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She’s my wife for real. She’s my wife in a way Robin never would have been.
With Dara, the spark is real, and it burns through me in waves.
Finally, we break off the kiss. I hold her against my chest, hugging her tight. “I want it too, by the way,” she says, looking up into my eyes, smiling huge. “I’ve been wanting it. I just—I didn’t know how to say it.”
“I didn’t either, but this is right, isn’t it? I know how I feel when I’m with you, and it feels good. Better than I’ve ever felt.”
“I’m the same way. This has got to be the luckiest fake marriage imaginable, right? To actually like each other?”
“More than like, love,” I say, touching her lips with mine.
“More than like,” she echoes.
I hold her tight, my wife, feeling a rush of joy I’ve never experienced before.
Chapter37
Dara
Isit at the kitchen island feeling floaty and happy as Finn cooks breakfast. I sip some coffee—just a little bit—and watch him work, smiling to myself.
I can’t help but reflect back on the last few days, how we’ve gone from in lust to something more, how he’s opened up to me in ways I never imagined he could, and I’ve embraced being his wife like it’s the role I’ve always wanted to play.
This fits. It feels right. Sitting here in the kitchen while he hums to himself, staring at his sexy arms, at the way his t-shirt clings to his muscular chest, at his arms and his shoulders, trying to imagine a better life—and failing, because there is nothing better for me now.
For so long, I was afraid to domore, but Finn made me want in ways I never dreamed of.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, passing me a plate of pancakes with a side of bacon, as requested. For some reason I’ve been craving both and today seems to be a lull in my morning sickness. “You’re staring at me like I’m about to implode.”
“I was just thinking, that’s all. Still amazed that a gangster knows his way around a kitchen.”
“I’m a mobster, not an animal. Besides, it’s just pancakes and bacon.” He walks around the island and kisses me. “What do you think? Would you like it if we made this a weekend morning tradition?”
“Absolutely,” I say, grinning at him. “I’d love it if my attractive husband made me food, although it’d be nice if you could wear something a little skimpier next time.”
“How dare you. I’m not an object for your sexual gratification.”
“Aw, honey, don’t be cross.” I pinch his rock-hard butt. “You’re a sweetie.”
He laughs, tugging my hair gently and burying my mouth with his. I hold that kiss, beaming inwardly, loving his attention and his taste, loving that this man is mine—he’s all mine—and I’m all his.
He says, “Just think, the senate’s voting later, and once that’s over, we can stop worrying so much about everything.” He sits down next to me, leaning his elbows on the table. “My father will be pacified and we can focus on getting ready for the baby.”
“Speaking of which, we should turn that spare bedroom into a nursery.” I raise my eyebrows. “Unless you had other plans?”
“Already ahead of you. I contacted my interior designer, and she agreed to get started right away.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you serious? I think we can handle decorating for our own child.”
“If that’s what you want.” He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter to him. “I want to make your life as easy as possible.”
“There’s easy and then there’s absurd. I’ll handle the room.”
He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “Yes, love.”
I catch him before he can move back. “Say that again.”
“Love,” he whispers, kissing me slowly and deeply.
