Foolish Games by Tracy Solheim

Ling had already referred her to a pediatrician located in Chances Inlet, a former medical professor of hers at Duke, now in private practice in the small town. Julianne had the woman’s name tucked in her purse.
    “I’ve already taken care of it,” she said, closing her eyes again. Not exactly true, but she planned on taking care of it once they landed.
    She heard Will snap the case of his tablet closed. “Really? Because you weren’t even taking notes when Dr. Ling was discharging him. Do you even have a vague idea of the number of checkups and inoculations Owen needs in the next several months? Or do you plan to parent the same way you live your life, by the seat of your pants?”
    Julianne was thankful her seat belt was still securely snapped around her waist; otherwise, she might have flown out of the chair and throttled him. Her eyes were wide open now, and she could only imagine what he saw reflected in them. Not that he registered any reaction. His opinion of her stung, however. She wasn’t the flaky artist her brother constantly made her out to be. But she didn’t live her life encumbered by rigid rules prescribed by society, either.
    “I didn’t need to take notes, because you, Mr. Ivy-League-brownnoser, were doing such a great job at it. And yes, I know exactly the protocol for well-baby visits. I had several months of pregnancy to memorize it.” She reached down to pull on a sock Owen had kicked off in his sleep. “Our deal was that I’d be the dutiful wife in public, but you aren’t dictating how I mother my son.”
    Will’s jaw clenched at her slip, but Julianne reminded herself she was trying to get along. She flailed a hand in the air before he could correct her with some acerbic rebuttal.
    “Pardon me. When
our
son”—she was gratified she didn’t choke on the word—“has an ear infection or a fever, I’m not hauling him off to a doctor forty minutes away when I can push him in a stroller to a well-qualified,
well-liked
physician two blocks down the street.”
    Will hesitated, concern briefly flickering in his eyes, before opening his iPad once again. “I have an article on homeopathic remedies for ear infections.”
    She slumped back against the seat. Undoubtedly he had entire research manuals on childcare loaded onto his tablet. He was apparently trying to debunk the dumb-jock myth single-handedly.
    “You aren’t going to be able to develop a game plan for your son. He’s a living, breathing entity and things are going to happen, as we’ve already discovered. We’re going through with this ruse so you can bond with Owen. If you’re stressed about every little thing, he’ll sense it.”
    His only reaction was a brief tightening of his fingers on his iPad. “I’m organized and efficient. Having a plan leads to
less
stress.”
    Julianne rolled her eyes. “Right! You’re wound so tightly . . .”
    Will tossed his iPad onto the chair beside him. Julianne’s breath caught in her throat as he stretched forward in his seat, his mouth hard. She should have known better than to bait him, but she was tired of his domineering manner and, well, she was just plain tired. And alone. And, truth be told, a little bit scared. In theory, marrying Will and returning to the small town where he grew up sounded doable. But now that she was actually living it, without the protective cocoon of her friends—Sebastian, Carly, and even Nicky—she wasn’t sure how she was going to pull it off. The ever-present sexual tension simmering between her and Will certainly didn’t help.
    “If I’m stressed, Princess, it’s because I find myself having to totally restructure my off-season with a kid I didn’t know I had and a wife I don’t want.”
    The force of his words sent her pressing further against the seat back. Of course he didn’t want her as his wife. It hurt to know that here was another man who didn’t envision her as a permanent part of his life. She turned her gaze to the window so