My father’s mouth dropped open and his wife choked on her champagne.
But my Paige wasn’t done.
“And just to keep the math tidy for you, congratulations on marriage number four. Statistically, you’re due for a good one.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling like an idiot.
I love her.
My father cleared his throat, muttered something about talking later, and turned away.
“Thank you,” I said to her.
Her fingers slid into mine, her hazel eyes dilated as she said, “Always.”
Always.
The word curled under my chest and settled deep in my heart.
“Dance with me?” I asked, trying to ignore the way my heart pounded in my ears, and guided her toward the dance floor once she agreed.
I pulled her close, one hand settling on her waist as slow music started playing.
“Is this okay?” I asked.
Paige looked up at me and nodded, her lashes brushing her cheeks. She stepped into me until our bodies touched in a way that wasn’t part of any act.
Nothing about this was staged.
The hand I placed on her waist wasn’t for show. No, it felt possessive and a warning to every man in the room whose gaze lingered on her too long.
Mine.
Every time someone looked at her, I wanted to growl at them like a caveman.
Mark her and claim her.
Paige had no idea what she did to me. Because I had never considered myself to be a possessive or a jealous person. Even when I was in a relationship.
“You’re quiet,” she whispered, brushing her cheek against my jaw as we swayed to the music.
“I’m trying to behave,” I said, thinking about taxes.
“Why?”
She smiled at me as if she knew. Like she understood exactly how close I was to losing every ounce of self-control.
And by the time the reception ended, my pulse felt thunderous, and I had to get her alone somewhere.
Thankfully, as if listening to my prayers, my mom told us that she would take care of Lily tonight. So we excused ourselves from the reception, giggling like teenagers as the elevator dinged with our floor number.
Our suite was quiet and dimly lit when we entered. Paige’s heels clicked on the floor as she walked toward the mirror, shrugging off her clutch. I removed my jacket, threw it on the armchair, and loosened my bowtie.
In the dim hotel room, she wasn’t just Paige, my friend or my fake girlfriend.
She was the woman I wanted to ruin in every fucking way.
Especially on that king-size bed.
