Wife.
“You. Are. My Wife,” he bellows through the room, slamming into me once more as he releases inside me.
His breathing is ragged, and when it finally slows, he flips me over and brings us nose to nose.
“You’re mine. My wife, my life. It’s me and you against the world, sweetheart.”
My wife.He has no idea what his words do to me.
The Freddie Mercury-loving playboy who, unbeknownst to him, has been the center of my life and dreams since I was thirteen years old is now mine.
All mine.
We slump over and I kiss his jaw. “And you’re my husband, Jack,” I say, hunching my shoulders, realizing I’ve never called him that to his face.
“Hey,” he whispers to grab my attention, wiping a few left-over orgasm tears. “I’m not perfect, but I promise you, Annabelle, I’ll be worth it.”
“Jack,” I whisper, “All that matters is that you’re perfect for me, and that’s exactly what you are.”
He cups my cheeks. “I love you, B.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, then kiss his full lips, lingering there and thinking how it still amazes me that I have Jack here with me.
All the women of New York and London can sod off. He’s mine now.
“You know, you didn’t correct me when I said Peters earlier. Will you change your name?”
I never thought I would, but it sounded good when he brought it up in Paris, and even better after he told me he loved me.
“Don’t overthink it, B.” He pulls me in closer. “It wasn’t conventional, but you’re mine, my wife. You don’t have to take my last name for me to know that. I know how progressive you are, so as long as you accept that we’re only going forwardtogether, I’m good with it.”
I pause, thinking it over.
Something strong and carnal overtakes me. “I want to be a Peters. I want to share the same surname.”
He growls under his breath. “If I weren’t fucking exhausted, I would be taking you again right now for that.”
“Caveman,” I tease.
We lie in comfortable silence, holding each other tightly. Ridiculous as it is, I can’t help but let my mind wander to thoughts about Anna.
Not one inch of me thought anything was happening between them, though now I want to know what was going on.
Why was she in his arms?
Why was she crying?
I know I should drop it, leave it in the past and move forward, but I also know myself and won’t stop until I have answers.
“I feel you thinking. What’s going on?” He pulls me closer to his chest.
I contemplate trying to forget it, but ultimately, my insecurities win. “Please don’t get mad. I’m not upset anymore, but I do wonder why Anna was in the house and why she was crying.”
He stills beneath me, making it clear he doesn’t want to talk about this. But I know Jack, he’ll tell me, knowingIwant to talk about it.
“She showed up unannounced, upset to hear we were in a relationship. Not because it was you—” he cuts himself off. “Well, maybe because it was you.” I pinch his side, and he laughs. “I always told her I never wanted more, that I was never interested in anything but a fling.”
Oh.
