Page 125 of One Wealthy Wedding

My lungs feel like they’re half the size they usually are. This woman is plucking my fears and self-doubts straight from my brain and spilling them out.

Theo’s hands land on my shoulders. His eyes are flickering with anger. He doesn’t make a comment about my underwear or how I’m almost naked. Instead, he dips his head to my ear. “Want to show them boring?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I say on a breath. “Please.” I’ll do anything not to be the girl they think I am. Boring. Sheltered. Naive. Not good enough for Theo.

“Up against the wall.” He turns me, presses me into the cool plaster. My nipples pinch under my lace bra. His hands bracket my hips. His chest is at my back. I’m nearly naked, and he’s fully clothed.

“What are you—”

“Fuck, like that,” he groans. I still. He smacks a palm against the wall, and I stifle a laugh.

The voices on the other side go silent.

“No laughing, princess.” His breath is hot in my ear before he continues. “Yeah, baby. Oh fuck.” He groans again. “When you use your tongue like that, I—yeah, rough. Fuck, you’re good. The best I’ve ever had.” His hips buck into me. He’s hard. All the way hard, like he’s actually in my mouth, about to come. I want it. I’m no longer in danger of laughing. Instead, I’m in danger of combusting.

“Cat, I—I’m gonna come, baby.” He shoves me into the wall, like I’m giving him the roughest blowjob ever. His teeth scrape my shoulder.

“Swallow me. Fuck. You’re so pretty. My fantasy come to life.” The words thrum through me. “Swallow—” He groans again, long and shuddering, and smacks his hand against the wall. He presses his mouth to my bare back.

I sag like I just came too. Theo’s hand is the only thing holding me up.

“Fuck, Cat,” he whispers, his voice gravel and for me alone. “Give me a minute.” His chest is heaving against my back.

“Why?” I whisper. “Why would you do this for me?”

He steps away, and I turn, watching him get control of himself. He passes me my clothes. “Muss your hair, princess. Bite your lips.” He sounds angry.

I get dressed and do as he says, but I don’t understand why he’s so upset. I’m the one who should be upset, even though these are things I’ve heard a hundred times, and I should be desensitized to them.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as he wrenches open the dressing room door.

He whirls. His eyes are flashing. “What’s wrong? I won’t stand here and listen to people talk about you like that.”

“It’s fine. It happens all the time. Even in class—”

“Who?” He bites out.

“I don’t even know their names.”

“Well, find out.”

The women exit the dressing room next to us and stare at him before snapping covert photos. He doesn’t grace them with a look, just watches me, breath coming in soft pants, jaw clenching.

“You don’t need to avenge me,” I say softly.

“You’re my wife.” He steps in. “I know you don’t want to be married to me.” His voice is hoarse. “But for the next ten months, you better get used to me defending you. Now let’s go. I’m buying this dress.”

He doesn’t speak until we’re walking back to the hotel. He sent our bags with a hotel employee, and now he’s free to wrap his hand around mine. This is all too much. I feel like I’m going to break at any moment.

“Tell me what happened after I left,” he says. “In detail.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” He squeezes my hand. “I want to know.”

But I don’t want him to know. I should have left sooner, and I should have been braver. The whole thing is so pathetic that I try not to think about it.

“I’m not proud of this,” I warn. “You might think less of me after.” He’s silent, and I sigh. We’re on a side street where the buildings press close and the afternoon sun makes patterns on the cobblestones. It feels cozy and private, and I guess if I had to pick a place to bare my soul, I’d pick here.

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