Page 25 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

“No.”

I frown. "No?"

“I will not date other women. I will not touch another woman. Not while you're wearing my ring. Not while you're living in my home. You are my wife."

The word lands differently here than it did in Vegas. Heavier. More real.

I laugh softly, deflecting again. "Mike, our marriage isn’t real. It’s temporary. We both know⁠—"

“But it is real,” he interrupts. "There's paperwork. Legal documentation. Your signature next to mine." He holds up his left hand. “We’ve got rings. We said vows.”

"You know what I mean. It's temporary. Transactional. You don't need to rearrange your life for me. The prenup made sense for a real princess. I'm just..." I gesture vaguely at myself. "I'm just an accidental Evelyn."

Something shifts in his expression. His jaw tightens.

"You're not an accidental anything,” he says, voice low.

I falter, swallowing thickly.

"You keep doing that," he says. "Shrinking yourself. Making yourself smaller so you fit into spaces that were never designed for you." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, those dark eyes pinning me in place. "Stop."

"I'm not⁠—"

"If you were mine," he says quietly, "without an expiration date, without an exit clause—let me tell you how I'd treat you.”

My heart is doing something reckless. Beating too fast, too loud, probably visible in my throat.

"I'd come home to you," he continues. “So fucking happy to see you. I'd make sure you never had to sleep on a couch again. I'd learn your coffee order and your favorite songs and the exact face you make when you're pretending to be fine, but you're actually overthinking everything. I’d send flowers to your classroom or bouquets of crayons, whichever you’d prefer. I’d make love to you every goddamn day and insist you come first. Every. Single. Time.”

"I don't⁠—"

"You're making that face right now."

I huff out a breath. "This is very unfair. You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's—" I wave my hand helplessly. "It's a lot. We've known each other for less than a week."

“Only a couple of days,” he says, “But I've watched you handle a case of mistaken identity with grace. You picked a dress that looked amazing on you, but was the least ostentatious and expensive of the group. When you found out we were legally married and it wasn’t part of a game, you didn’t panic or rant and rage. Then you stood up to an ex who spent over a year diminishing you, and reorganized his spice cabinet as a final act of revenge." He smiles, soft and warm. "I know enough."

"The spice cabinet thing was petty."

"The spice cabinet thing was iconic."

I laugh, surprised by the sound of it.

"Mike," I say, sobering slightly. "I need you to understand something. I'm not... I'm not good at this. At trusting. At believing someone when they say nice things. Kurt didn't break me, but he definitely left some dents. And I don't want to⁠—"

"You don't have to be good at it yet," he interrupts gently. "You just have to let me prove it."

The space between us feels electric. Charged with something I don't have a name for.

"That's," I manage, "dangerously romantic."

His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers there.

“What can I say, you bring it out in me.”