I lie perfectly still, cataloging the sensation.
I have never shared a bed with a woman for an entire night. I have always found the proximity suffocating. But waking up with Audrey anchored to my chest feels entirely correct. It feels like the room was built for this exact purpose.
I carefully slide my arm out from under her. She makes a quiet sound of protest, her brow furrowing, but she doesn't wake up. I pull the duvet over her bare shoulder and step out of bed.
I walk to the master bathroom, turn on the shower, and let the cold water shock the lingering fatigue out of my system.
When I walk back into the bedroom fifteen minutes later, wearing clean sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, Audrey is sitting up.
She is pushing the tangled hair out of her eyes, looking around the minimalist room with a slightly disoriented expression. Her gaze finds me standing near the doorway.
"Morning," I say, leaning against the doorframe.
She drops her hands to her lap. The memory of last night clearly hits her all at once. I watch the rapid progression of emotions cross her face—confusion, realization, and finally, a cautious, guarded acceptance.
"Morning," she replies, her voice raspy. She looks down at the massive expanse of the bed. "I slept for nine hours."
"You needed it."
"I drooled on your pillow."
"I have others." I cross the room, stopping at the edge of the mattress. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Black. With an embarrassing amount of sugar." She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She looks up at me, the sarcasm completely absent from her tone. "Are we going to talk about the fact that I am currently sitting in your bed, or are we going to pretend we are still just executing a corporate contract?"
"I don't pretend, Audrey." I hold her gaze, refusing to let her hide behind the question. "The contract is a mechanism to keep you in this apartment. What happened in the kitchen last night has nothing to do with Simon."
She bites the inside of her cheek. The honesty disarms her.
"Okay," she says softly. "Just... checking the parameters."
"The parameters are simple." I reach out, my knuckles brushing against the side of her knee through the duvet. "You are mine. I am yours. And anyone who attempts to interfere with that arrangement will be removed from the equation."
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't look away. The fear I expected to see in her eyes isn't there. Instead, there is a dark,mirroring intensity that tells me she understands exactly what I am offering her.
Before she can respond, a sharp, electronic buzz sounds from the intercom panel mounted on the wall near the door.
The sound shatters the quiet intimacy of the room.
I drop my hand, the muscles in my back instantly locking into tension. I walk over to the panel and press the comm button.
"Report," I say flatly.
Grant’s voice comes through the speaker, crisp and entirely devoid of inflection. "Sir. I apologize for the interruption. A courier just arrived at the lobby desk. He delivered a physical document addressed to you and Miss Jennings."
I narrow my eyes. "A courier?"
"Yes, sir. It bypassed the standard mail screening because it was delivered by a bonded legal representative from the Vance holding company." Grant pauses, a rare hesitation. "It is a formal summons from your father."
Audrey shifts on the bed, the rustle of the sheets loud in the quiet room. She is listening.
"Read it," I order.
I hear the sound of heavy paper tearing over the intercom.
"It is an invitation," Grant reads, his tone carefully neutral. "Preston Vance requests the presence of Malcolm Vance and Audrey Jennings at the family estate in Lake Forest. Tomorrow evening. Seven o'clock. For a celebratory family dinner regarding your recent engagement."
A cold, absolute silence settles over the bedroom.
