Jonathan’s heart jackhammered; the pause after the word “remarry” felt lethal.
Before Teresa could answer, he rushed on. “I know you’d never actually remarry me. We fake it. On the drive over, I had the courthouse clerk prep a sealed certificate–locks legit, passes any background check, but it’s paper only.”
Teresa studied him. “So we play happy couple forever? We agreed I’d leave Forlisle Rose Estates after the birth.”
Jonathan gave a short nod. “Exactly. But the public won’t read the fine print. We tell them we reconciled months ago, that this baby is the proof. It’s the only way you and the kids walk out that gate without cameras in your face.”
Teresa fell silent. A flash of Michael’s face crossed her mind–three years old, sharp as a tack. ‘If he sees strangers calling his mom a gold-digger, it’ll break him.’ Motherhood had multiplied her vulnerabilities overnight.
Jonathan’s phone buzzed again. This time, he turned the screen so Teresa could see the caller ID: “Grandpa.”
Jonathan said, “He’s seen the headlines. Your mom, your brother–they’ve all called. I haven’t answered yet.”
A flicker of guilt crossed Teresa’s face. “I’ll handle my family.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Even if our families buy the story, the internet won’t. The only shield we’ve got is a marriage certificate–real or not. It’s the fastest way I can protect you and the baby.”
Teresa fell silent again. She could already hear the judgment: three years after the divorce, she was suddenly pregnant with the ex-husband who supposedly refused to remarry. They would say she trapped him.
If they lied and said they’d quietly reconciled months ago, no one could accuse her of using the baby as leverage.
Once a scandal like this hit the spotlight, the woman always took the heavier beating. She didn’t have time to dither. She swallowed. “How long?”
Jonathan blinked. “How long what?”
“How long do we play the happy remarried couple?” She couldn’t pretend forever; she wouldn’t let Irene wound her twice. And their families would need an end date.
Jonathan held her gaze. “Three months. We draw up an agreement for three months, strictly on paper. No one else knows. After the baby’s born and the heat dies down, we’ll figure out the next step.”
He thought, ‘I’ll say we grew apart, that our priorities changed–whatever keeps the attention away from her and the kids.’
Teresa folded her arms under her bump. “And if the story still won’t die? Even if the trolls move on, our families won’t.”
“I’ll handle them,” Jonathan said, “When the three months are up, I’ll move you and the kids to Jarisburg.”
Teresa stared. “Jarisburg?”
“I’ve already deeded the courtyard house there to Michael,” he went on, voice steady. “I’ll buy a second place in the best school district for the new baby. Kindergarten, elementary, high school–top-tier, all lined up.”
He exhaled. “I’ll also help you clear Teresouth Group’s backlog while we’re still here. Then you and our sons can start fresh in Jarisburg.”
Teresa’s throat closed around a lump the size of a fist. ‘We’re not kids anymore. One of them had to leave Nareigh; lingering in the same city without a real marriage would be impossible.’
North and south. Maybe that was the cleanest ending. ‘So why does it feel like a blade between the ribs?’
Jonathan’s gaze flicked to the window–more lenses and mics gathering by the second. “I’m sorry this landed on you. It’s the best I can do on no notice.”
Teresa managed a small nod… Fine. We’ll do it your way.
She didn’t have a better plan, and she didn’t have the courage to gamble on real marriage. The scars Irene had carved ran long and deep and she couldn’t sand them smooth.
A remarriage wouldn’t heal their wounds. Jonathan had said he’d lost the right to tell her he loved her; she lacked the courage to say it back.
Since he’d returned to Nareigh, neither had spoken those three words aloud. Maybe they’d forfeited the privilege long ago.
Jonathan slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders, palm warm against her collarbone. “For the next few minutes, you’re Mrs. Lynn. Just once today–play along.”
“Okay.” Teresa slid her arm around his waist. His body stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed as he guided her toward the door.
The gates rolled open. Cameras clicked like machine-gun fire. Jonathan tucked Teresa close, her free hand protectively over her bump, the picture of devoted newlyweds.
Reporters surged forward. “Mr. Lynn, is Ms. Johnston carrying your child? What’s your relationship now?”
Jonathan lifted one arm, blocking a mic inches from Teresa’s face, his eyes glacial. “I’m taking my wife, Mrs. Lynn, to her prenatal checkup. Full statement at three p.m. Horizonlead lobby–be there.”