Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
The en suite is beautiful and masculine, with no expense spared for luxury. The floors are stone. Two sinks are positioned atop a cabinet suspended off the floor, with mirrors behind each one. A massive, sleek, square tub with a brass faucet is mounted on the wall. A shower big enough for a small party lines the back wall.
I think about my thread-bare towels packed in boxes in the driveway and want to laugh. And cry.
“Can you imagine yourself in here?” he asks, leaning against the wall.
“I can imagine myself in this tub for sure.” I sit on the edge. The material is cool against my behind. “I might get in and never want to get out.”
This makes him smile.
I take a deep breath as a moment of peace settles in my soul. For the first time today, I’m calm. The tilt-a-whirl has stopped.
“I’m not sure if I said thank you or not,” I say. “This day has been one for the record books.”
“It’s not a problem.”
I grin up at him. “I mean it, Jason. I’m sitting here in your personal bathroom with my grandmother occupying your guesthouse.” I laugh softly. “Mimi was on the floor bleeding this morning, and I was in a state of panic. My life was falling apart one six-hundred-dollar error and broken tile at a time, and I felt alone and helpless … and I don’t know which I hate more.”
He presses off the wall. “You’re the least helpless person I know, Chloe.”
“It doesn’t feel that way when every time you try to take a step in the right direction, the world somehow pushes you back three spaces.”
“Why didn’t you say something to me? I know we went over this earlier, and I don’t want to get into it too much now because I don’t want to be angry. But why in the world didn’t you mention your situation?”
I swallow around a knot in my throat and choose to ignore his questions. “Thank you for taking us in.”
“You aren’t foster animals.”
I grin, my heart swelling.
“I want you to promise me something,” he says.
“What’s that?”
He stops by the shower and takes a breath. When he speaks, his words are soft yet serious. “Promise me you won’t worry—about anything—for the next six months.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“Promise me. We’ll be married. Your problems will be mine, and there can be no secrets between us.”
“I’ll try.” I exhale and smile through it, though it’s wobbly. “I know you have the bet to win, but I also understand that you’re the one being put out by all of this. We’re invading your home. I’m inserting myself into your personal life. I didn’t really think too much about it before I blurted out to Tate that we were getting married like it was a foregone conclusion. That probably makes me a bad person.”
A flash of irritation sweeps across his face. “You are absolutely not a bad person.”
I shrug because I’m not so sure. “Either way, I want you to know that I see your sacrifices, and I know you’re choosing to make them, and I appreciate you. More than you will ever know.”
We exchange a grin.
“And I want you to know that I respect the hell out of you for trying to juggle all of this on your own—even though it irritates me,” he says. “And marrying you might seem crazy to some people, but it makes sense to me. Just remember that I make deliberate decisions. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to.”
I stand, my hands shaking. I need to say this—I need to be clear.
“Marriage isn’t a big deal to me because I don’t put a lot of value on it,” I say. “For reasons I don’t want to discuss, it’s not sacred in my world. But I realize it might be for you. Marrying me might stain something that matters to you, and I need you to know I don’t want you to do that. Not for me—even if you want to.”
My words are uneven, filled with fear that he’ll back out. Maybe he got caught up in the moment, in the stress of Tate’s shenanigans, and agreed too easily. And, because he’s my friend, maybe he can’t backtrack without fear of hurting me—something I know he’d never do.
My heart pounds as he cuts the distance between us. He stands directly in front of me, peering down, with energy rippling off him so hard that it steals my breath.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” he says, focusing on my lips. “And I don’t want to be questioned about it again.”
I gasp a quick breath as his gaze crashes into mine.
“Do you want to be my wife? Is this really what you want?” He licks his lips, hesitating. “Because marriage is a big deal to me, even if this one has special circumstances. But I will expect complete exclusivity. I will be your husband—and I will take that honor seriously. You need to understand that. This is going to be very real to me.”