I glance at the screen behind her, and the listing for the Bradley Mansion is pulled up.
I don’t bring it up. She does.
“I can’t stop thinking about what a perfect venue this would be,” she admits quietly. “And now, once we’re married, it would stay in the Bradley family. Are yousureyou have to sell it? Can we just figure out some way to keep it in the family?”
My chest tightens. It would stay in the Bradley family.
Is she using me to get to the mansion?
I mean…in one way, yes. Absolutely, she’s using me to get to the money from Mrs. Winston. It’s the whole reason we agreed to this wedding. But when we bought the manor, part of me thought that took the mansion off the table.
She’s mentioned Madden to me before and how she asked Archer to help set them up so she could use his development company to help with her vision, but he wanted her to stay away. So the first thing she does when they end things is run to…me?
Is she only here to make Archer mad? Is she only with me to get back at him?
It feels like she and I have bonded. You can’t fake feelings. You can fake orgasms, but the way her cunt gripped my fingers greedily in the pantry yesterday sure as fuck didn’t feel fake to me.
Still, it’s in my head once again that maybe there’s more to the story than what I’m seeing.
I’ve been lucky enough to be chosen to play professional football for my career—with hard work, determination, grit, and a bit of natural talent, I suppose.
But lightning doesn’t strike twice. I don’t think I’m lucky enough toalsoget the girl.
Logic tells me that it’s not about luck, but something in the back of my mind is telling me that indeed it is.
“Liam and I have money tied up in it. It’s the right thing to do,” I say softly. “Though to be perfectly honest with you, Liam told me not to sell it.”
“Then don’t,” she says softly. A quiet moment spans between us, and then she adds, “I wish I had fifteen million dollars.”
I chuckle. “Don’t we all?”
She glances wryly at me. I do. She knows I do.
But I’m trying to get rid of the place. Not buy it myself.
She turns back to her screen and closes the window as I turn to leave her room. “Hey,” she says, stopping me. I turnback and look at her, and she asks, “Do you think we need a prenup?”
Something aboutherbeing the one to ask makes me feel a little more at ease. Like she’s not in this for my money or my connections. It started because of the mansion, but it feels like it’s going somewhere else now.
I shake my head. “I think we’ve known each other long enough that I can trust your intentions.”
She rushes over to give me a hug, and then we spend the afternoon making wedding plans. After we finish an early dinner, I tell her, “Grab your coat. I have plans.”
She narrows her eyes even as they light up at my surprise, and we head out for another date night.
This one is going to be special, though.
We drive about thirty minutes to St. Pete, where we board a private boat for a sunset cruise. I rented out the entire cruise, which wouldn’t have been crowded given the time of year, but it gives us privacy. The temperature is fairly moderate, but with the wind whipping by us on the boat, it’ll be chilly.
I have something that’s keeping me warm, though.
My nerves.
I shouldn’t be nervous. We’ve already made the agreement.
Still, I’ve never actually asked anyone this question before, and a big part of me never thought I would. I thought the woman I loved was happily in love with someone else, and I’d forever be reduced to the man who couldn’t have her.
Yet here we are.
