Never Underestimate The Good Husband

The Rules We Keep Breaking

The problem with sharing a bed with a woman you were supposed to be pretending to love was that eventually, your body forgets the difference between pretending and wanting.

And mine, apparently, had a terrible memory.

I woke up to the feeling of something warm pressed against my chest.

For a few seconds, I remained still, enjoying the unfamiliar comfort before my brain caught up with reality.

Chiara.

My wife.

Well, technically, my wife in every way except the one that mattered most.

The agreement….

I lowered my eyes.

Somewhere during the night, she’d abandoned her side of the bed and migrated to mine. One arm was draped across my waist, her cheek rested against my chest, and one of her legs had somehow found its way between mine.

I stared at the ceiling.

Lord, give me strength.

I wasn’t a saint. I’d never pretended to be one. But I was a man trying to rebuild his life, and getting distracted by my beautiful wife every morning wasn’t exactly part of the business plan.

Especially when the beautiful wife in question had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in falling in love. This was just business and business doesn’t really go well with romantic ties

I carefully lifted her arm, intending to move it aside.

She tightened her hold.

I froze.

“Chiara.” I whispered

Nothing.

“Chiara, wake up.” I added, now a bit louder than a whisper

She mumbled something against my chest.

“What was that?”

“Five more minutes Victor.”

I almost laughed.

“You’re holding me hostage.”

“Then negotiate.”

I looked down at her.

Her eyes remained closed.

“Fine. I’ll give you five minutes if you move your leg.”

She opened one eye.

“You’re very demanding for someone who voluntarily sleeps beside me.

“Voluntarily? You stole half my bed.”

“Your bed?” I asked with a smirk

“Our bed,” she corrected, settling more comfortably against me. “Remember? We’re married.”

I stared at her.

She smiled sleepily.

And that was the problem with Chiara Hill.

She could say something as simple as we’re married and make it sound like a promise rather than a temporary arrangement.

“You’re enjoying this,” I murmured.

“Immensely.”

“Good morning to you too, wife.”

Her smile widened.

“Good morning, husband.”

Something warm settled in my chest.

Something I immediately decided to ignore.

By the time we finally got out of bed, Chiara had somehow managed to turn a simple morning into a competition over who could annoy the other more.

She won, obviously

I was standing in front of the wardrobe, searching for a shirt, when she emerged from the bathroom

“You’re wearing that?”

I looked down at the shirt in my hand.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. If you’re trying to look like someone’s exhausted accountant.”

I turned to her.

“Really , do you insult everyone before breakfast, or am I special?”

“You’re special hubby.”

She said it so casually that I nearly forgot how to respond.

Then she walked past me.

I shook my head.

“This marriage is going to kill me.”

“Not before the wedding photos I trust,” she called from the other side of the wardrobe.

I laughed despite myself.

We eventually made it downstairs, where breakfast was waiting.

While we ate, I opened my laptop to check the latest developments concerning my company.

The past few days had been productive. I’d finalized my business proposal, reviewed my projected expenses and identified the staff I needed to bring on board first.

For the first time in months, I could see a future that didn’t involve calculating whether I could afford the next bill.

Chiara glanced at my screen.

“You’re working already?”

“I have a company to rebuild.”

“You have a wife to spend time with.”

“ The same wife I’m not to fall in love with?” I said

She smirked and gave me no response

I looked up.

“Are you asking me to skip work?”

“I’m asking you to remember that your wife exists.”

I closed the laptop halfway.

“Would you like my undivided attention?”

She hesitated.

Then she lifted her chin.

“That depends. What would I do with it?”

I leaned back.

“That’s an interesting question. I have a few suggestions.”

“Keep them to yourself, Hayes.”

I grinned.

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

She pointed her fork at me.

“Eat your breakfast.”

I obeyed…….. for approximately thirty seconds.

Then my phone rang.

It was the consultant I’d contacted about the business.

I answered immediately, discussing the preliminary figures and the timeline for reopening operations. I asked questions, clarified the projected costs and arranged a follow-up meeting.

When I ended the call, Chiara was watching me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That look says otherwise.”

She shook her head.

“You sound different when you talk about your business.”

“Different how?”

“Confident.”

I looked at my phone before setting it aside.

“I’ve always been confident about my work.”

“I know. But lately, you seem like you’re finally breathing again.”

Her words caught me off guard.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

Then I smiled faintly.

“Maybe I am.”

She reached across the table and touched my hand.

“I’m glad.”

Two simple words.

Yet they meant more than she probably realized.

Because after everything I’d lost, I hadn’t expected anyone to be genuinely happy about watching me get back on my feet.

Not without reminding me of how far I’d fallen first.

I turned my hand beneath hers, letting our palms meet.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes softened.

“You’re welcome.”

We stayed like that for a few seconds

Then her phone rang, and the moment disappeared.

That afternoon, Chiara had a meeting with her legal team concerning an investment she was considering.

I spent the time reviewing my business proposal and preparing for my own meetings.

We were both busy, but every so often, she’d send me a message.

Chiara: Have you eaten?

Me: Yes.

Chiara: What did you eat?

Me: Food.

Chiara: You’re actually irritating.

Me: And yet, you married me.

Chiara: Temporarily.

I stared at that last message longer than I should have.

Temporarily.

There it was again.

The reminder that no matter how naturally we fell into this marriage, there was still an end date waiting for us.

I typed a response, deleted it, then finally settled on something simple.

Me: Don’t worry. I remember the agreement.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Chiara: Good.

I put the phone down.

Realizing that to make this work, I needed to hold on to the agreement and protect myself by not falling too deep

Chiara returned home that evening looking exhausted.

I found her in the living room, her heels abandoned beside the sofa and her head resting against the cushions.

“Rough day?”

She opened one eye.

“Terrible.”

I had a meeting to attend in a different location so we had to return home separately

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to insult whoever caused it?”

That earned me a small smile.

“Tempting, but no.”

I sat beside her.

“Food ?”

She considered it.

“Maybe.”

“Want me to carry you upstairs?”

Her eyes opened fully.

“Excuse me?”

I shrugged.

“You look tired.” I added

“And you think I’m incapable of walking?”

“Not at all. I simply thought I’d offer.”

She studied me for a moment.

Then she sat up.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, you’re annoyingly considerate.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say to your husband.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She placed a hand dramatically over her chest.

“You’re the most inconsiderate man I’ve ever met.”

I laughed.

She laughed too, and before I knew it, the tension in her shoulders had eased.

That was becoming a habit

I was learning how to make her laugh when she wanted to be left alone. She was learning when my silence meant I needed space and when it meant I needed someone to sit beside me.

Neither of us had discussed these things.

Later that night, we were in our bedroom when Chiara brought up something I hadn’t expected.

“My parents called.”

I looked up from my laptop.

“And?”

“They want us to have dinner with them this weekend.”

I nodded.

“That’s fine.”

“They also want to discuss the wedding.”

I closed my laptop.

“Already?” I asked

She gave me a look.

“Dude, my mother has probably planned the ceremony, the reception and the names of our future children.”

I laughed.

“Should I be worried?”

“You should be terrified.”

I shook my head.

“Well, we do need to discuss what we’re comfortable with.”

She looked at me.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t want you agreeing to anything just because you think you have to convince them our marriage is real.”

Her expression softened slightly.

“Victor, I know.”

“I mean it, Chiara. We can have a small ceremony. Something simple. Whatever you want.”

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she asked, “What do you want?”

The question surprised me.

I hadn’t really thought about it.

“I want something honest,” I answered eventually.

She watched me carefully.

“Something not too misleading from the contract”

“I agree,” she said “it’s best to avoid any kind of disappointment”

“Have people disappointed you that badly?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Everyone has a past, Victor.”

“I know and you know mine so what’s yours?.”

“Sometimes, the past isn’t something you want to revisit.”

I wanted to know what had made her so cautious about letting anyone close.

But I remembered that she had her own boundaries. So, I reached for her hand instead.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to tell me.”

She looked at our joined hands.

For a moment, she seemed almost startled then she squeezed my fingers.

“Thank you.”

I smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

She shifted closer, resting her head against my shoulder.

I wrapped an arm around her.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Then she murmured, “Victor?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?”

I looked down at her.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

I considered the question.

The contract, the money, the marriage, kisses that shouldn’t have been that deep

The way I had begun looking forward to coming home because she would be there.

Then I brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

“I think the mistake would be pretending we don’t feel anything just because we didn’t plan to.”

She went completely still.

I was sure I’d said too much.

Then she lifted her head.

Our eyes met.

“You’re making this very difficult,” she whispered.

I smiled sadly.

“You’re not making it easy for me either.”

Her gaze dropped to my lips.

Mine followed hers.

We were close enough that I could have kissed her with barely any movement.

But this time, I waited.

I needed to be sure she wanted it as much as I did.

She leaned forward as our lips met softly.

No audience, no event, no parents watching, no need to act.

Just Chiara and me.

When she pulled away, her eyes remained closed for a second.

Then she rested her forehead against mine.

“Goodnight, Victor.”

I smiled.

“Goodnight, Chiara.”

She slipped beneath the covers.

I followed a moment later, leaving a comfortable distance between us.

This woman was going to ruin me.

And the terrifying part?

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be saved.

Because somewhere between the first kiss and the quiet moments that followed, I’d stopped thinking of Chiara Hill as the woman I’d agreed to marry for just a year.

I’d started thinking of her as the woman I wanted beside me when that year was over.

But I knew I couldn’t afford to be having such thoughts so I went straight to bed hoping to get rid of those thoughts