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“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy in love.” He grins and kisses my cheek, then he lets me go and smacks my ass. “Go pee if you need to, but don’t bother with the text.” He rolls over, grabbing his phone off the nightstand on his side. “Breakfast will be served here in the next ten minutes, so we should probably go downstairs. You want a robe or an outfit?”
“An outfit, I guess. Will your family be down there? I don’t want your family to see me barely dressed.”
“Your future in-laws will be eating with us, yes.”
I shoot him a look over my shoulder as I roll out of bed and stand, but he’s too busy looking at my ass and the rest of my naked body to notice. “We’re not getting married,” I tell him.
“We’ll see.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Sophie
When Silvan first follows me into the bathroom, I am annoyed.
He snatches my purse off the sink and takes it with him to the walk-in closet, but he’s still far too close for comfort. The toilet is in its own little room with a door that closes so I’m at least allowed some privacy for that, but as soon as I emerge from the toilet room, I’m aware of Silvan in the closet.
I wash my hands and keep an eye on the mirror. By the time I’m drying my hands on the hand towel, he emerges.
My tummy flutters at the sight of him. He’s still got messy bedhead, but he’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a forest green button-down shirt with the top couple of buttons undone.
He hands me two shopping bags. I put them down on the counter and open the first one. There’s a black pencil skirt and a soft off-the-shoulder sweater the same shade of green as his shirt. The fabric feels incredible to the touch, and I find myself eager to put it on.
Stepping to the left, I open the second bag so I can pull out a bra and panties, but all I find is a black Yves Saint Laurent purse with gold accents and a shoebox. I pull out the shoebox and peek inside to see a stylish pair of black kitten heels. Still a little higher than I prefer, but I’m relieved it’s a low heel and not a high one.
Glancing over at him, I say, “You didn’t give me a bra or panties.”
He wets his hairbrush, then starts pulling it through his long dark hair. His lips tug up, but he doesn’t look at me. “Damn.”
My eyes widen. “I can’t wear the panties I came in! You… soiled them.”
“Guess you’ll have to go without.”
“And I need a bra. Mine has pink straps. You really need a strapless bra for a shirt like this.”
“If you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll take you shopping later and you can pick out whatever you need.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You want me to go downstairs right now and face your father with my nipples poking through my shirt?”
He puts the brush down on the counter. “You don’t have to worry about him looking. He only has eyes for my mom.” His gaze shifts in my direction. “I’llbe the one looking at you, and I quite like your nipples.”
I hesitate for a moment, but I guess I don’t have a better option.
I’m self-conscious about going panty-less around his parents, but at least the pencil skirt is long enough that I don’t have to worry about anyone seeing. Only he and I will know I’m not wearing panties.
I pull on the soft green sweater and try not to be too self-conscious about going braless. I did tell them I was here against my will and they didn’t help, so if they have a problem with my inappropriate breakfast attire… well, they’ll just have to deal with it.
I shouldn’t care what they think of me, anyway. Usually, I want to make a good impression on people though, and eventhough he’s nuts, Silvan talking about them as my future in-laws bolsters the desire to make a good impression.
I have to remind myself it’s not real, that they’re definitely not my future in-laws. If anything, they’re accomplices in my kidnapping, though I figure they must have taken what I said last night as a joke since they let Silvan haul me up to his room and never even tried to come help.
If they had believed me, surely they would have helped.
When I’m done brushing my hair, Silvan says, “Ready to go meet the in-laws?”
I shake my head, setting the brush down and giving myself a once-over to make sure I’m as prepared as I can be without all my stuff. “They are not my in-laws,” I say, more to remind myself than him. “I am not your wife.”
