My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding by Catto Love

Author:Catto Love [Love, Catto]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-03-24T00:00:00+00:00

29

Ava

I’m hunched over a sleek corporate laptop Gideon lent me at the breakfast bar, squinting at real estate listings when I hear his bedroom door open. My entire body tenses like I’ve been electrocuted.

Act natural. Just a normal morning with your fake husband who definitely didn’t bend you over his desk last night.

I take a deliberate sip of coffee and click to the next potential gallery space with what I hope looks like intense professional focus. Spoiler alert: I haven’t registered a single detail about any of the properties I’ve been “reviewing” for the past forty minutes.

“Good morning,” Gideon says, his voice perfectly neutral as he heads to the coffee machine.

“Morning,” I reply without looking up. “Coffee’s fresh.”

Look at us. So casual. So professional. Nobody would ever guess your underwear is currently residing in a trash can at King Enterprises.

I feel my cheeks heating up and bury my face deeper in the laptop screen. The gallery listing in front of me shows a bright space with exposed brick walls in Chelsea. Perfect lighting, decent square footage, and completely incapable of distracting me from the memories of last night.

Gideon pours his coffee and leans against the counter. I can feel him watching me, but I refuse to look up. If I look at him, he’ll see everything written all over my face. The memory of his hands on me, his mouth, the way he growled “good girl” when I—

STOP IT. Gallery spaces. Focus on gallery spaces.

“Find anything promising?” he asks, his tone so businesslike we might as well be discussing quarterly reports.

I nod, still not meeting his eyes. “A few. There’s a great space in Chelsea. Good foot traffic, excellent natural light.”

“Smart location. The art crowd there has money to spend.”

The conversation feels absurdly formal considering that twelve hours ago I was moaning his name loud enough for half of Midtown to hear. The contrast is almost funny, in a deeply unfunny way. And thank god everyone at his workplace had gone home.

I click another listing. “I’m also looking at a smaller place in the West Village. More intimate setting, potentially lower overhead.” It feels a little odd planning for something months away when I don’t even know what I’ll be doing next week.

Or who I’ll be after all this ends, a little voice whispers in my head.

I dismiss the voice. I’m purposely looking at listings to remind myself that yes, this will end.

So don’t get attached.

I finally risk a glance at him. He’s wearing a crisp charcoal suit, hair perfectly styled, not a hint of stubble on his jaw. Nothing about him suggests a man who had wild, passionate office sex last night. Meanwhile, I’m wearing yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with a coffee stain on the hem because I can barely function this morning.

This is fine. Totally fine. We’re adults. We had sex for show in case Blackwell was watching. It meant nothing. We both agreed it meant nothing.

“The West Village space looks interesting,” Gideon says, walking over to look at my screen.

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