Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I enjoy it. Dig in.”
He sits down next to me, and we both fill our plates. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and then he asks, “Did you sleep well?”
For the first time since we sat down, I really look at him and notice the redness of his eyes. He looks tired, and I wonder how he slept. “I didn’t really sleep much. I feel like I tossed and turned most of the night.”
He grips his fork a little tighter. “Was the bed uncomfortable? Or were you just worried about… things?”
“The bed was fine.” Instead of answering his other question, I ask him, “What about you? Did you sleep okay?”
He groans and runs his hand through his beard. “I didn’t sleep well at all. I was worried about you.”
The sincerity on his face has me reaching for him. I touch his hand, and instantly he turns it and wraps his fingers around mine. “I’m fine. I don’t regret last night. If anything, I’m glad it happened the way it did. I wouldn’t want a big wedding with everyone looking and talking about me. I’m ready to move on and get on with our lives. I didn’t sleep well because I felt bad… it was your wedding night—”
He interrupts me. “Our wedding night.”
“Right. Our wedding night, and well, I’m sure you expected things to be different than sleeping in separate beds and—”
He cuts me off, leaning toward me. “Nope, I’m not expecting anything. You have my ring on your finger. The rest will fall into place. I told you I’m a patient man.”
Damn, he’s so handsome, and he knows all the right things to say to calm me and make it all right. “Okay.”
He nods. “Okay.” And then we continue to eat while he holds my hand.
It should feel weird or out of the ordinary, but it doesn’t. All I can think is how it calms me that he’s touching me the way he is.
“When’s your next photo shoot?”
“The end of next week. My agent is working out the details. She wasn’t happy with the photographer they had lined up, so I’m not sure if it’s going to happen or not.”
“Why not?”
I take a sip of my coffee and then scrunch my nose up. Just thinking of Axle puts a bad taste in my mouth. “The photographer is known for being handsy and inappropriate. My agent knows I don’t do well with that.”
“Who is it?”
“My agent?”
“No, the photographer.”
He’s stopped eating and has turned to me fully. I set my mug down and give him my full attention. “Why?”
His jaw tightens. “Because I wanna know. What’s his name?”
My eyebrows raise. “I’m not telling you.”
“Haven Beckett,” he says, and I both get a thrill and am surprised. It’s the first time I’ve heard my name said with my new last name.
I shake my finger at him. “Oh no, you think you’re going to win me over by calling me that, but I’m still not telling you.”
He shrugs. “I’ll handle it.”
My mouth falls open. “You’ll handle it? You absolutely will not. No way.”
“You’re my wife, Haven.”
I lift my hand up and hold it out to him. The rings he put on my finger last night are huge, and anyone within fifty feet would notice them. “Trust me, I know I am. This rock you gave me is hard to miss.”
“You don’t like it?” he says worriedly.
“I love it. It’s big, and you spent too much money, but I love it. That’s not the point. I know I’m your wife, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to ‘handle things.’ I can take care of it.”
He lets go of my hand, and before I can miss his touch, he grabs the seat of the chair I’m sitting in and pulls me so that I’m right next to him. I suck in a breath at the closeness, but it’s not because of panic or not wanting to be touched; it’s because I’m anticipating it. He leans toward me until our lips are mere inches apart. “No man is going to get handsy with you, Haven. You’re my wife. Mine.”
I reach up and cup his jaw in my hand. It softens under my touch, but I can still see the determination on his face. “I know you want to throw your name around and take care of this for me, but I need you to let it go. If he stays on as the photographer, I can cancel the job. It’s in my contract.”
He wants to argue with me, but he surprises me with his request. “You’re not going to quit a job because some man doesn’t know boundaries. If he’s the photographer, you let me go with you.”
“Go with me?” I ask, shocked.
“Yes.”
The fact that he wants to do this for me sends me into a tailspin. I keep reminding myself why we’re doing this, and it’s supposed to be fake, but why is it all starting to feel real?