Page 27 of Merging Wright

“I need to see this,” Mach teases.

He’ll never see me shaking my groove thing around my apartment, though. Like a plié turned to a plop, it hits me again this is all pretend.

I clear my throat. “What about you? Something no one knows.”

Mach searches my face for an uncomfortably long time before lowering his gaze to my neck. “I’ve lusted after you from the moment we hired you.”

“You . . . what?” He has?

“But I knew I could never act on it. Tucker and I have a strict no-fraternizing-with-employees policy for ourselves. We don’t want to complicate things at the office.”

I nod, knowing all too well how complicated an office romance can get and how devastating it can be when one doesn’t work out. “Makes sense.” But where does this leave us? We’re officially married now, and we work together.

“We have a year to finalize this mission, Jane. And I should send you back to the office to take over for me. I can’t go back there yet until I learn more about this mess we’re in.”

Mess? Right, this marriage to save a town.

“But I also need you here, Mrs. Wright.”

The teasing moniker hardly diminishes the ache in my chest. I’m not really Mrs. Wright. I’m his wife in name only.

“It’s probably best if we don’t tell people at the office about us and we stay here for a while longer. I’ll talk to Tucker.”

What he’s saying makes sense, but I’m not happy with the secrecy. Then again, what would we announce? What would be our story? No one in the office would believe we fell in love and spontaneously married.

“I haven’t told Mae. I haven’t told anyone in my family.”

His brows lift while his eyes shutter for a brief second. “They don’t know you’re married?”

“We’ve only been married a hot minute. It’s not like I had time between finding a dress and actually attending my own wedding.” The day’s events roll through my head like flipping through photographs. Will reading. Dress shopping. Quick wedding. I ignore the fact Mach didn’t actually propose to me, or I don’t have an engagement ring. I touch the new ring on my finger, working the plain band up to my knuckle then back down.

This isn’t real.

“You need to tell your family.” The command comes out a bit sharp for a man calling our marriage this mess.

Thankfully, our champagne arrives, and the waiter opens the bottle. He pours us each a glass. Mach lifts his. “To my bride.”

For some reason, the toast hurts my heart. I’m not his.

“To the groom.” My words are more precise. He isn’t mine.

We drink and Mach returns to our previous discussion. “So, we’ll stay in Wrightwood a little longer.”

“A year?” The details of the will return to my thoughts. A year sounds daunting and considering I have only a weekend’s worth of clothing, I’ll need to make some arrangements with Mae. Which is another reason to tell my family about my situation. But I also have clients and projects scheduled with Impact. Staying here a year is a disruption to my entire life.

As if a marriage of convenience to my boss isn’t.

“Let’s take it month by month,” Mach interrupts my thoughts as if reading them. “If we need to fly back to the office, we can do that. Maybe I can find a construction firm or contractor to take over the project and all we need to do is check in on the details.”

I nod although I don’t like this plan. And accepting this is my wedding night, these aren’t the topics I thought I’d ever be discussing. Our conversation feels like a working dinner at the office, not a marriage celebration.

When our steaks arrive, we meander through small talk, which I hate, while we eat. Mach learns—again—that I have one older brother and two younger sisters. “I was raised by a single mother because our father left when I was roughly seven.”

Mach stalls in lifting his fork. “I was raised by a single mother.” This I’ve known for years. “What happened to your father?”

“He didn’t want to be one anymore, so he left and never looked back.”

“Jesus.” Mach lowers his fork.