Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Charlee-Mae couldn't help beaming even though she was completely naked under the sheets. "Good morning." It was her first time to hear someone address her as Philippe's wife, and she loved it. No more Cha-Cha or Charlee-Mae! From now on, she wanted only to be known as Mrs. DeRose, for ever and ever!
"Good morning." Philippe's tone was stiff, just as the rest of him was. He could not remember having moved so fast in his life, but what stunned him more was how such a thing had happened in the first place. He had fucked literally countless women in the past two decades, but not once had he ever been put in a situation where anyone could have caught him in flagrante delicto.
The only thing that made today different from all the other times he had sex was his wife...and that was definitely a problem.
His brooding gaze swung back to his wife, who remained under the covers while she answered Nurse Stella's questions in a voice that was still slightly breathless, and fuck, fuck, fuck—-
The sound of it made him harder under his pants, and Philippe had to clench and unclench his fists in an effort to control himself.
"That's it then," Nurse Stella said cheerfully. "I'll be back in perhaps two...no, actually, I think I'll just come back after lunch."
"Thank you."
"Merci."
Nurse Stella smiled at the couple, and on her way out, she bent down to pick up a discarded towel off the floor and made sure to discreetly lock the door before seeing herself out.
Charlee-Mae burst into laughter. "Oh my God." They clearly hadn't fooled Nurse Stella at all, and when she looked up at her husband—-
The faint grimace on his beautiful face was too precious by half, and she automatically thought of reaching for her phone to take a photo—-oh!
Philippe immediately saw the way Charlee-Mae's forehead start to furrow. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"I just remembered I don't have my phone."
"I am sorry to say that the old one is irreparable, but your replacement unit should be with you tomorrow at the latest." This was a lie, of course, but his I.T. team needed another half day at least to complete their tasks.
"I see..."
"If you're thinking of calling your parents, they're still in a couples' retreat that doesn't allow for outside communication. I thought I would let you decide if you wish them to know about your accident—-"
"I'd rather not, to be honest. I love my parents, but they can be a bit over the top." She looked at him curiously. "Have you met them yet?"
"Non. They had already left for their retreat when we met." He paused. "Is there anyone else you'd like to call?"
"My sister-in-law," his wife said right away. "Just like you have Greta," she added with a smile, "I have Charlotte."
"Is that so?" Philippe's courteous tone effectively masked his discomfort. If Charlee-Mae hadn't lost her memories, she would've known it wasn't like that at all. She would've been aware that Greta was not just his sister-in-law but his mistress as well.
But because she had lost her memories—-
Just hearing her say Greta's name already felt as if he was doing her a disservice, and so...
Philippe's jaw clenched as he came into a decision.
For as long as Charlee-Mae thought their marriage real, his honor required him to act similarly. And that was all there was to this, Philippe told himself forcefully. A matter of honor—-
"Philippe?"
Merde.
He saw Charlee-Mae looking at him questioningly, and he realized he had been too busy thinking of Greta that he had missed whatever it was his wife said.
"Je suis désolé," he apologized. "I have much in my mind—-"
"Because of work?"
Her words gave him the excuse he needed, and he took it without hesitation. "We are just busy with last-minute adjustments, but do not concern yourself about it. I will not let myself be distracted again—-
Charlee-Mae shook her head. "There's no need to apologize, and there's certainly no need to treat me like an invalid you need to look after. I only lost my memory," she reminded him, "and aside from this stupid head wound, and a few scratches here and there, nothing's really wrong with me."
"That stupid head wound," he said dryly, "required twenty-four stitches."
"Stitches," she emphasized, "not brain surgery."
His lips suddenly twitched, and Charlee-Mae's breath caught. How was it that her husband managed to look a thousand times hotter every time he had even the barest hint of a smile on his oh-so-lovely lips?
"What exactly are we arguing about here?"
His teasing words made her realize she hadn't an answer to that either, and she could only shake her head with a rueful smile. "No idea either."
"Then let's talk about something else, oui?"
His wife's expression brightened. "I'd love to know more about your launch, if that's okay?"
"Bien sûr, ma femme. We are in the winemaking business—-"