It turns out Zeke has a pretty nice apartment downtown. And by “pretty nice,” I mean by the standards of wealthy people. Even my parents would’ve approved.

It’s a two-story penthouse apartment, with this huge, black-framed window as the centerpiece. It spans the height of both floors and runs along an entire wall. Sunlight floods the whole space.

The floors are white marble with light grey streaks, and thick, exposed wood beams make even the ceilings look stunning. The designer has chosen to go with muted colors like white, black, beige, and brown, to let the architectural details shine.

On the second floor, there’s a covered balcony with glass walls on all sides and even a glass ceiling. I’m looking closely at the walls, trying to figure out how strong they are, when Zeke joins me.

“Where’s my luggage?” I ask, suddenly realizing that his hands are empty.

“In our bedroom,” he says casually.

“‘Our’?” I ask, raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah. Where the marital bed is, wifey,” he says with a grin.

I was quiet the whole ride home, afraid to let my guard down. I ignored Zeke’s attempts at starting a conversation, pretending to be busy on my phone. After a few minutes, he decided to leave me alone and focus on driving his black Porsche back to San Francisco.

And after having all that time to think, I’ve made up my mind.

I’m going to keep this relationship strictly business.

The deal is for me to marry him and produce a baby, right?

Fine. I’ll do that. I’ve done half of that, actually.

And now it’s the tricky part. We’re going to have a baby, which means we’ll need to have sex. But that doesn’t mean that we’ll have to be intimate.

Making a baby doesn’t require hot, mind-blowing sex. All it takes is ejaculation and fertilization.

That’s right. I’ll even use the clinical terms exclusively. Because what we’re doing doesn’t have anything to do with sentimentality. It’s all about biological functions.

And at the end of it all, I’ll have two million dollars, and of course, a baby. Zeke and I will get divorced, then the baby and I will live happily ever after. I’d better get used to the idea that Zeke won’t stay in my life—not even for the baby.

And that’s why we’re not going to share a bedroom.

“It looks like you have plenty of other rooms,” I point out.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Where’s your room?”

“Our room is the one over there,” Zeke says, pointing at an open doorway.

So my luggage is in that room. I march with purpose into the room, my heels click-clacking on the hard marble floor.

The bedroom is as big as I thought it would be. One wall is taken up by big windows, through which I can see tall skyscrapers. Red bricks cover another wall, against which the big bed is pushed.

The bed is made up, and there’s not a speck of dust anywhere. No doubt Zeke employs a cleaner.

At the foot of the bed is my luggage, still standing upright with the handle pulled all the way out.

I grab the handle and drag it away, intending to take it to one of the bedrooms downstairs. It’s probably a good idea to stay as far away from Zeke as possible.

I know we’ll still be living in the same apartment, but I want there to be as much space and as many hurdles between us, enough to make it difficult for me to find him in the middle of lonely nights. Hopefully, in my sleep-addled mind, a set of stairs would seem like an impossible obstacle to overcome.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Zeke blocks the doorway with his tall, muscular body.

There’s no hope in hell that I’ll be able to force my way through Zeke, but maybe a simple glare will work. Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“Like another room.”

Zeke frowns. He raises his hand to rub his forehead, where horizontal lines have appeared. “Which room?”

“A different one,” I say. “Maybe one downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Well, since this—” I point at him, then at myself, “—is just for show, and there’s nobody else in this apartment, then there’s no need for us to pretend to be husband and wife, is there?”

Zeke cocks an eyebrow and looks at me sideways. “Wait. Let me get this straight. You want us to sleep in separate rooms?”

“Exactly.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere,” I lie. “There’s no need for us to sleep together every night, and I don’t like sharing my bed. So I’m sleeping in a different room. Move aside and let me through.”

“You don’t like sharing your bed?” Zeke asks.

“No.”

“That’s not what I remember.” He gives me a cocky stare while his lips spread across his annoyingly handsome face to form a lopsided smile. “You used to ask me to sneak into your bedroom and spend the night cuddling. You slept like a baby when I held you in my arms.”

“That was a long time ago, Zeke. Everything’s different now.” Despite my resolve, my body heats up under his searing gaze.

“Is it?” Zeke asks. “If last night is any indication, then not much has changed.”

Yeah, including the way you only pay attention to me when it suits you, I say in my head.

“Well, maybe you’re wrong, Zeke.”

“Am I?” Instead of moving aside, Zeke steps forward. The tapping of his shoes on the marble floor makes my heart skip a beat. He stands only inches away from me, heat emanating from his body. His presence fills the room. “How is it different?”

“It just is,” I reply stubbornly, looking up and staring straight into his dark eyes, pretending like he’s not getting me all flustered from his nearness.

“Really?” Zeke leans in, letting his breath fall on my skin. His lips—they’re so close, and I can almost feel them on mine.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. It’s just a kiss. You can’t have sex without kissing, can you? Maybe there’s no real commitment between us, no promises exchanged. But this—whatever this is—has to be a physical relationship if we’re going to make a baby.

I close my eyes and tilt my head to the side. The world goes dark, but I have so many other senses to rely on—senses that have suddenly come alive.

Zeke’s fingers graze my cheek. His breaths tickle my skin. Our foreheads and noses touch. My heart races in anticipation as he…

Ring! Ring! Ring!

My eyes snap open from the noise. The ringing comes from Zeke’s jeans pocket, where his phone is. He fumbles to fish it out.

I wait patiently, expecting him to silence the phone and ignore the call, so we can get back to what we were doing.

But then he looks at the screen and presses the round green button to pick up the call.

“Jo?” Zeke answers urgently as he holds the phone up to his ear.

I stare at him, my jaw dropping open.

Is he seriously doing this to me right now? Again?