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I narrow my eyes. “Why doesn’t that feel like the full story?”
And in a rare body swap, Émile runs his fingers over my bedspread, following the design, nerves displayed on his face. “I wanted to get it over with.”
“What?”
“The picture. It’s just … I had this revelation tonight that I’m as much a part of the problem as my family is and I wanted to change that. To distance myself. And sure, a photo doesn’t sound like much, but to them it’ll be catastrophic. They’ve been ice cold toward me since the proposal, and this will be another way I’m throwing tradition in their faces. But I want to do it. And I’m scared if I don’t do it while I’m sure, that I might come up with a thousand excuses why I shouldn’t.”
“Fuck. Moments like this make me kinda glad I don’t have to worry about family.” We both know that’s a total lie, but neither of us deserve what our families have put us through. I roll over to switch on my lamp. “Let’s do it now then.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” I shuffle back until I’m sitting up against the headboard. This is probably the last thing I wanna be doing, but oh well. It’s either this or some stuffy photoshoot, and I don’t think I’d be able to get through something like that without dying from suffocating propriety. Or accidentally tripping, falling, and ending up with a dick pic splashed all over TMZ.
Émile wriggles up beside me and I wrap an arm around his warm back. We’re both shirtless and I know from the way he’s leaning heavily into my side that he’s trying to soak up as much skin and body heat as I am.
He lifts his phone and I only have a second to figure out how to do this. My hand awkwardly hovering in mid-air wouldn’t be a great display of the ring. Instead, I set my hand on his bare chest, then turn my head, pressing my face to his cheek and trying for the brightest smile I can manage. Sitting here, with him in my arms, his ring on my finger, makes finding that smile a million times easier.
Émile takes the shot.
Then he laughs when he pulls it up to inspect. “Wow, you must be great at what you do. You look half in love with me.”
“Gotta pull off the act somehow.” The words feel empty.
I watch his face for any sign of doubt as he uploads the photo and types out a few words. “You good with this?” he asks.
“Course.”
“Okay.” He hits post, then turns his phone off. I still haven’t let him go. “All done.”
“Yeah.”
Émile tilts his head to meet my eye. “You okay there?”
“Just fucking peachy. I’ve always wanted a fiancé I’m not even allowed to touch.”
“You can touch me any time you like. But I understand why you won’t.”
“Maybe … maybe once it’s all over—”
“Maybe.”
We watch each other for a moment before Émile leans in and brushes a soft kiss against my lips this time. “Go to sleep, love. We’ll worry about the rest in the morning.”
Chapter 19
Émile
“Christian McCaully Kilpatrick!”
I jolt awake at the sudden shout, and Christian shoots upright as his door flies open. An elderly lady stands there, gripping her cane, dark eyes narrowed on the two of us.
“So it’s true? The dearest of all my babies trying to break my heart by not even telling me he has a man and got engaged …”
I’m trying to keep up with what she’s saying, but I’m so lost. That isn’t Christian’s mom, or grandmother, so … who the hell is she?
Christian groans. “Auntie Agatha, this is my, uh—”
“Fiancé,” I happily help out.
