Page 100 of One Wealthy Wedding

“But?” There’s more to this story.

“I’m not the one people want things to last with.”

The ache grows, making it hard to breathe. “Theo.”

“I’m happy with my life,” he says. “I have it all. A big house, more cars than I can ever drive, more money than I could ever spend. Women want me, men want to be me.” He shrugs. “And I have a huge dick.”

I frown at him. “There’s more to life than a huge dick.”

“Who told you that?” he asks, feigning shock.

I laugh despite myself, but it’s tinged with sadness.

“What makes you think I’d be a good husband, anyway?”

“Not your dick size, that’s for sure,” I mutter, and he laughs, deep and surprised. “You’re just surprisingly domestic, that’s all. The cooking. Getting a cake. Caring for your mom.”

“So you’re impressed?” he asks.

“You have a big ego, Theo. You don’t need me to stroke it.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s big. And I definitely want you to stroke it.” He wags his brows.

I choke a laugh, even as an animal part of my brain takes interest in stroking it.

“You’re the worst.” I turn on my side and pillow my head on my hands. “But yes, I was impressed. I don’t even know how to boil water.”

“I’ll teach you. Next weekend. I have a lot of stuff going on this week.”

“Corporate scheming?”

He nods. “That, and Cole has a game. You and I need to go to dinner with a group of investors from Luxembourg. Brush up on your French, okay?”

“Do you speak French?”

“Bien sur. Ca fait cinq ans que je parle Français. Et toi, non? Catherine, mon chou, pourquoi?” He gives me a smug smile as my mouth drops open.

“And Italian, too?”

“And German and Spanish.”

“How did you learn?”

“I taught myself.” He yawns. “You think my mom is asleep yet?”

“Let’s check.”

He rises off the chair and gives me a hand. And good thing, because I’m a little stunned. When did Theo become this person? This man who knows how to cook and taught himself four languages. While you weren’t speaking. I hate that I missed it. My friend grew up and left me behind.

Don’t fall for him, Cat. I trail him through the mansion, my chest aching with wanting Theo.

His mom is sitting in the kitchen, reading a murder mystery and having a cup of tea.

Theo gives an exaggerated yawn. “Mom. Aren’t you tired?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles calmly and turns a page. “You don’t need sleep at my age. I’ll be here. Enjoy your sleep, kids.” She looks up, and something glints in her gaze. She knows. Shit.

I tell Theo as much when we get to the second floor.

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