Standing by the archway dividing the living room from the kitchen and watching Nash dance—badly—and sing—off-key—while holding Groucho Barks tucked up against him like a football as he tossed strands of the devil’s paper, Chelle took a moment to soak in the domestic bliss of the moment. Focusing on the ridiculousness of Nash shaking his perfect ass to “Jingle Bell Rock” made it easier to pretend this was her life, now and forever. And when she did that, she didn’t have to think about the fact that Christmas—and the end of their marriage—was only three days away. Oh sure, they’d give it until after New Year’s because who wants to file for divorce in the dead space between one holiday and the next, but as soon as the Christmas tree Nash overwhelmed with tinsel was on the curb, her marriage would go in the bin, too.

All of the conditions had now been met. They’d had their six dates, starting with IKEA, then the tabletop games, food truck crawl, the mani/pedi, decorating Gable House, and tonight, picking out the perfect Christmas tree. That hateful summons from her uncle still sat in her desk drawer, but she’d talked to a lawyer and he’d agreed Nash’s plan of a temporary marriage still counted as a marriage for the sake of the will. He was confident the judge, even one who golfed with her uncle, would agree. The foundation would be safe.

She should be happy, thrilled, ecstatic. She had gotten everything she wanted. And yet there was a large nugget of coal sitting in her stomach, weighing her down.

She took a gulp of spiked eggnog, letting the burn of whiskey going down pull her away from the edge of regret before she did something stupid, like asking Nash if he wanted to make this marriage of convenience a real one. He’d probably say yes just because he wanted to help her—he’d be her pity husband. He couldn’t help himself. If he thought there was advice he could give or an action he could take that would make someone’s life easier, he offered it up.

The thing was, though, that she didn’t want anyone with her because they were just being nice or thought they were fixing her life. She wanted someone with her because they couldn’t imagine being without her. She couldn’t blame Nash for not feeling that way about her. He’d always been honest about what this marriage was—and what it wasn’t.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours.

Then the lawyers got involved.

Her phone buzzed on the bookshelf.

UGH. So that’s where I left it.