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They’d make a fitting couple.
Francesca chewed on a lock of her hair. “My mom was in my room. I’d seen her from the garden, and we talked for a while.”
Pause.
“My dad is cheating on her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
I was.
Not for her parents. Her mother let me take her daughter away. But for Francesca herself, who had to deal with the fall of her family over a period of a few short weeks.
“Thank you.”
There was no trace of hostility in Francesca’s voice. God, she was sweet, and she was all mine. Not just her body but also her words and her courage.
I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my future wife’s pussy was going to be on my daily menu from this day forward.
I put my glass on her nightstand and turned around to her, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
“Go eat your dinner, Nem.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She shifted and winced. She was still sore all over, and I made a mental note to have Sterling provide her with a new warm washcloth every night for the next week.
“You can’t look famished at the wedding,” I retorted.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “What’s for dinner?”
I was still sitting naked next to her, ignoring the vulnerability of my position. Intimacy was too awkward for my liking.
“Prime rib and sautéed asparagus.”
She scrunched her nose. “I think I’ll pass.”
Such a teenager.
“What do you feel like eating?”
“I don’t know, waffles? I don’t normally crave sweet things, but I’ve had the worst day.”
My nostrils flared.
I was such a piece of shit to her.
“Diner down the road serves them. Thick and fluffy. Come on. We could use the fresh air.”
“It’s eleven o’clock.” She shifted her gaze to her wristwatch, her teeth sinking to her lower lip with unease.
“It’s open twenty-four hours.”
“Uhm. Okay. Together?”
I grazed her chin. Again. “Yes. Together.”
“You don’t strike me as a waffle-eating man.”
