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Worse, I let myself imagine how it would feel to know this was just the first night in an endless arrangement of nights. Just one night of fun and happiness that would eventually become part of our history. It’d be our sweet, sappy story we’d tell with nostalgic smiles over dinner and glasses of wine. We’d make our kids fake gag as we alluded to the wedding night that was to follow—to the honeymoon and the way our love had blossomed.
Chris had stopped spinning me and pulled me into a slow dance, I realized. I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t even noticed the music shifted to “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.”
I smiled up at Chris a little ruefully. “The song every woman dreams of dancing to at her wedding rehearsal.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked.
Our chests were pressed together, and his deep voice rumbled into me. It felt comforting and strange.
“Everyone is watching us,” I whispered. I’d leaned in to rest my cheek on his chest, partly because I was tired from dancing. But once I’d found myself there, I didn’t want to move.
“We’re quite the sight, I imagine,” he said softly, still moving me in a slow, peaceful circle as the music trickled through the room. “Me, handsome and tight-assed. You, sexy as hell with that thick ass and—”
I tilted my head up, shutting him up with a dry look. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it.”
Yes, I kind of did. “Just shut up and let me have my moment.”
For once, Chris went quiet, and I spent the rest of the night walking through the twilight hours of my fantasy. The fantasy I knew I’d be too scared to reach out and grab. The fantasy that was too good to be within reach, so I knew I’d watch it flitter by and spend the rest of my life wondering if I could’ve actually had it.
But at least I’d have tonight.36ChrisBelle wasn’t on the verge of passing out from being drunk as I shouldered the door to our room open and half-carried her inside. She was just that sleepy, and it was fucking adorable. She had yawned about twenty times in the last minute, and she took two faltering steps toward the bed before collapsing face first.
I admired her ass and the outline of her thong through the silky purple dress she was wearing—because you didn’t just jog through the Louvre without at least paying your proper respects to the artwork on display. Then I went over to her and rolled her to face upright. I tugged off her shoes carefully and then repositioned her so she was on the pillow and under the blankets.
“I’ll be happy to undress you if you want to sleep in the nude,” I whispered.
“That’s okay, Big Boy,” she murmured, eyes already closed. “Mama’s tired.”
I raised my eyebrows, then covered my laughter with my fist. Apparently, sleepy Belle had just as much of a tendency toward kinky and wild as drunken Belle. Was there a single surprise about the woman I didn’t like?
I felt a little ridiculous doing it, but I kicked off my shoes and sprawled out on the couch across from the bed. Belle and I had slept together numerous times, but I felt strange tonight. Part of me felt like we’d had a real moment at the rehearsal, and I hoped that wasn’t just my brain seeking the truth it wanted. I could still feel the comfortable weight of her head against my chest as we danced. I could remember the smell of her shampoo like fruity strawberries drifting up to my nose.
I’d realized regardless of our deal or any silly arrangement we’d made, this was her wedding. She was a woman, and like most women, she’d probably dreamed about this day for her whole life. And I was the bastard who’d cornered her into selling that moment to me and my Satan-spawn of a brother.
Last night she let herself enjoy the moment, and that was when I knew what I needed to do. I was going to make sure she got the wedding of her dreams—the groom of her dreams. Okay, maybe that was over-promising. But I was at least going to make sure I didn’t fuck up tomorrow.
I had no idea if Belle was remotely on the same page as me. I’d gone from wondering if maybe I wanted this thing to last to feeling existential dread at the idea of it ending. I’d say I had gone head over heels for her, except I never understood that phrase. I mean, wasn’t my head typically over my heels? Wouldn’t it be heels over head if I was supposed to be falling for her?
Questions like that were above my paygrade, but I knew one thing.
Tomorrow, I was marrying the woman I loved.
I just didn’t know how long I’d get to keep her.
