Sliding my hand into his is a mistake for my emotional stability but great for keeping me physically steady in my heels. Even when we reach the bottom of the staircase, his fingers stay wrapped around mine, guiding me along behind him until we’re in the kitchen. His broad back blocks my line of sight, so it isn’t until he steps out of the way that I see what’s sitting on the island.
An open box of a dozen chocolate-iced doughnuts greets me, a single candle shoved into the one in the center. I stand still and watch as Thomas flicks open a silver lighter and then holds the flame to the candle, drawing back once it’s lit. He then turns to me, eyes creasing at the corners with his smile.
“Happy one-month anniversary.”
I press my lips together to fight against the delighted laugh that threatens to bubble up and out because this man isridiculous.
“If you’re planning to make me wear one of those as a ring again,” I say once I’m convinced I can keep my voice level instead of squealing like an excited schoolgirl, “I’m leaving you.”
“I’d actually prefer if we could eat these, if you don’t mind.”
“Then Iguesswe can stay together.”
I approach him and the box, knees wobbly, and then bend to blow out the candle. I grab one of the doughnuts, the chocolate sticking to my fingers, and offer it up to him. But instead of taking it from me, Thomas leans down and bites into it, his eyes not leaving mine as he does. It’s so sexy that I might need to go back upstairs and change my now-incriminatingly-damp panties.
He licks his lips and stands up straight again, leaving me topractically shove the rest of the doughnut in my mouth to keep from asking if he wants to spend the day eating these in between rounds of mind-blowing sex.
Thankfully, Thomas breaks me out of the spell by announcing that we should probably head out if we don’t want to be late for the first viewing. I go to wash the sugar off my fingers, letting the cold water from the tap cool me down. I don’t need to be thinking about Thomas putting his mouth on me like he did that doughnut while we’re looking at industrial ovens.
I shouldn’t have invited him to come with me. Because I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about my husband—and all the things we could have done by now if it weren’t for all my rules.
After surviving a full day spent with Thomas on Friday, Saturday brings Zaid Yousef’s gala. And I’ve got to hand it to Calais—the woman makes a damn good dress.
As I slip into the gown she designed, I make a mental note to hire her for all my couture needs in the future, even once Thomas and I go our separate ways. Although, if this silk column dress with the most beautifully draped neckline and thigh-high slit is a taste of what I can expect for my wedding, I might want to go through with the whole spectacle just for a chance to wear it. What’s a church aisle if not a runway by another name?
I’m buzzing for tonight. Partially because it’s an excuse to get dressed up and drink champagne while contributing to a good cause. The other part is because I get to see Willow Williams tonight—and I’ve got my fingers crossed that she’ll have come through on her promise to get Reid to speak to Thomas.
We’ve been texting back and forth recently, mostly mesending her photos of my bakes and running flavor ideas past her after I discovered she’s familiar with our entire menu. In addition to being a superfan of mine, she’s an incredibly cool person, and she’s even given me some advice about being in a relationship with an F1 driver. It’s strange to belong to this mini WAG club, but it’s growing on me. Certainly helps that Willow’s sweeter than everything I’ve ever baked.
“Stella darling?” Thomas calls from the hallway. “You nearly ready?”
“Almost!”
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror, debating which shoes to wear, when there’s a knock on the doorframe. I glance over, prepared to tell him that I need another five minutes, but the words die on my lips as I take him in.
As expected, he’s in a tux, and I already know from past experience that I’m a sucker for him dressed like that. But tonight, he somehow looks even better than he did in Vegas. How is that possible? It’s the same damn man. Same ocean-blue eyes perfect for drowning in. Same chestnut-brown hair, expertly swept back except for an errant tendril that brushes his forehead. And same broad chest and narrow hips and big hands that can do absolutely wicked things.
Maybe it’s because you like him for more than just his looks now?the little voice in the back of my head suggests.
I tell it to shut the fuck up.
I want to stamp my foot and whine because it’s not fair how alluring he is dressed like this. Honestly, if they need a new James Bond, he should be it. Then again, not sure I’d trust a man who commonly sayssod itandcrikeyto have a license to kill.
As I admire him, he’s doing the same to me, eyes drinking in every inch from head to toe. I’ve swept my hair up into a chictwist, leaving a few strands out to frame my face, and I’ve gone full glam with my makeup. The dress is the true star of the show, the silk skimming my body in all the right places and leaving just enough to the imagination, but it’s undeniably provocative every time the fabric ripples back to expose up to the top of my thigh. I look good, but I feel even better.
“Wow,” Thomas breathes out, still unabashedly staring. “You look…”
I arch an eyebrow to prompt him into finishing the sentence. I don’t need his compliments, but I want them. I want his praise and his adoration and anything he’s willing to give, all because I want to give the same back to him. It lingers on the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill out in waves ofI might just be the luckiest woman in the world to have you on my armandSometimes it scares me how much I love your smile.
“You look…” He trails off again, pausing to take a breath that practically shudders through him. “There are no words for how stunning you are, Stella. It’s a bloody privilege to even lay eyes on you.”
He sounds so achingly genuine that it steals the oxygen from my lungs. Something is shifting between us and it’s getting dangerous. I didn’t expect to feel anything like this so soon after my world was turned upside down. I thought it would be years before my cracked heart could beat again. But it’s limping back to life, giving athumphere and there to remind me it’s not dead. That with the right touch, the right electric shock, it can thrive.
I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to offer it up to be healed. What if it gets shattered all over again?
“If I’m getting compliments that good, then the woman who marries you for real is going to be so lucky,” I say to remind us both that this can’t be anything more, but the wordstaste like ash in my mouth. I look down at myself again, needing to break our connection before I do something silly like drag him to me and press my lips to his. Instead, I smooth my hands over my hips. “You sure the color is okay? I feel like I’ve been overdoing it on the white lately.”
He shakes his head, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. “It’s perfect. Besides, we’re still newlyweds. Take advantage of it for as long as you can.”
