Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Fifty-Seven

Eliza

I stirthe steaming pork stew again then blow on a spoonful before giving it a little taste. I’m hissing like a dragon when I burn the taste buds right off my tongue. I drop the spoon and dance around the kitchen, breathing in and out with my mouth wide open until I can successfully grab a glass and gulp down a drink of cold water.

I’m just grateful no one is here to witness my pathetic Friday night attempts at cooking.

Liam is still at work, and I’ve taken some time this evening to put some special touches on his house. After spending all his free time in the penthouse suite for years, this beautiful house of his is quite neglected. Stuffy. Cold. Uncomfortable.

I want to turn it into a home. For us. Our dreams. Maybe our kids, someday.

One evening at a time, I’m working on it.

While dinner simmered on the stove, I went around rearranging furniture. I removed all the dark, heavy drapes in the family room, and though I couldn’t find anything to swap them out for, the bright natural lighting is already a huge improvement. After that, I found some old family photos that I plan on getting framed. I also hung some ‘interesting’ artwork I discovered in a spare closet down the hall when I was looking for fresh kitchen towels.

When I see Liam’s headlights pull onto the circular driveway, I pop the bread into the preheated oven. I owe my mom a thank-you for sending me back with a couple frozen loaves. This pork stew just isn’t the same without our family’s cheesy bread recipe.

I hear Liam calling from the foyer. “Eliza?” I know he’s had a long day. I can hear it in his voice.

“In here!” I’m wearing nothing but a T-shirt and a smile when he stalks into the kitchen a few moments later. But my grin falters when I notice his expression.

I know that sometimes he struggles to turn off work-mode after a stressful day at the office, but Liam seems especially serious this evening.

Nervous energy zips through me.

Does he hate all the changes I made around his home? Maybe that set of paintings I put up were hidden away for a good reason?

Or does he have bad news?

The monkey-brained squirrel in my head is alive and well.

Before I can launch into a round of twenty questions, my husband wraps his protective arms around me. I inhale his scent, relaxing instantly. Liam has this innate ability to rile me up and soothe me at the same damn time.

“I have news on your case,” he murmurs, gently brushing my hair back from my face. He glances toward the stove. “Should we wait until after dinner?”

Is he kidding me? I wouldn’t be able to eat dinner with this news hanging in the air. My future is hanging in the balance. “Now,” I whisper shakily, stepping back just enough to peer up at him.

Whatever it is, I can face this. Chin up. Shoulders back. Like I face everything. But this time, the difference is, I have Liam by my side.

A slow smile dances across my husband’s lips. “I just got off the phone with Frank. The charges against you have been dropped.” He shudders with relief when he says it.

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

I nearly fall to my knees. “I’m…free?” This seems too good to be true.

“You’re free, baby. Completely free.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What about the loans? Do I have to pay them back? And will I be doing community service or will I—?”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Eliza,” he cuts me off. He cups my face oh-so-tenderly. “Nothing. It’s all taken care of. It’s over. Done.”

I bury my face in his strong chest and let my relief overpower me. I cry. I cry genuine tears of joy. “Thank you,” I whisper against his shirt. “Thank you.”

We stay like that for a long time. He allows me to melt into him because it’s exactly what I need. He always knows exactly what I need.

Eventually, a charred scent begins wafting through the air. “Crap. The bread.” I yip.

“I got it.” He plops me on the cool marble countertop before turning and using an oven mitt from the drawer to remove the warmed bread and set it on the stovetop.

Is it weird that I’m completely turned on by my husband wearing oven mitts? Because I am. I really am. I’ve domesticated the man.

He turns to me, face lit up with goofy amusement. “What’s the first thing you want to do with your newfound freedom, Mrs. Kline? Shopping spree in Paris? Snorkeling in the Bahamas? Sail around on a yacht?”

I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I want to open a bank account and set up direct deposit.” Then I laugh when I realize how silly that sounds.

Instead of teasing me for being a simpleton, he just grins. “Okay. We’ll do that tomorrow.” He bites his lip thoughtfully. “What do you think about opening a joint account?”

I blink. And then I blink some more. “A joint account?”

“Yes, a joint account.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’re spending the rest of your life with me, Eliza. I’m not giving you a choice. Intertwining our lives in the most mundane way is just the start. I want to share everything with you. Every single thing you could ever dream of.”

My heart skips a beat. Several beats. “I want that, too,” I admit. My brow furrows but I’ve just got to say this. “You do realize that you’re a billionaire and I’m a girl who almost got tossed in jail for fraud, right? You trust me?”

He just laughs. “I trust you with everything,” he growls into my ear, leaving the most delicious sensations skimming over my skin.

When he glances up at the artwork on the wall, he eases his wallet out of his back pocket and removes a folded up piece of paper.

“I’m thinking we should probably get this framed.” He smirks.

I take the piece of paper from his hands and realize that it’s the caricature of us made by the street artist. “Oh my god! I’ve been looking for this everywhere. You had it the whole time?”

“I did,” he says sheepishly. “I think we need to get it put up on the wall, too.”

Overwhelmed with tears, I nod my head and hug him with all I’ve got. “I just can’t believe you’re so good to me…”

He stares me in the face. “Look, I fucked up with you, Eliza. Many times. But from here on out, I just want to make everything right. I want you to trust that I’ll do right by you.”

My eyelashes are heavy with tears. “Tell me you’re mine forever. That’s all I really want.”

“I’m yours forever, Wifey. Forever.”

Our lips meet again and it’s so easy to get lost.

“After we open the bank account, we’re going shopping, though,” Liam says, his forehead pressed to mine.

“Shopping for what?” I glance around the room, trying to figure out what we might need.

Liam’s hands fist into my hair, bringing my face back to his. “We’re starting with some new curtains.” He nibbles on my bottom lip. “Because we’re going to need some privacy with all the things I plan to do to you in the living room. Hell, in every room of this house.”

I beam as his mouth moves down my throat. “There’s a lot of damn rooms in this house, Hubby.”

He mutters against my skin. “Then good thing we’ve got forever, Wifey.”