Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Without a word, he set me down, slapped my ass, and turned to walk away.
I fell against the wall, struggling to support myself on wobbly legs, and stared, my jaw hanging open.
Before he left, he turned back. “I’m done with you having your own room. I’m done not waking up beside you.”
He’d muttered the same words last night, and they melted into my chest all over again. Although this time, he followed it up with more that banished any romantic notions I may have conjured.
“I’m done not waking you up with my head between your thighs. I’m done not waking up inside you. We’re done with separate rooms. You’re going to be my wife, and it’s time you started acting like it.”
Excuse me?
My brows skyrocketed, but before I could unleash my indignation, he continued.
“And if it’s the closet you’re worried about, then I’ll move my clothes into a guest room, and you can have the entire master closet to yourself,” he explained with a deadpanned stare. “No excuses.”
“Fine,” I agreed, but held my chin high, like a queen staring down her nose at her subject. “I’ll let you win this time, but don’t get used to it.” While irritation still prickled over his comment about me finally acting like his wife, his offer to move his belongings to make room for mine softened me enough to concede.
Moving his entire wardrobe would be a hassle—one he’d willingly take on for me. It wasn’t roses or a sweeping declaration about sleepless nights without me, but it still sent an unexpected, warm bubble of happiness blooming in my chest.
Who said romance was dead?
By the time we pulled up to Lucian’s godparents’ house, I couldn’t tell who was more nervous, Lucian or me. Not that his nerves were obvious, but I noticed his anxiety in the silence, with his thumb tapping on the wheel and his bouncing knee the entire drive.
Not that I blamed him. This was pivotal to our agreement—a wife to fulfill the debt he owed to his godfather.
My nerves had more to do with meeting someone new. What would they think? Would they approve? Would they believe that we were truly engaged?
“They can’t know that this isn’t real,” Lucian said, putting the car in park.
I turned to face him, but he still gripped the wheel, staring straight ahead at the stone architecture and landscaping.
“They won’t.”
“They know me, so they’ll be able to pick up on any hints that this is fake. It has to be real,” he pressed, his knuckles turning white.
“Lucian.” I rested my hand on his arm and waited for him to meet my gaze—to see the sincerity of my words. When he did, it almost took my breath away. An outdoor sconce lit up his face perfectly, illuminating his eyes to a shade I’d never seen before. An almost black lined his pupils before melting into a rich whiskey brown with hints of bronze sparking throughout. I studied them, memorizing every detail before making my promise. “They will only see a happily engaged couple.”
I offered a soft smile, and his hands finally relaxed around the wheel.
“The only way they won’t see that is if you are your normal asshole self and fuck it up,” I teased.
He huffed, lips twitching. “I’ll try.”
Movement outside the car caught my attention. I squeezed his arm reassuringly and reached for the handle.
“Let me open it,” he said, stopping me. “Grace will expect it.”
“I like her already.”
He moved around the car, opened my door, and offered a hand to help me out, pulling me into his gentlemanly act. Although, was it really an act? He’d opened my door before without anyone watching.
As much as I liked to think of Lucian as an asshole—and he was—I had to admit he had a soft side that cared for others. A side that softened me the more I witnessed it.
Shaking off that line of thought, I faced the tall, elegant woman who had a smile that lit up her whole face. She descended the steps with grace and open arms, reaching for Lucian. He stepped into her embrace with an expression I’d never seen on him, but was hauntingly familiar, and I remembered it well.
Something twisted in my chest as Lucian’s face melted into that rare smile—the kind that appeared only when you were wrapped in the arms of someone who loves you unconditionally. It was the same smile that crossed my own face whenever my mom had pulled me close.
I’d wondered what I’d see between him and his godparents, who’d care for him after his parents died. Part of me expected formality, or simple gratitude, since they’d stepped in after he was mostly independent. But watching them now, “godparents” felt too small a word. They clung to each other with the fierce tenderness shared between mothers and their children. I still had my dad, and his hugs comforted me, too, but never quite like that.