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I’m scared that he’ll walk away with ease as I fight to forget him.
But I can’t think like that. He wants to see where this goes, which is more than I ever thought I’d get from him, so maybe my daydreams aren’t so far-fetched. The obsessive way he is over the ring on my finger certainly speaks volumes, even if his tongue hasn’t caught up yet.
I’m caught up in my own head when a gentle knock sounds on the door followed by Meghan’s soft voice, “Alex? Are you okay in there?”
Probably not.
“I’m fine. Just coming out now,” I say, as I pull the door open.
A collective gasp sounds as I strut into the seating area, my thoughts from earlier buried deep inside.
“I knew it was the one for you as soon as I saw it on the hanger.” Meghan beams, a smug smile on her face as she follows behind me.
Savannah rolls her eyes before walking to me with a beautiful pair of royal blue shoes in her hand. They have a big bow on the back and add the perfect amount of statement to the minimalist look.
“We couldn’t have you not wear something blue, like that old rhyme.” Her smile is almost sly as she bends to help me slip on the heels.
“I’m only putting them on because they’re beautiful. I don’t need to follow some stupid tradition for a fake wedding photoshoot. In fact, you guys really need to think of it like that. It’s a photoshoot, nothing more.”
I move to the mirror and turn from side to side as I look at the dress. Truthfully, it’s probably more something I’d wear for a night out than my wedding. I know Sebastian said to make it my dream wedding, but I do still have some hopes that one day I’ll get married.
One can only hope it’s to him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex
The bass pounds in Passion and I scream-sing along toBreak My Soulby Beyoncé. When we got to my place, Ben was waiting for us, and we hit the town as a foursome. Meghan and Savannah have disappeared someplace, and Ben, well, Ben found a guy hours ago and hasn’t been seen since.
I’ve been content to just dance by myself. The alcohol still flows through me, and any anxiety I’ve had over this fake wedding thing is long forgotten. When the track changes over, my hips swing to the beat as I close my eyes and block out everything but the music.
Dancing is my therapy. No matter what’s going on, if I can dance, I’m happy. I can get lost in the music, moving my body to the rhythm of whatever’s playing.
My eyes look up to the privacy glass of his office, and even though I can’t see him, I feel his eyes on me. Ever since I walked in, I’ve felt him.
Before I know what I’m doing, my feet carry me through the club and up the stairs to his office. Nobody stops me.
Not bothering to knock, I walk into his office to find him leaning against the glass, his hands stuffed in his pockets and the sleeves of his sweater pushed up his forearms.
When he approaches me, I look up into his bluey-green gaze, getting lost in their depths. In my tipsy state, I can’t help but mess with him. “Hello, husband.”
I expect him to shut me out, but his nostrils flare, and not in anger. No. I think my soon-to-be fake husband likes the title.
That’s interesting.
Bastian wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest, a hand possessively resting just above the curve of my ass. I clutch onto the soft fabric of his sweater as I breathe in a breath of his woodsy cologne.
God, I’ve missed him.
“Princess, did you miss me?” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
I turn my head, my lips less than an inch away from his. Did he read my mind or have I lost my ability to hide my thoughts around him? My eyes flick between his heated gaze and parted lips.
“Always, husband.”
He growls, capturing my lips in a punishing kiss. His tongue demands entry into my mouth and I give it willingly, my tongue tangling with his.
He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on mine as he rasps out, “I need you, now.”
