Present day . . .

“I told you he’d love them,” I tell my client as I pedal away on Mason’s elliptical trainer. “The camera loves you.”

“Trust me,” Naomi says. “I’m not photogenic when anyone else is behind the camera. You just have a gift.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. And thank you for telling your friend Heather about me.”

“She’s stoked about her session,” she says. I can hear her kids playing in the background. Naomi was my tenth client since I moved down here, but my first that isn’t a wife or girlfriend of a Gators player. When she called me on the suggestion of a friend of a friend, I had my first inkling that maybe I could keep busy through the end of the year. Now, only three weeks after I first moved in, word is spreading and only a fraction of my appointments are connected to the Gators. “I can’t wait to see what you do.”

“Don’t hesitate to call if you want any additional prints.” I step off the elliptical and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “Or anything else.”

“Thank you so much! I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”

“Bye, Naomi. Tell your kids I said hi.”

“I will. Have a great day!”

“You too.” I end the call and grab my water bottle for a drink before hitting the floor for some ab work.

I don’t make it public knowledge that I work out as much as I do, but the truth is, I put in at least six hours a week. I started hitting the gym in college. I eat like shit, and apparently, a diet of red wine and Pop-Tarts doesn’t give you a great body. Since I had no interest in switching to kale and chicken breast, and my body was an important asset in my monthly income, I resorted to the treadmill.

As it turns out, that shit’s addictive. So, the best thing about Mason’s gorgeous house, other than it being right on the water, is the workout equipment he keeps in the spare bedroom. I don’t think I could handle going to a gym and smiling at all the women there who are there trying to keep all their bits and pieces tight and firm for their rich husbands. It’s nice to be able to get my workout in without leaving the house or having to hear anyone mention her thigh gap—because seriously, of all my concerns about my life, a thigh gap is nowhere on the list.

Though my body might look good because of my workouts, the process itself is gross, and I look disgusting when I emerge from Mason’s exercise room on Monday morning. I’m dripping with sweat, and my face is beet red. The hair I piled into a knot on the top of my head is giving me that halo of frizz. That’s what I look like when I see her—the chick with long legs and a beautifully rounded belly lying on the guest bed where Mason’s been sleeping. Her dark hair is fanned out across the pillows. A steaming cup of tea is in her hand, her feet are crossed at the ankles, and her gaze is fixed on the TV at the foot of Mason’s bed.

I don’t know who this bitch is, but I do know she’s officially spent more time in Mason’s bed than I have, and I don’t like that. I’m still gaping at her and trying to figure out what’s happening when she turns and blinks at me.

“Who are you?” she asks.

I arch a brow. “I’m Mason’s wife. Who are you?”

She hops out of bed so fast that tea splashes all over the comforter. “Oh shit. You’re Bailey?”

Jesus. I’m trying really hard not to jump to any conclusions about the size and shape of her belly, but in my very well compartmentalized mind, there is currently a compartment that is sounding the alarm in panic.

“Yes. Who are you?” Whoever she is, she clearly has money, judging by the size of the rocks in her ears. Even though she’s wearing casual clothes, I can tell by the way the cotton shirt hangs on her that it’s not a cheap one.

“Who am I?” Her big green eyes stare lasers into me. “I’m the sister, Shell.” She makes a face. “Well, the bastard sister, but the DNA test says my father has to pay, so that makes me the sister, and I flew all the way here to meet you and see my idiot brother.”

“Oh.” As luck would have it, that’s the moment Mason comes in the door. When I hear him, I’m simultaneously mortified and relieved.

I look up from the stack of mail on the counter to see Bailey and my sister Shell coming down the stairs. Bailey’s face is bright red, and although I think that might have something to do with the fact that she just worked out, her expression tells me there’s more to it.

“You didn’t tell your wife I was coming?” Shell asks.

Bailey turns to Shell. “I’ll hold his arms if you want to take a swing at him.”

“Hey now.” I hold up my hands. “Let’s not be hasty.” Maybe she’s thinking Shell can’t do much damage with her little hands, but I know better. I spent one month of every summer growing up with her beating the crap out of me.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Bailey says. She points to my sister. “Look at her. And since I didn’t know she was coming, imagine what I thought when I saw her.”

I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. “What makes me an asshole?” I just want to hear her say it.

Shell bites back a smile and holds up her hands. “I think I’ll let you two fight this out without me.” She winks at me before turning and jogging back up the stairs toward the guest bedroom.

“Do you know what I thought when I saw her in the bed where you’ve been sleeping? She’s so pretty, and I had no idea she was coming, and . . .”

“And what?”

“And you aren’t sleeping with me. What was I supposed to think?”

This time, I can’t hold back my laughter. “Were you jealous of Shell?”

“No. I felt bad for her.” She folds her arms. “Poor thing. Imagine being knocked up with your baby.”

That punch lands right in my gut. I know she isn’t trying to be cruel, but I wince before I can hide my response, and she sees it.

“Mason, I’m kidding.” She steps closer and studies me. “Seriously. It was just a joke. I’m sure you’d make a great dad.”

I don’t want to have this conversation or pick at that emotional scab. I take another step forward and slide my arms around her bare waist. She’s in a sports bra and short white shorts just like the ones she was wearing the first time I saw her. “Let’s go back to the part where you were jealous.”

“Only a little,” she says. She lowers her voice. “It’s weird living here, being your wife. I think I’m waiting for someone to find us out and expose our marriage as a sham.”

I slide my hands up her back and pull her close, and she doesn’t step away. Three weeks she’s been here, and aside from the night of Lindy’s party, I’ve kept my hands off her. She still hasn’t explained why she has so much debt or given me any reason to believe she’d consider making her move permanent. Regardless, I’m losing my resolve to keep this a marriage in name only.

I skim my fingertips down over her damp skin to cup her ass—because when she’s this close, I can’t resist—and she doesn’t protest. She turns her head and rests her face against my chest. We fit like this. So perfect. And for a minute, I don’t really care about the rules I put in place for myself when she moved in.

“What have you told your sister?” she asks, cutting off my train of thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Does she know I’m only your fake wife?”

I pinch her butt, and she jumps but she doesn’t pull away. “You feel pretty damn real to me.” My voice has dropped lower, because it’s hard to get words out with what I’m feeling—with her body so close, her skin slick with sweat.

I can hear her swallow as she pulls out of my arms. “If she stays here, isn’t she going to wonder why we don’t sleep in the same room?” She drags her bottom lip through her teeth. “You know, there’s enough room in my bed for both of us.”

“I’m well aware of that.” I grin and decide to let her off the hook. “Shell won’t sleep here. She prefers hotels with room service and private spas. She’s only here for the night, then she’s headed over to visit my parents. The poor thing.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Bailey averts her eyes, and it’s so adorable.

I wonder if she’s thinking what I am—that it would be nice to have an overnight guest so we’d have an excuse to share a bed. I wonder if she’s realizing that we haven’t had nearly enough time in public pretending to be husband and wife and if we don’t have an excuse to touch soon, the tension between us is going to steal all the oxygen from this house.

Everything inside my chest is trying to escape to be closer to her. She looks hot in her workout clothes, and seeing her flushed like that reminds me of . . . other activities. “I should get in the shower,” she says. “I’m meeting a client in a couple of hours.”

Bailey’s been working hard on growing her business down here, and her schedule’s been full. She could have taken my money and spent these months living a life of leisure, but with clients lining up, she’s busting ass to make contacts and find unique venues for her boudoir sessions. It’s not just about the money. Her passion for her work shines through every time she gets a potential client on the phone.

“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” I ask.

She frowns. “I was planning on it. To meet your sister?”

“No. We’ll be rid of her by five. Are you kidding me? All she does since she’s been growing that kid is sleep. I mean go out to dinner. As in, let me take you to dinner and buy you a glass of wine. Then maybe kiss you goodnight.”

Her eyes go wide as she stares at me, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m punking her or serious. “What are you doing, Mason?”

I arch a brow. “I’m asking my wife out on a date.” I saw her flash of jealousy when she thought Shell was my lover. She says she doesn’t want to be with me, but she wouldn’t be jealous if that were true. “Is that allowed?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I thought we were doing this with your rules. Is it allowed?”

For three weeks, I’ve been coming home to her each night and telling myself I have to keep my distance. For three weeks, I’ve been going to bed alone while she sleeps in the bedroom down the hall—so close but not nearly close enough. I’ve been watching her blossom, watching her take chances for her business and get comfortable in my home. I’ve been keeping my distance and it’s been hell. This is my last chance with her and I’ve been letting it slip out of my fingers. Why? Because I’m afraid it will hurt when she leaves? It hurts every time she walks away. I can’t protect myself from that. “We’ll go slow.”

She twirls a lock of hair between her fingers nervously. Fuck yes. I want to make her nervous. I want to make her stomach dance with butterflies and her skin tingle. I want to make her want to stay with me. “Don’t expect me to put out,” she says with her bravest face.

“No expectations at all.” I’m not sure if I stepped closer in the last sixty seconds or if that was gravity drawing us together, but here we are, closer than before and still not close enough. I want to kiss her now. I can practically feel her skin under my fingers and the soft give of her lips as mine sweep over hers.

This is my last chance with Bailey. I can’t fuck it up.

My big sister likes to show up in my life randomly. Usually, she stays just long enough to give me a hard time about all my significant life choices and runs off again to do her thing.

When Bailey left to meet her client, I made a pot of decaf coffee for Shell and sat her down at the kitchen table to tell her the truth about my marriage. I might not want my parents to know, but I’ve never kept secrets from Shell.

I finish explaining how Bailey ended up my wife, living under my roof, and Shell doesn’t look impressed.

“If you think you can stop Dad from trying to control your life, you’re delusional.”

“He can try all he wants.” I fold my arms. “I don’t need Dad’s approval. I just need Bill to let go of the idea of me and Lindy together so he’ll let me have a chance this season.”

“You think he will?”

I shrug and look into my cup of cold coffee. “He’s still giving me the cold shoulder, but until the regular season starts, it’s hard to say how that will affect my career.”

“So we should know more on Sunday,” she says, nodding. “Good. I hope your plan works. All parts of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can you seriously look me in the eye and tell me you talked Bailey—the girl you’ve been heartsick over for four years—into remaining your wife because you were worried about your career?” She arches a brow. “You didn’t have any hopes of this becoming something more?”

“Not at first.”

She grunts. “Bullshit. When you married her in Vegas, you knew damn well that you wouldn’t let her walk away without a fight.”

I have to laugh because I know she’s right. Every time I’ve thought I’d keep my distance, that I wouldn’t expect this time with Bailey to turn into more, I’ve been lying to myself. “Maybe it will work out. Maybe this time she’ll fall for me as hard as I’ve fallen for her,” I say. I sip my coffee and wish it were something much stronger. “I have to try, Shell.”

She puts her hand on the table next to mine. “The sister in me wants to hate her for not letting you into her life, but the woman in me sees the way she looks at you.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I saw the way she looked at me when she thought I was your lover. This isn’t about her not wanting you.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“I’m pretty sure Bailey’s the only one who can answer that question, but my advice is that you stop focusing on making her fall for you and start focusing on being the safe place she needs.”

“I am.”

She tilts her head, sympathy softening her eyes. “Secrets are like bombs, Mase, and until you tell her yours, you’re about as safe as a fallout shelter with no roof.”