How to Accidentally get a Husband - Part Four: The Ex, the Offer, and the Breakdown

What started as a drunken dare has turned into one very real day of fake honeymoon adventures. Delaney never expected her accidental husband to be this charming—or this committed to making her smile. Between street tacos, oversized sun hats, and questions that cut a little too deep, one thing becomes clear: pretending it doesn’t mean anything is getting harder by the hour.

Part Four – The Ex, the Offer, and the Breakdown

One day into their one-month deal… and pretending it’s not real is getting harder.

The room is too quiet. Just the low hum of the air conditioner and the soft clink of ice in my glass. Nate’s in the bathroom, probably brushing his perfect teeth or flexing at the mirror or whatever men like him do to pass time.

I scroll absently through my phone, not really looking at anything until the notification flashes across the top of the screen.

Evan: Saw the pics. Hope you’re enjoying rock bottom.

My stomach twists so fast it steals the breath from my lungs.

All the air in the suite seems to vanish, replaced with shame, hot and sticky and clinging. My thumb hovers over the message, rereading it even though I don’t need to.

I know what he’s doing. What he always does.

Cutting me down. Making me feel small. And somehow, still managing to make it sound like he’s the victim.

I lock the screen, but it’s too late. Nate’s voice is quiet behind me. “You okay?”

I don’t turn around. “Fine.”

He walks closer. “You’re a bad liar.”

The silence stretches between us like a pulled thread. Eventually, I hand him the phone.

He reads the message. Doesn’t say anything. Just… hands it back and sinks onto the edge of the bed beside me.

No jokes. No sarcasm. Just soft stillness.

“That the guy you were gonna marry?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I nod.

“Next weekend,” I say, my voice flat. “It was supposed to be next weekend.”

Nate doesn’t look surprised. Just thoughtful. Quiet.

“He didn’t love me,” I add, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “He loved the version of me that looked good on his arm. The polished, quiet one who didn’t ask too many questions. Who didn’t take up too much space.”

I laugh bitterly. “Guess I failed at that.”

Nate shifts beside me, just enough for his shoulder to brush mine. “Sounds like he failed at being a decent human.”

I exhale a shaky breath. “Everyone thought he was perfect. He was charming and successful and dressed like a walking Ralph Lauren ad. My mom adored him. My sister said I was lucky.”

I glance down at my hands. “But I was shrinking. Every day. Little by little, he made me feel like I wasn’t enough unless I was exactly what he wanted.”

Nate is quiet for a moment. Then, softly he says, “You deserve more than that.”

I close my eyes.

“You deserve someone who chooses you. Exactly as you are. Who sees you, listens to you, laughs with you. Cries with you. Fights for you.”

His voice breaks a little. “You deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel like too much.”

I don’t know what it is, his voice, the way he says it, or just the dam finally cracking, but the tears hit fast. Hot and unstoppable.

My shoulders shake, and before I can even process it, I’m curling in on myself, sobbing into my hands like I’ve been holding it back for years.

Nate doesn’t hesitate.

He slides behind me on the bed, pulling me into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before. No heat or expectation behind it. Just warmth and quiet and safety.

He doesn’t speak. He just lets me cry.

Lets me break.

His hand rubs gentle circles on my back, slow and steady. And for the first time in a long time, I let someone hold me through the storm instead of pretending I’m not drowning.

Eventually, my breathing slows. My tears run dry. I’m still curled in his arms, head resting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat grounding me in a way I can’t explain.

I whisper the words before I can talk myself out of it.

“Okay. One more night.”

He doesn’t ask for more and he doesn’t push.

He just holds me tighter.

Eventually, my breathing slows and my tears run dry. I’m still curled in his arms, head resting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat grounding me in a way I can’t explain.

His fingers sweep lazy, soothing lines along my spine. Up and down, over and over, until the comfort of it turns into something else. Something warmer. A slow-blooming heat that slips beneath the sadness like sunlight through fog.

I tilt my head, just slightly. His chin rests against my temple, his breath soft in my hair.

My voice is barely a whisper. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

His hand stills on my back. Then he exhales through his nose, a soft, almost bitter sound.

“Because someone should be.”

I lift my eyes to his, and he looks down at me like I’m made of something breakable. Not fragile, exactly. Just… rare. Precious.

I don’t think. I don’t second-guess or analyze or overcomplicate it. I just… move.

My fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, and I lift myself toward him, brushing my lips against his like a question.

He freezes.

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t take over either. He’s just… waiting.

Letting me decide.

The kiss is soft. Just a press of my lips to his. Just enough to tell him I’m still here. That I want this. That I want him.

His hand cups my jaw, the rough pad of his thumb skimming my cheekbone as he kisses me back, slow and deep and aching.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not about distraction or erasing pain.

It’s about feeling.

Every moment of it.

The way his mouth moves over mine like he’s memorizing the shape. The way his fingers slide into my hair, gentle but possessive, like he needs to touch every part of me just to believe I’m real.

I sigh into him, sinking into the kiss the way I sank into his arms, unguarded, willing.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice low, eyes searching mine.

I nod. Then whisper, “I want you.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” I say quickly. “I’m just… tired of hurting. And I feel safe with you.”

His lips brush mine again. “Then let me take care of you.”

I nod again, and this time, when he kisses me… there’s nothing tentative about it.

To be continued… Come back tomorrow for Part Five.

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Published by LS Phoenix

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First Edition: August 2025

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