The Billionaire's Pretend Wife novel Chapter 24

Isabelle picked up the form and ran her fingers around the edges nervously. “Even if there are side effects, they said that they will compensate me.”

Jacob gave her a look that suggested he thought that was ridiculous. “And you believed them?”

“It’s in the registration form.”

His brow furrowed. “Let’s say they are not lying, what if the drug has serious side effects on your health? Are you okay with that just because they’ll compensate you? What if you suffer permanent effects?”

“Many people have done this before,” she said, trying to calm him down. She couldn’t understand why he was so angry about it. “You’re overthinking, I’ll be fine.”

“Overthinking?” he scoffed. “Don’t you care about your health at all?”

“I need the money, okay?” she told him finally, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I need money urgently and this was the best option I could find.”

“What?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief. “You’re putting yourself in danger because of money?”

Isabelle clenched her teeth together, feeling her frustration from earlier arise. What else was she supposed to do? It was not like she had a lot of options laid out to her on how to get money. Many people earned money by taking part in drug trials. Why was he making it sound like she was being needlessly reckless?

Jacob got to his feet, and she had to take a step back as he suddenly crowded her. “If you need money that badly, why didn’t you ask me? I’m your husband!”

Her husband? He always pulled that card at the most ridiculous instances, didn’t he? They were just a couple on paper and had agreed to stay clear of each other’s personal issues. How then could he expect her to go running to him with her problems? As far as their arrangement went, it was none of his business.

She blinked as tears welled her eyes. If her situation wasn’t so dire, it would have been comical. On one hand, she was stuck in an arranged marriage that didn’t benefit her in any way. On the other, she had parents who abandoned her after said marriage occurred.

“We are just a nominal couple, remember?” she asked him in a small voice. “You also made it clear that we shouldn’t interfere in each other’s personal affairs.” Gathering bits of courage, she looked up and met his eyes. “So you have no right to blame me for not telling you about my problems.”

As Jacob looked into Isabelle’s eyes, he felt his anger abate. First because of the tears in her eyes, and second because she was right. He was the one who had insisted that they keep their personal business private. And since he was her fake husband, it made sense that she couldn’t just come to him with her problems.

Even knowing that, he still felt bothered. He wished she had never gone to such an extent to look for money, and he wished he hadn’t made that stupid rule about not interfering in each other’s lives. Because as long as things were that way, it would be hard to take care of her when she needed it.

“You’re right,” he said eventually, calmly. “I’m sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to think. And they both needed to calm down. “I need to step outside for a while. I’ll have dinner later, you can start without me.”

She only nodded, and he stepped past her and went into the living room. After grabbing a coat, he pulled it on and left the apartment. There was a garden at the front of the building, and he went there to pass the time.

Alone, he admitted to himself that he had crossed the line. Only a real husband should get mad at his wife doing something like that–not a pretend one. Maybe he should have asked more about what she was going through instead of going all angry from the get-go.

And that–him getting angry–was a sign of something he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with yet. He could no longer hide the fact that he cared for her. And he couldn’t even tell when he had become so involved with her.

The idea of her getting hurt because of some botched drug trial pissed him off. And not just that, but he also found himself wanting to fix whatever needed fixing in her life. He wanted to know about her day at work, wanted to spend time with her when he got home from work, and his attraction to her was growing.

It was as if suddenly, this wasn’t just an unwanted arrangement to him.

He exhaled deeply and buried his face in his hands. He needed to get a hold of his emotions. But he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to figure a way to get her to abandon the stupid trial.

***

With Jacob gone, Isabelle sat down to have dinner. She no longer had any appetite, but she ate anyway.

“You’re my wife after all,” he said, taking another step closer. This time, she stepped away. “And if we have to behave like a true couple for you to listen to me, we might as well get started.” Then he moved his hand to the top of his shirt and undid the top-most button.

Her eyes lowered to his shirt, and then lifted to his face. “You’re…you’re crazy,” she choked.

“Am I?” he popped the second button, his upper chest now showing.

“Stop!” she ordered, holding a palm out. “We…that’s not what we agreed.” Her eyes went back to his hand on his shirt, as if her gaze alone could freeze his actions. This man was truly crazy. Who even came up with such an idea? Did he think he could swing from acting like a pretend couple to a true one whenever he felt like it? At this rate, he was going to drive her insane.

He took another step and she stepped back, only to feel her back press up against a surface. Just great, she had backed herself into the counter. And the only escape route was going past him.

“After we have sex,” he said, releasing his third button, “you’ll listen to me and accept my help, right?”

At that point, she could see his chest hair. She swallowed hard and pressed her hands to the surface behind her. She couldn’t let this go on. If he really got rid of his shirt… She wrenched her eyes from his chest and to his face. The heated look he was giving her flustered her even more than his half-exposed chest.

“I…I…” Dammit, where had her ability to talk disappeared to?

He dropped his hand and reached for her dress. “Should I help you undress?”

She slid against the counter, moving away from his hand. “No!”

“No? Come on, Isabelle. Don’t be shy. Let’s get this out of the way.”