My throat tightened. “I’m nervous.”
Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes deepened, like she already knew my anxiety was a battle today.
“I don’t know what to feel,” I admitted. “I’ve never done this before. Not just the family thing. The… forever thing. The home and boxes and real life thing. And now I’m about to walk into your childhood home and tell your parents we’ve already made it official without them. It’s…” I paused and let out a heavy breath. “It’s intimidating.”
She blinked once, twice, before her hand came up to cradle my cheek. “Mon amour, I’ve been talking about you for the last ten years.” She pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Our relationship has been in the public eye before it was even official. I doubt this will come as a surprise to them.”
It hit like a fucking freight train. I kissed her, hard and fast, just once, before pulling back with a groan.
“Fine. I will do my husbandly duties and be your arm candy, move you out of your parents’ estate, and meet your terrifyingly traditional French father. Just making sure this is the first thing you’re cashing in on our happily ever after?”
“Yes,” she said brightly. “Besides, I like seeing you sweaty and your,” she waved her hand my arms, “pirate rope veiny arms.”
“Goddamn you,” I muttered.
“God bless me,” she corrected, standing on her toes to kiss the underside of my jaw. “You’re so pretty when you suffer. And prettiest when you’re broody.”
I groaned again, louder this time.
“I hate how much I love you,” I muttered.
“No, you don’t.”
I didn’t. Not even a little bit.
“Now be a good little husband,” she said, stepping out of my embrace and patting my chest, “and grab my bag.”
And just like that, I was the one thrown off balance.
I had expected the teasing. But it was the certain way she said it. Like she wasn’t afraid of the next step. Like she knew it was inevitable. Like she was perfectly okay with it.
I stared at her, heart hammering against my ribs. Then I leaned in, pressing a slow, deep kiss against her lips, because fuck, I loved this woman.
She smiled against my mouth. "Good boys will be rewarded." All the blood in me rushed south. I was already suffering withdrawals from not being inside her at this very moment, so how I planned to survive the night was beyond me. How does one just snap out of the honeymoon haze?
“You have permission to use me however you want, mon mari.” She sashayed away, down the hallway and out of sight.
I sighed, shaking my head as I reached for her duffel.
That was a dangerous thing for her to offer. And I would make damn sure she’d suffer in return.
After I dropped our bags into the backseat of her car—she insisted we take her beautiful vintage Porsche—I sauntered back inside.
I should have been preparing myself. I should have been running through possible dinner conversation topics, how to address Étienne’s crash, how to win her parents over. Overall just mentally arming myself for whatever this was about to be.
But then she emerged from the bedroom, and I stopped in my fucking tracks. My brain went completely blank, ceased to function. I just stood there ogling her like I wasn’t literally fuckingmarriedto her, mouth slightly open.
She wore a fucking sundress. I didn’t even know I had a thing for sundresses until Greece, and whenever she wore one I died a little inside.
And now here she was, emerging from the bedroom in a pink sundress that barely clung to her body, sun catching in thegolden strands of her hair. No bra. No shame. And she definitely knew what she was doing to me.
My mouth went dry. Would I ever get used to feeling so captivated by her?
Her brows pulled together. “What?”
“What the hell are you wearing?”
She looked down at herself, then back up at me. “A dress?”
