Billionaire's Temporary Bride

UNDER ONE ROOF

Adrian’s POV

I didn't speak until we were halfway home.

Isabella sat beside me, staring out the window.

She had been quiet since we left my grandmother's house.

I glanced at her.

"You're thinking too much."

She turned toward me.

"How do you know?"

"Because you've been staring out that window for twenty minutes."

"I have a lot to think about."

"Like what?"

She looked at me.

"Your grandmother."

I waited.

"She's nice."

"She is."

"Too nice."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I expected her to be intimidating."

"She can be."

"She wasn't with me."

"Give it time."

he laughed softly.

I found myself looking at her again.

She had handled herself well tonight.

When I'd told her we'd have to pretend to be in love, I'd expected her to panic.

Instead, she'd adapted.

She smiled when necessary, answered my grandmother's questions and even covered for me when I didn't know what to say.

She had been convincing.

Almost too convincing.

I turned my attention back to the road.

This was a business arrangement.

Five million dollars.

One year.

Clear boundaries.

Nothing more.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "how did I do?"

"You did well."

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Maybe something like, 'You were amazing, Isabella. My grandmother absolutely believed us.'"

I glanced at her.

"She did believe us."

A smile appeared on her face.

"Really?"

"Yes."

She looked pleased.

For some reason, that pleased me too.

I ignored the thought.

When we reached her apartment, I pulled over.

She reached for the door.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For tonight."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know."

She opened the door.

"Goodnight."

"Wait."

She stopped and looked back at me.

"There is something else."

"What?"

I turned off the engine.

"You're moving in with me."

Her expression changed immediately.

"I'm sorry?"

"You need to move into my house."

She stared at me.

"Why?"

"Because we're married."

"I know we're married."

"My grandmother believes we're in love."

"I know that too."

"If you continue living here while I'm at my house, eventually she'll start asking questions."

Isabella's eyes dropped.

She was silent for a moment.

Then she shook her head.

"I can't."

I frowned.

"Why?"

"My father."

The answer came quickly.

"What about him?"

"He's here."

She gestured toward the apartment building.

"I take care of him. I can't just move into your house and leave him alone."

I hadn't considered that.

She looked genuinely worried now.

"What am I supposed to tell him? That I'm suddenly moving in with a man I barely know?"

She paused.

"And how am I supposed to take care of him if I'm not here?"

I watched her.

For the first time that evening, she didn't look like the woman who had confidently played the role of my wife at dinner.

She looked scared.

Not of me.

Of failing the person who depended on her.

"You won't have to stop taking care of him."

She looked at me.

"How?"

"You can arrange for someone to stay with him."

"Someone I trust?"

"Yes."

"And visit him?"

"Whenever you want."

She frowned.

"That's not the same."

"I know."

She looked away.

"My father needs me."

"I understand."

I didn't say it casually.

I understood what it meant to have someone depending on you.

"You accepted this arrangement because of him, didn't you?"

She went still.

I knew the answer.

Still, she nodded.

"Yes."

I looked ahead.

"Then you shouldn't have to choose between the money and your father."

Her eyes returned to me.

"I'll make sure you have whatever you need to arrange his care."

She stared at me.

"I can pay for it."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Because this arrangement is supposed to solve your problems, not create new ones."

She didn't respond.

For several seconds, the car was completely silent.

Then she asked quietly, "Where would I stay?"

"My house has more than enough rooms."

"Separate rooms?"

"Of course."

She nodded slowly.

"And I can still come here?"

"Yes."

"Whenever I need to?"

"Yes."

She looked down at her hands.

"I don't know."

"You don't have to decide this second."

She looked surprised.

"I thought you said I had to move tomorrow."

"You do."

Her eyes widened.

I continued before she could protest.

"But you can take the time you need to arrange everything with your father."

She let out a breath.

"Thank you."

I nodded.

She reached for the door again.

Then she stopped.

"Adrian?

"Yes?"

"What am I supposed to tell my father?"

I thought about it.

"The truth about the marriage doesn't have to be complicated."

Her expression tightened.

"We can't tell him about the contract."

"I know."

"Then what do I say?"

I looked at her.

"Tell him you married me."

She stared at me.

"And?"

"Tell him you're moving into your husband's house."

She gave me a skeptical look.

"That's going to be a very long conversation."

"I'll help if you want."

She looked surprised by that.

Then she smiled faintly.

"I'll think about it."

She finally stepped out of the car.

I watched her walk toward the building.

Halfway there, she turned.

"Goodnight, Adrian."

"Goodnight, Isabella."

She disappeared inside.

I started the car but didn't immediately drive away.

My eyes remained on the entrance.

I had expected the biggest complication of this marriage to be my grandmother.

I was beginning to realize I was wrong.

Isabella came with a life of her own.

A father who depended on her.

Responsibilities she couldn't simply abandon.

And now, somehow, those responsibilities were becoming part of my problem too.

I wasn't sure why that bothered me.

It shouldn't.

This was a contract.

But as I finally drove away, one thought stayed with me.

If Isabella was going to live under my roof, I needed to make sure she didn't feel like she had to leave her entire life behind to do it.