She bites her lip nervously, her teeth worrying at the soft skin. Then she nods. “I guess I wouldn’t want you hurting yourself on that thing.”
I grin, sliding fully under the covers and wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her snugly against my chest in a bear hug. She tenses for half a second—a funny reflex for a woman that I was just finger-fucking downstairs—but then she relaxes into me, letting out a soft sigh as she melts against my chest.
I can tell this is all new to her. Being held. Being taken care of. Someone who wants to always be close to her.
Rosie’s probably never had anyone who made her feel safe before, wanted to listen to her thoughts and dreams, wanted to take care of her needs first. And while that might be a sore spot for her, it feels like a win for me.
Because I intend to do all that and more. For as long as we’re married.
She goes quiet, and for a second, I wonder if she’s fallen asleep while my mind keeps racing, running a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out how to make this work without me fucking everything up by doing the wrong thing.
Then she speaks, her voice cutting cleanly through the dark. “I hate my ring.”
I cough. “What?”
“The ring I have to wear to pretend we’re married. I hate it.”
I smile against the top of her head. She’s so short that even when we’re lying down, her head barely reaches my neck.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, even though I already know. I knew the second I saw it. It’s not her style. It’s nother.
“It’s the type of ring my dad would pick out if he ever got married again. Just to make a point. It’s too flashy and over the top. It’s gaudy. Unoriginal.”
I hum in agreement but stay quiet. She holds her hand up in front of her, twisting her wrist back and forth to inspect it.
“This wedding band I bought for ten bucks from one of those random street vendors in NYC. I like it better than the engagement ring. I'd wear just it if I could, but my dad would have a heart attack if I went out in public without a ring.”
That makes me laugh—a deep, rumbling sound I feel all the way to my toes.
She laughs too, her body vibrating with it, until she finally stills, her breath evening out as she falls asleep easily against me. Her little snores are soft, her body warm and heavy on mine, and I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. Because she feels safe enough in my arms to fall asleep.
And because now I know exactly what I’ll be doing next week.
???
The sound of a phone ringing jolts me awake. There’s sunlight streaming through the blinds and dust dancing in the early light.
I fumble around in the bed, my arm bumping into something warm. It takes me a second to realize it’s Rosie I nudged, still tucked into the crook of my arm like she’s trying to stay there.
I grin. This is the first time I’ve slept next to a woman in two years, and it’s the best sleep I’ve ever had.
I drop a soft kiss to her temple where she smells like warmth and rest then brush a few pieces of hair from her pretty face. Fuck, how did I get to be the lucky guy to marry her?
Reaching over to the side table, I grab my phone without even checking the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“You’re still asleep? You didn’t even drink last night.” Cain’s voice comes through the line, sharp and impatient.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the grogginess. My eyes flick to the clock—It’s already 8 a.m.
I ignore his tone. “What’s up, Cain?”
He sighs, the kind of sigh that immediately puts me on edge. “Bad news.”
My stomach drops. “What kind of bad news?”
“They need us back in New York City right now. The judge on your case for Monday’s appearance is being a bit of a dick. Mayhem wants you to do an interview at their headquarters today to talk about how you expect your case to be cleared, how you’re confident the judge will uphold the law and do the right thing since you are innocent.”
