“Why?” she demands.
“Because…” How am I going to put this delicately? I’d always suspected that Charli lived somewhere unsafe. But God knows she doesn’t want my help. “That apartment you’ve got now is not ideal. It’s too far away. You’ll be able to save some money living with me. You can shut off your cable bill.”
“I don’t have a cable bill.” She crosses her arms.
“Fine. You’ll save on rent and subway fare. You can save that money for an apartment somewhere nicer.”
A furrow develops down the center of her kissable forehead. “I’m listening.”
“Great. So, how about you let me pay the deposit on your new apartment when you’re ready to move out of here? First and last month’s rent, plus security.”
“No way!” she says immediately. “That’s silly.”
“But you’d deserve compensation for your time and trouble.”
Charli is at war with herself now. I can see it on her face. I hope she lets me do this—it would solve so many problems for her.
“I don’t think I can accept,” she says. “The minute you pay me off, then your uncle was right. I am a gold digger.”
“Fuck no,” I argue. “I’m not paying you to divorce me. I’m paying you to stay married to me for a few extra weeks. That’s not creepy at all, right?”
We both laugh.
“Just think about it, okay? My family are going to be assholes. The post-nup was just an opening gambit. You should get something for your trouble.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says quietly.
“Good. You’d be letting me solve this one little problem for you, while you’d be helping me solve a really big problem—which is that I don’t have control over my own life.”
“All right,” she says slowly. “Exactly what do I have to do?”
“Just be my arm candy, baby.”
She groans right on cue.
“Seriously—I have a gala for the Diabetes Research Fund coming up. I’d like you to go as my date.”
“A gala.” She pronounces the word the way other people would say root canal. “Like—ball gowns and tuxes?”
“That’s right. You’ll need to wear a dress and heels.”
Her cute nose wrinkles. “Which night? I couldn’t miss a game, Neil.”
“Sunday,” I say with a devious smile. Because Sunday is the Bombshells’ night off, and she’ll have no excuse.
“Crap.”
I grin. “My wife would naturally attend the gala with me. And it’s less stressful than a quiet dinner with my family. At a gala all you have to do is smile.”
“Smile like a gold digger, right?” She sighs. “Fine. I’ll borrow a dress from Sylvie or Fiona. I don’t have time to shop.”
“Don’t even worry about that. I’ll ask Vera to bring a few dresses over one night. She has to bring me a new tux shirt anyway.”
“Vera?” Charli gives me the side-eye.
“My personal shopper.”
“Oh wow.” Charli laughs. “Is she going to dress me like an Upper East Side socialite?”
“Well, no.” I can’t resist pushing Charli’s buttons a little. “She’s going to dress you like my wife.” And—whoa—it’s still hard to say that. My wife. I feel like I’m in a role-play right now.
Charli’s eyes widen. “And what does that look like, exactly?”
“I have no idea. That’s why we need Vera. Trust me on this.”
“Don’t say trust me, Neil. It’s practically a jinx at this point.”
“Noted.”
She rubs her forehead. “So when would this charade start?”
“Right now, doll.”
Charli groans. “I have a couple of ground rules.”
“Hit me.”
“You can’t call me doll.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll have to find another pet name for you, then.”
“Yikes. I need veto power on the pet names. That is something I want in writing.”
“Sure, doll. Go grab a pen.”
She slugs me in the arm. “Don’t make me regret this, Cornelius. You have to agree to the rest of my rules.”
“That was just a little joke.” I rub my arm. “Go on with your rules.”
“No sex,” she says. “That’s just obvious.”
“Is it?” I ask. “Personally, I think we’re destined to finish what we started. But that will be up to you. No sex until you ask me for it.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, as if that’s a ridiculous idea. But I know better. “No whiskey, either.”
“That’s okay with me. I don’t need whiskey to want to bang you. Heck, I’d do a better job without whiskey. A word of advice, though? If you’re set on staying out from under me, better lay off the sauce yourself. I’ve noticed you like me a lot better with a couple of drinks in you.”
Her cheeks get pink. “I’m off hard liquor for a while.”
“Cool, cool. Whatever works for you, wifey.” I give her a big smile.
“This is really a crazy-ass plan,” she grumbles. “You’re just lucky that I hate my commute enough to play along. I keep telling myself that this will be funny someday.”
“Of course, it will.” I wrap an arm around her. “It will be a funny story we can both tell our grandkids.”
“You can tell yours,” she says. “I’m never getting married for real. And I’m never going back to Vegas.”
“Not even for the All-Star games?”
“Not even for that.”
I’m pretty pleased with myself for brokering this arrangement until Charli asks a crucial question. “Where are we going to sleep? I’m not sleeping on this sofa.”
“Right,” I agree. “But neither am I.”
“So you’re sleeping on the floor?” She gives me a catty, appraising glance. “You wouldn’t make your wife sleep on the floor, would you?”
“No, ma’am. A succession of nannies raised me better than that.”
Charli laughs.
“We’ll share the bed,” I say confidently.
She gives me a look that’s trying to be stern, but her cheeks flush, so she ends up adorable instead. “Even if I help you with this… charade you’re trying to pull off, we’re still not having sex.”
I shrug. “We agree that the marriage thing and the sex thing aren’t a package deal. That’s where we went wrong in the first place. We should have skipped the marriage and the whiskey and had all the sex.”
Her flush deepens. “In an alternate universe, maybe that’s what we did. But in this universe, you behave like a gentleman.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “There’s no universe in which I ask you to stay married to me as a ploy to get into your pants. I don’t need deception for that. Sooner or later, you’ll invite me back, anyway.”
Her chin snaps up. “That is not happening, Neil.”