“If anyone ever calls you a frigid bitch, I’ll end up in a prison cell. Seriously, Mabel, there was barely anybody before you. You think I thought about what would happen after you? Trust me, that possibility isn’t even on my radar.”
Ryder drops his towel, bending over his suitcase to fish out a pair of briefs and flashing his perfectly sculpted ass at me, and my clit pulses. How I can still be horny after having my back blown out repeatedly by my so-sexy-its-stupid husband is a mystery, but ifI don’t get it together soon, I’m going to be tempted to blow off the Games all together and spend my time riding Ryder’s cock instead of the slopes. I need a distraction from all his annoying sexiness.
“I’m starving. Want to head over to the dining facilities and see what kind of midnight snacks they’ve got going?”
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Ryder hops over to the dresser and pulls a white paper bag out of his duffel. “I brought you something from town.” He hands me the sack, and I pull out a box containing some kind of pastry that smells like butter and sugary apples and heaven.
“Oh my god, this looks amazing. What is it?”
“It’s strudel di mele. An apple strudel with rum-soaked raisins and pine nuts. The guy at the cafe told me it’s a staple in the Alps. I know how much you love sampling all the local sweet treats, and it reminded me of you.”
“A strudel reminded you of me?”
“It reminded me of your shampoo. You always smell sweet, like apples.”
If I weren’t naked and still glowing from being fucked within an inch of my life, I might be embarrassed by the blush spreading across my cheeks.
“Aww Ryder, you’re so good to me, keeping me sugared up. Weird that the guy at the cafe sold it toyou with a giant bite taken out of it though,” I quirk a brow, tilting the box so he can see the missing corner of the pastry.
“I know, right? Must be a European thing.” He smirks, pulling two plastic forks from the paper bag and joining me in bed, where we share the scrumptious strudel until there isn’t so much of a crumb left to be licked up.
“Fuck, these Italians sure know how to bake strudel.”
“Hell yeah they do. We should probably still get some protein in our systems. What do you say, Marshmallow? Want to join me on a quest for gelato?” Ryder hops out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants without waiting for my answer—because obviously, yes, I’m always going to want to eat gelato—and tosses me a hoodie. “Cover up, baby girl. It’s cold and I don’t like the idea of the Finnish bobsled team seeing my wife’s perfect tits.”
God, that word. Wife. I’m Ryder’s wife, and his…girlfriend? Bed partner? Virginity stealer? I slip his hoodie over my head and pull the collar to my nose, inhaling the cinnamon-y scent that follows Ryder everywhere he goes. The scent that has invaded my home, my bed, my heart. The scent that I used to pretend made me nauseous but now, I can’t imagine living without it.
“Ryder.”
“What’s up?”
“I think we need to talk.”
Ryder stops fiddling with whatever he’s trying to put in his pockets and turns to look at me. He’s so gorgeous with his hair all messy and curly, still damp from the shower, and his skin pink under his soft facial hair. His throat bobs, and I can see his anxious anticipation as he comes back and sits on the edge of the bed, resting one large palm on my bare thigh. I feel myself shaking, nerves tingling all over my body, and I blow out a long breath.
“This is hard for me.”
“Just say it, Mabel.”
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I nod, taking a second to gather my thoughts.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. A lot, a lot. Like, pretty much nonstop thoughts knocking around in my brain and I think I’ve decided that I don’t want to pretend anymore. This whole real-but-not-real marriage is throwing me for a loop, and it’s too much. I want?—”
“You don’t want to do this anymore. Fuck. I knew this was coming. I was hoping…but it doesn’t matter.” Ryder pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But I get it. We can call Trina, if you want. Or I can just go out and do something stupid, tell everyone we were faking it and it was all my idea. The committee is going to be pissed if we overshadow the events, so I’ll take the blame. I don’t want them doing anything rash like disqualifying you or?—”
While Ryder’s rambling is kind of cute, and I’m flattered that even after all these years and the animosity I’ve thrown towards him, he’s still willing to throw himself under the bus to keep me safe from scrutiny, it’s the lone tear slipping past his wrinkled, closed eyelids and sliding down his cheek that has me jumping into action. Launching myself into Ryder’s lap, I wrap my arms around his neck and plant kisses all over his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips.
“God, you’re a pain in my ass, Rye Bread,” I say between kisses and nips at his lips. “I want to stop pretending to be with you because Iactuallywant to be with you. I don’t want to go home after Milan and have a very public but amicable divorce. I don’t really know how it would work, if we’d be boyfriend and girlfriend who happen to be married, or maybe we should get a divorce but not break up? Although that might be too confusing. I don’t know, Ryder, I just know that I want to be with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you, and I might still be the samebrat I was two months ago, but I want to try to be better. I will be better, because you deserve better and I don’t want to lose you?—”
This time, it’s my rambling that gets cut off when Ryder flips us over so that I’m on my back and he’s hovering over top of me. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m still not wearing pants and that my pussy’s new favorite toy is straining against the fabric of Ryder’s sweats.
“You want to be with me, Marshmallow?”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks hurt from the strain of my smile.
“I hate it when you call me that.”
“Don’t lie. You love it.”
