I didn't expect my phone to ring the morning after my wedding.
Not because I thought the world would pause for me—but because I had spent the entire night convincing myself that nothing had really changed.
Legally married or not, my life was still mine.
At least, that's what I told myself as I stared at the unfamiliar name flashing across my screen.
Husband.
I groaned and rolled onto my side, burying my face into the pillow for a brief, childish moment of denial.
Then I answered.
"Good morning," his voice came through, calm and unintrusive. "Did I wake you?"
"Yes," I said honestly. "But I suppose that's fair, considering everything."
A faint chuckle followed. It wasn't mocking—just soft, like he found my bluntness mildly amusing.
"I'll keep it brief," he said. "There's been a small change."
I sat up immediately. "Change how?"
"Nothing bad," he assured me. "But I need you to move in with me."
The words hit harder than they should have.
"Move in?" I repeated. "That wasn't part of the agreement."
"I know," he said. "And under normal circumstances, I wouldn't suggest it."
Suggest it.
My grip tightened around the phone. "You're suggesting we live together."
"Yes."
I swung my legs off the bed, suddenly wide awake. "Why?"
There was a pause on the other end.
"Because the bank requested proof of cohabitation."
Of course they did.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.
"How soon?" I asked.
"Today, if possible."
---
By the time I arrived at his apartment that afternoon, I had already gone through every stage of acceptance—from anger, to denial, to exhausted resignation.
The building was modern and understated, all glass and clean lines. Security at the front desk checked my ID, then smiled politely when they saw his name listed under "spouse."
Spouse.
The elevator ride felt longer than it should have.
When the doors opened, he was already waiting outside his unit, dressed casually this time—dark slacks, a fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
This was the first time I'd seen him outside a professional setting.
The realization unsettled me more than I expected.
"Welcome," he said, stepping aside to let me in.
The apartment was spacious but warm, furnished with quiet intention. Neutral tones. Minimal clutter. Large windows that let sunlight spill across hardwood floors.
It didn't feel like a bachelor's place.
It felt lived in.
"You can take the guest room," he said easily. "It's already prepared."
I paused. "Already?"
"I anticipated the possibility."
Of course he had.
I dropped my bag near the entryway and took a cautious step inside, my heels clicking softly against the floor.
"This is temporary," I said, more for myself than for him.
"Yes," he replied. "Everything about this is."
---
Living together, it turned out, was far more complicated than signing papers.
We moved around each other carefully at first, like strangers sharing a space by accident. Polite. Quiet. Aware.
Too aware.
That evening, we sat across from each other at the kitchen island, reviewing a list of upcoming public events we might need to attend as a married couple.
"You don't have to come to all of them," he said. "Only the important ones."
"And how do you define important?"
"Ones where my absence—or yours—would raise questions."
I scanned the list. Dinners. Charity events. A company anniversary gala.
"This one," I said, tapping the page. "Tomorrow night."
"Yes," he replied. "That one matters."
I looked up. "You're asking me to play your wife in public less than forty-eight hours after marrying you."
"I'm asking you to attend an event," he corrected gently. "Playing the part is optional."
I snorted despite myself. "Right. I'll just stand in the corner and announce that our marriage is a legal technicality."
His lips curved faintly. "Please don't."
For a moment, the tension eased.
Then he added, "You'll need a dress."
---
The evening of the gala arrived faster than I expected.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric over my hips, trying to calm the flutter in my chest. The dress was elegant—simple lines, deep color, nothing excessive.
Still, it felt strange to dress like this for a man I barely knew.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, he was waiting in the living room.
He looked up.
And froze.
The reaction was subtle—but unmistakable.
His gaze lingered for half a second too long, darkening slightly before he caught himself.
"You look…" He cleared his throat. "Appropriate."
I raised an eyebrow. "Appropriate?"
He smiled faintly. "Beautiful."
Heat crept up my neck.
"Thank you," I said, suddenly unsure where to look.
We drove to the venue in comfortable silence, the city lights blurring past the windows. When we arrived, he exited first, then turned and offered his hand.
I hesitated.
Then I took it.
His grip was warm and steady, fingers closing around mine with practiced ease. Not tight. Not possessive.
Just reassuring.
Inside, conversations paused as we entered.
"This is my wife," he said smoothly, introducing me to colleagues and acquaintances alike.
Each time, the word sent a small shock through me.
My wife.
I smiled. I nodded. I played the role.
And somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like acting.
---
Later that night, back at the apartment, the adrenaline finally faded.
I slipped off my heels near the door, sighing in relief.
"You did well," he said.
"So did you," I replied. "You're very convincing."
"That's because I wasn't pretending."
The honesty in his tone caught me off guard.
We stood there for a moment, the space between us charged with something unspoken.
"This cohabitation thing," I said slowly. "It doesn't change the rules."
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
"Good."
Yet neither of us moved.
I became acutely aware of how close he was. Of the way his gaze dropped briefly—to my lips, maybe, or the line of my jaw.
I swallowed.
"Good night," I said, turning away before I could overthink it.
"Good night," he replied.
As I closed the door to the guest room, my heart was racing.
This marriage was still temporary.
But for the first time, I wondered how long pretending would remain possible.
---
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading Chapter 2 🤍
Things are still calm on the surface, but the proximity has begun—and with it, feelings neither of them planned for.
This story is a slow-burn contemporary romance, so intimacy will grow naturally through moments, tension, and emotional closeness rather than rushing ahead.
If you're enjoying the pacing, don't forget to support the story 💫
Next chapter: cracks in the agreement begin to show.
See you in Chapter 3 💍📖