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“Make the little money-grubber sign a damn agreement.”
“Her name is Zoe,” Christian snarled, all the posturing of the without-a-care-drunk fled.
“I’ll have the documents emailed to you in less than two hours. Lucky for you, the State of Nevada considers postnuptial agreements valid.” His father ended their call before he could.
God, he hated when the old man got the last word.
He heard a sniff and turned to find Zoe looking at him with tears in her eyes.
“How much did you hear?” he asked, wary of her answer. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t serious about her or them.
“Was that your dad?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
To his surprise she wrapped her arms around him.
He kissed the top of her head. “Mad Vlad is what Sebastian and I used to call him behind his back.” He heard her laugh, but it sounded hallow. He leaned back to get a good look at her. “Are those happy or sad tears?”
“Both,” Zoe replied, not saying anything more. She couldn’t tell him that half her family thought she was stupid. That they were disappointed in her for marrying someone like him. It didn’t matter that Melanie and Evangeline supported her. Or that Heath said he’d knit Christian a hat to match hers. Her own mother was threatening to disown her, right after she called an emergency prayer circle. There was no way she would hurt her husband’s feelings by sharing their opinions of him. He received enough rejection from his own family.
She allowed him to guide her to a nearby chair and pull her into his lap.
“I put Baxter’s memory sticks in the safe. You can take them home with you tomorrow,” he said, his expression serious.
“Thank you.”
They laced their fingers together, his conspicuously missing a ring.
“I have to buy you a wedding band.” In her love stupor last night, she’d failed to think of anything beyond ‘I’m getting married to my dream lover’. She hadn’t meant to get drunk while they were waiting, but she had been so nervous. So sure Ashton Kutcher would show up with a new Punk’d crew to tell her it was all just a joke. The champagne had helped steady her nerves.
“Somehow the thought of making love to a married woman seems very scandalous for me,” he teased, making her swat at his arm. He raked a hand through his blonde hair. It gleamed in the setting sun, pale golds, dark ambers and wheat strands. “Actually, it’s because it’s you and you’re my wife.” He gave her a side glance. “I think that’s how I’ll refer to you from now. Wife or Mrs. Romanov.”
Her heart sped up, until it was beating against her chest like hummingbird wings. She loved the titles. “While I’ll call you Mr. Zoe Ambrose or Zoe Ambrose’s husband.”
He gave her a bone melting smile. “Ah, yes, I suspect you’re more famous than I in literary circles. Tell me, love, will your brainy friends welcome me into their fold? Or will they sip serious drinks, give me serious frowns and try to school me on how movie adaptations are bastardizing novels.”
Christian was insanely funny, completely sweet and… entirely unlike his persona. Heck, he was entirely unlike the asshat he’d been at the airport last week. Had it really been only a week? It seemed as if a lifetime had passed, but now everything was in fast forward.
“What has caused that most serious frown?”
“I like you better now,” she blurted, inadequately prepared at explaining what she meant. “Now who’s seriously frowning? But what I mean is that you are totally a different person than almost a week ago and...”
“You’re wondering if it’s an act, if you’ve made the right decision, if you’re willing to go against what your family thinks of our rather hasty decision.” He gave her a knowing look. “Shall I go on?”
“You’re doing a better job at explaining me than I am.” The antique diamond ring sparkled and flashed in sun.
“Oh, for the love of God,” came Sasha’s voice through the open door and then the he graced them with his awesomeness. Or at least that’s what he said as he walked out on the balcony. His moss-colored eyes assessed them both, but settled on her. And narrowed.
This couldn’t be good.
“You’re wearing that to my party?”
His party? She looked down at the ankle length skirt and peasant top she was wearing. It had not been a part of her gift from her aunt. It had been a part of her retail therapy purchase.
“What’s the matter with it?”
Sasha grabbed the hem and shook it. Tinkling bells sounded.
“I thought I heard something.” Christian’s eyes were riveted on the bells, too. “I like it.”
“You would.” Sasha turned to her. “Do your clothes normally give out your location?”
“Some.” More like a lot. But the face Sasha sported made her keep that little tidbit to herself.
“You’re in for it now.”
Sasha grabbed her hand, pulling her after him.
“Where are we going?” She glanced over her shoulder. Christian trailed behind them.
“Don’t change too much, eh? I like her as is.” Christian headed to the elevators.
She gaped at him. “You’re leaving?”
“I have another meeting with Peak,” Christian stopped at the doors, his brows creasing together. “Maybe I should cancel and stay here.”
“Don’t worry, Laurie. I’ll keep Meg as pure as Bella Swan on her wedding night.” Sasha guided her to the second master bedroom.
“I cannot believe you just referred to Little Women and Twilight in the same sentence.”
“Sacrilege, I know.” He stopped suddenly, then stepped to the side, revealing racks of clothes, shoes and displays of jewelry. A man and two women smiled at her.
Wide-eyed, she looked up at him. “Is this for me?”
“So your husband says.” Sasha walked around her, his hands behind his back. “I’d say you’re a size eight, yes?”
More like a ten, but hey, who was she to argue?
He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something foul. “A shame we can’t stretch you out. It’s all in the way the dress lays, you know.”
“I’m done,” she snapped, tired of his insults. No amount of potential fun make-over was worth this humiliation. She walked away, heading for the door. She’d find her own clothes to wear.
“I’m sorry, please come back, Amber…rose” he said, but to her it was as if he had shouted the words.
