“Okay,” Austin said on an exhale. “Wanna talk it through?”
I shrugged as I aggressively grabbed another carrot and stabbed it into the ranch.
“Okay.” He pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down.
I sighed, leaning in my chair. “It goes back to what I said earlier. There’s so much about you I don’t know, and you’re my husband. I felt like an idiot when Stassi had to explain what position you used to play in hockey. That’s the kind of stuff I want to know.”
A smirk tugged at his lips as he reached over and grabbed a cookie. “I feel the same way about you.”
“It feels like we skipped so many steps. We went from a date to being fake married, and now we’re trying to be friends on top of it all. But there’s so much heavy stuff between us, like we’re stuck in quicksand. And honestly, I miss the lightness—like when you ran into the ocean after me because you thought I was drowning. That’s the kind of fun I want us to have.”
“I agree,” he said softly, his hand finding its way to my lower back and rubbing slow circles.
“And then we complicated everything with... last night. I’m jealous, okay? I’m jealous you were married before. I’m jealous that everyone else seems to know more about you than I do.” My voice cracked slightly, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded, but it was the truth. “I want to catch up to the version of you everyone else already knows.”
A long pause stretched between us.
“I can see how that would be hard.” He grabbed the legs of my stool and moved me so we were facing each other.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I whispered.
“My name is Austin Grant Hart. I was born in a small town in Michigan. I became the youngest draft pick in the NHL when I was barely eighteen. My favorite color is red. I’ve been married and divorced once. I’m an alcoholic and a drug addict, and I’ve been sober for almost five years. I screwed up a lot when I was younger.” He leaned in, so close that his lips hovered above mine, the warmth of his breath brushing my skin. “And for what it’s worth, no one’s ever cared enough to want to know me this deeply—or been jealous of the people who do.”
“I care,” I whispered.
His eyes scanned my face, looking me up and down, and he pulled away slightly. “I also want to kiss you right now. In the privacy of our house. Where no one is watching.”
There was a weight to his words, unspoken but unmistakable. He wanted to kiss me—not for show, not for anyone else, but simply because he wanted to. Just me and him, no cameras, no audience.
“Just like how I tasted you last night, Char. Alone. Here.”
“I—We shouldn’t,”
“That’s the smart choice,” he agreed, and for a fleeting moment, my heart sank.
The space between us felt unbearable.
I closed my eyes, gathering my thoughts, then opened them slowly. “My name is Charlotte Lilly-Belle Astor. I was born in a small town in Georgia, where my mom believed I’d spend my entire life. My dad died when I was young. The only family member I’m still close to is my brother, which is why I didn’t call him today—because I’m terrified of disappointing him. I hate the color gray. I love my job. And I’ve never been in love.”
“We’re going to talk about the fact that your middle name is?—”
I laughed. “Something my mother named me. It’s sweet and Southern.”
“How did your dad . . . pass?”
“He was sick. My parents hid it from Jacob and me for a long time, but then one day, he went to sleep, and the next morning, he never woke up.”
“And that’s when your mom was strict on you?”
“Jacob then took on the role of the head of the house, so to speak. My dad never pressured any of us to get into the business, but when he passed, my mom took it upon herself to thrust us into what she expected our ‘roles’ to be. I think she always had expectations, but it was worse after he died—like she didn’t know where to put her energy, so she channeled all that directionless control into us.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose a family member, per se, but I know what it feels like to be thrust into a role you don’t want.”
“Thank you.” I leaned in, gently cupping Austin’s face, drawing him closer. “I loved watching you play hockey today. I loved seeing how passionate you are about something that means so much to you. I love that you’re working on yourself,that you’re trying to be a better person, not to please everyone else but for you. I love everything about how hard you’ve fought to become who you are now.”
I hesitated. “I love that you don’t give up.”
