I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Okay, then.” Baylee blows out a long breath. “Okay.” After a few more seconds, she adds, “I’m good now.”
We chat for a few more minutes about logistical stuff—how I’m going to move in with Libby when I get back until we go to Denver, Baylee insisting she’ll pay me rent for the house, me negotiating her down in price since I don’t need it. Libby’s already paying me a generous salary, and on top of that, she’s insisting on covering all our household expenses and even extra money being sent to my account for when I pick up groceries or takeout or whatever.
When we hang up, I head upstairs to check in with Libby. We’re calling the rest of our family together since we’re telling them the story about us meeting six months ago and secretly dating all this time. Baylee is the only one who’ll know the truth besides us. And whatever lawyer Libby had draw up our contracts.
The master bedroom door is slightly ajar when I get upstairs. I tap on it lightly. “Libby?” There’s no answer. A few steps in, I see why. She’s changed into sweats and a tank top, but she’s sprawled across the bed, sound asleep.
Neither of us got much sleep on the plane. We got a few hours at the hotel, but then we had to come here to get ready for the wedding. Her hair is loose around her, spilling over her shoulders and several strands lying over her face. I want to push them aside, but it will wake her. The words from my vows float around me as I stare at her.To have and to hold—to cherish…
I want to slide in next to her and hold her against me. I settlefor taking a light blanket from the end of the bed and draping it over her before I leave the room, go downstairs, and crash on the couch. There’s a perfectly nice bed in the second bedroom upstairs, but Libby’s right that it will look strange to draw the blinds in there when we’re supposedly sleeping together in the master, and if the reporters have caught wind of this, we don’t need a grainy picture of me sleeping alone in the guest bedroom less than an hour after we said our vows.
The couch is fortunately very soft, and I’m tired enough that it doesn’t matter. I’m sound asleep in minutes.
CHAPTER 9
LIBBY
The house smells like tomato sauce and bread when I wake up. “Mmmmm,” I moan to myself as I stretch. It’s amazing. I shouldn’t like it so much that Jordan has anticipated my need for carbs stat after an overnight flight and an elopement. It’s making me like him too much, and I can’t fall for my husband.
I can’t think about that kiss after we were pronounced man and wife. How gentle he was. How much I wanted to keep kissing him.
How relieved I was when we pulled away, because the fact that I’m starting to like Jordan romantically scares me.
My mind drifts to the way he hugged me after the ceremony and how good it felt to be in his arms, like everything would be okay. I can’t trust that feeling will last, though. I barely know Jordan, and there could be a skeleton lurking in his closet to jump out at me at any moment.
I pull on a lightweight zip-up hoodie over my tank top and head downstairs. “Whatever you ordered, it smells delicious,” I say as I round the corner into the kitchen.
Jordan turns to me from where he’s working at one of the counters. “Groceries,” he says with a smirk. “Homemade pizza.”He gestures to a small pan on the island with a pizza that looks gourmet.
“You’re joking,” I murmur, taking a seat and then leaning over to inspect it closer. The crust is perfectly golden brown, and he’s used plenty of mozzarella over all kinds of toppings. The mozzarella also looks like it’s fresh.
“None of the women in my life trust me right now,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling as he slides another pan into the oven.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Your sister didn’t believe you’re married?”
“Had to text her a picture of the marriage license.” He moves to the sink to wash his hands. He’s still wearing the dress shirt from our wedding earlier, and guilt pricks at me. All of our luggage was taken upstairs to the master bedroom this morning. He couldn’t come in and change while I was sleeping.
He has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and I stare as he scrubs at his muscled forearms. Honestly, there are plenty of homely-looking hockey players with missing teeth, and I ended up with the sexiest man in pro hockey as my husband? I should have thought this through.
Of course, when I hired Jordan, I never dreamed I’d end up marrying him.
Well, maybe I dreamed it a little, but that was the very silly daydreams of a normal woman who has eyes.
“That one is all veggies,” he says, drying his hands, and I snap myself out of the trance. “Onions, peppers, roasted garlic, tomatoes, spinach, and a little bit of feta mixed in with the mozzarella.”
“You made this?” I eye him in disbelief as he picks up a pizza cutter and starts slicing.
He gives me a look. “This marriage will turn out a lot better if you assume I’m telling the truth.”
Heat dumps into my cheeks. “I’m sorry … I…”
He waves a hand. “I know the types of guys you probablyrun into all the time because of your job. I get it.” He smiles gently. “But I promise I’m not like them.”
They all promise they’re not like that. They can be as soft and gentle as Jordan is now, as easy to believe.
And then the next minute they’re someone totally different. It’s not just something I saw day in and day out at my firm—it’s something I lived. Grayson went from a doting, charming guy to controlling and manipulative in a blink.
