Joshua heaves a sigh that says more than enough on its own, but he still follows it up with, “I can think of far better ways to handle a situation like this.”
“Yeah? Do any of them involve getting my parents and Figgy off my back while making me look like a kindly family man to the public? A public that, mind you, thinks I’m some hateful, death-wishing monster?”
His silence gives me my answer.
“Exactly,” I say as I toss my tie aside and unbutton my waistcoat, shrugging out of it and my jacket. “It’ll be worth it to finally have some peace. Plus, this helps Stella out too. It’s a win for both of us.”
“I’m not saying it’s a terrible plan,” Joshua hedges, even though he might as well be saying as much. “But you’re acting like this is going to be so simple. Do you actually think people will believe this is a real relationship? Or that this woman will keep her word and not screw you over somehow?”
His concerns aren’t misplaced, and I share them for themost part, but I’m bristling anyway. “We’re going to have a postnuptial agreement drawn up and go about this carefully. I’m not completely mad.”
There’s a loud snort from Amara, and I know Joshua is shooting her a glare to quietly defend me. But I get her doubts. I haven’t made the best decisions in the past, and as my other and longest-standing best friend, she’s been witness to many of my less-than-clever moments. Case in point: trying to adopt a pack of feral cats when I was five; snowboarding blindfolded at eleven; breaking into my grandfather’s wine cellar to steal a bottle that turned out to be centuries old at fourteen; and “accidentally” setting part of my ancestral home on fire on my seventeenth birthday. She was there trying to talk me out of it all while simultaneously egging me on.
I wouldn’t say I’m reckless, but I don’t always think things all the way through. It’s why Joshua is my voice of reason, gently pulling me back from the edge, and Amara is…Well, Amara’s there to pat me on the shoulder after I’ve jumped off the cliff and say, “I told you so.”
“While I don’t love the fact that you got drunkenly married to a stranger,” she says, “I have to admit…you could have done a lot worse than Stella Margaux. Her macarons are todiefor. Ooh, can you ask her when she plans to open a shop in London? I don’t want to have to fly to Paris every time I need a fix.”
“Amara, come on,” Joshua scolds. “Let’s get back on topic.”
“What?” she shoots back. “That’s his wife now! He should know all about her career and aspirations…which hopefully include opening a location five minutes from our flat.”
I may not care much about the macaron shop part of it all, but Amara’s right. Stella is my wife—and there’s a lot I need to learn about her if any of this is going to work.
There’s a knock at nine a.m. sharp.
Padding out of the bathroom with a towel in hand to dry my hair, I open the door to Stella and step back so she can enter. She messaged late last night to say she’d be over in the morning to keep talking, but she’s staring at me like she’s surprised to find me here.
“Good morning.” The greeting is cautious as her eyes flick to my bare chest. When they rise again, I swear I see a spark of attraction there, but I’m distracted when she lifts a cardboard drink tray in front of her face. “I brought the beverage of your people: tea.”
“Oh.” I don’t know how to break it to her that I’m actually a flat-white man. I have a feeling she’d have a field day with that combination of words. “Thank you, that was very kind.”
She snorts and shoves the tray into my chest. “I’m just kidding, they’re both quadruple-shot lattes.” She skirts around me and steps into the suite, careful not to let any parts of us brush. “I have a feeling we’re going to need the caffeine.”
She strides toward the living room, leaving me surrounded by her sweet scent. I should probably feel ashamed of how my eyes travel down her back to her swaying hips, but her ass looks too good in that slinky chocolate-brown skirt. She’s paired it with a cream-colored jumper, and even though she’s covered from knees to neck, it clings to her figure in all the right places.
It’s a perfectly professional outfit. I bet she wears this to her office on a regular basis. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to reach out and bunch the skirt around her hips so I can see exactly what’s underneath.
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we didn’thave sex. It’s where everything was headed, and yet we somehow got so distracted that we passed out with all our clothes on after reciting binding marriage vows.
Now that she’s my wife, though…Well, maybe we’ll get to consummate that union soon. It’s what we both wanted in the first place. We’re just going to get to it a little later than planned.
Closing the suite door, I stop by the bedroom to ditch my towel and grab a T-shirt, then join her in the living room. She’s already set up at the small dining table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sorting through the expensive leather handbag she had slung over her shoulder. I set the lattes down in front of her before tugging on my shirt. When my head pops out, I find her staring at me—or, really, at my abs. I can’t resist flexing before tugging the shirt over them, breaking her concentration. She blinks once, then again, before her flustered gaze finds mine.
“Sorry to cut the show short,” I tease as I drop into a chair across from her. “Figured we didn’t want to waste any time.”
She clears her throat and shakes out her hair, forcing a coolness back into her expression. The woman across from me is different from the one I met Friday night. That one was hunting, looking to take me down and add me to her trophy case. This is a businesswoman who’s in no mood to entertain my jokes.
“No, we don’t,” she agrees. “We have a lot to discuss, including ground rules for this relationship.”
My brow shoots up. “Ground rules? You’re certainly taking this seriously.”
“Considering it’s my reputation and livelihood on the line, I’d say I am, yeah.”
I offer an apologetic smile. It would be nice if I could stop fucking up. “Understood. Well.” I spread my hands, offering upthe floor of discussion to her. “Let’s get started. What are your rules?”
She wets her lips, and my eyes drop to them, lingering just a moment too long to be an innocent glance. Based on the way a corner of her mouth ticks up, she’s noticed. That’s fine. We’re on even ground with our admiration of each other.
“Rule one,” she begins grandly. “No secrets. We tell each other everything, no matter how big or small. This won’t work if we’re hiding anything from each other. I don’t want to be caught out if I’m asked something about you that I should know the answer to.”
