effects or the silly accents and with me pausing it occasionally to quickly explain lore to her. I knew it was just coming out of me like a giant, excited nerd, but she never made me feel stupid for it. I had gone through that before. The wide eyes and slow nod of someone who really wants you to stop talking but is being polite. Chloe wasn’t like that. Either she was genuinely interested in the show or genuinely enjoying how much I loved it. Maybe both.

As we watched the show, the baby slowly drifted off to sleep, curled up in my arms at first and then cuddling with Chloe. Watching her hold a sleeping baby and the smile that stretched across her lips as she looked into her eyes, it was mesmerizing.

My mind started to drift as I thought about how our fake marriage would work. As we continued the charade, how deep would we get. Eventually, we would have to either split up or…

I didn’t want to think about that. Either one, really. I didn’t want to give too much thought to the idea of a future with Chloe. But at the same time, I didn’t want to let myself think about being without her either. As she sat there holding her cousin’s baby, all I could think about was how good she would look holding one of her own.

One of our own.

No. I had to let that go. As good a team as we were, we were a team. Not a couple.

20

Chloe

It had been a week since Matt went with me to Hannah and Jordan’s, and as a thank-you, Hannah invited us out to dinner. We had spent the entire week talking about it, and somehow, we had stumbled into the idea of him proposing during the meal. At first, it was a joke, something we casually mentioned would be funny, but as the week wore on, we talked about it more and more. Now it wasn’t just talk. It was a plan.

We hadn’t gotten a ring, but Matt seemed prepared to explain that away, too. Everything looked like it was going to go perfectly, and we had talked through it so I knew what to expect. I was still nervous about how well I would be able to act the part, though. Hannah knew me as well as a sister would, and I was afraid she would be able to tell something was wrong. Something was fake.

Shutting off the light in the bathroom, I walked into the bedroom and waited for Matt to turn around. He was standing with his back to me, adjusting his tie in the mirror above the dresser. Even from the back, the man looked good in a suit. When he turned, he looked even better, and for a moment we just stared at each other.

“You look—” I began.

“Incredible,” he said.

“Thanks. You look amazing. Are you almost ready?”

“I’m good. I just can’t get over you. Wow.”

I smiled and smoothed the dress down over my hips. It was one of the few things I’d brought from home when I left. I wasn’t particularly fond of most of the styles of dresses socialites wore, but this one seemed to fit me perfectly. It gave me just the right push in certain areas and was tight and hugged in others that it was sexy, but still didn’t reveal much. It was the illusion of being revealing, that was what was important.

The heels that matched it, while I loved them, were not ones I was looking forward to walking much in, though.

“Well, let’s get going, soon-to-be-fiancé,” I said.

Matt laughed. “Let’s knock ’em dead.”

We left, getting in his car to drive to the restaurant on the other side of Portland. It was a fancy spot that Hannah found and wanted to try for forever. Jordan so rarely took days off, though, that they hadn’t been yet, and with the bar actually closed for the night, Hannah wanted us to come celebrate with them. Their house had closed, and while they had already celebrated with drinks at the bar for everyone, dinner was in order, too.

The restaurant was amazing, swanky for anything I had seen outside of LA, and we were ushered to a dark, candlelit booth in the center of the restaurant. Waiters and sommeliers peppered us with expensive wines and tiny dishes before the main course. The food was spectacular, and I found myself appreciating it in a way I never had before.

Matt encouraged me to try things, though. Every time we ate, he suggested something new, something he had that he would give me some of or would talk about a place that did the same meal but in a different way. I loved listening to him talk about food and how fascinated he was by it. How he saw it as an art. How he never looked down on a chef or a cook who was trying. That was what he always said. As long as they tried.

“Can I interest anyone in one of our fine desserts?” the waiter said as I placed the fork down from the last bit of the dish I could possibly fit.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Oh, come on,” Matt said. “Would you share something with me?”

This was it. That was the cue. I saw his eye flicker to the waiter and then back to me.

“Like what?” I said, following our script.

“How about the pumpkin-apple cobbler. It says they make their own ice cream that they put on top. What do you say?” he asked.

“Okay.”

Matt smiled at me, and I could see that the wheels