Page 53 of One Wealthy Wedding

“No,” I respond. “He never did.”

18

Theo

I’m waiting for Cat at the base of the stairs on Saturday night, nerves making me pace the marble floor, onto the rug, and back again. We have to sell this marriage tonight. Lorenzo will be there with his wife, and Cat and I need to look like we are madly in love. I can do it, but I’m not sure if she can. Especially if her awkwardness at brunch is anything to go by.

When she descends the stairs, her hair is pinned up, with just a few tendrils framing her face. She looks elegant, delicate, and lovely. Her lips are soft and glossed, and I’m transported back to the summers we spent together. I stared at her when she thought I wasn’t looking. I stared at her and I fantasized about her, just like I did last night when I was angrily turned on by the fact that I heard her in the shower. I took a cold shower next to her and ignored the heaviness in my groin.

“Theo. Hi.” She’s nervous too, and her chest is red.

“What are you wearing?” I ask, but it’s obvious what she’s wearing. That same dress she wore to our wedding. “I had dresses delivered for you.”

“I don’t need them,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you think I’m pretty enough, sweetheart?” She gives me a sharp smile, but there are shadows in her eyes. She’s hiding things. Again.

“Take the dresses.”

“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to push her breasts up against the silk. Her nipples are pebbled against the material.

“Catherine.” I am not in the mood for this. We need to be focused on being the perfect couple, not arguing about her outfit. God, she’s so fucking difficult. “Don’t be an ass.” Her words from our fight.

Those chocolate eyes flash, and heat pulses through me. She’s so hot when she’s angry with me.

“I’m wearing it.”

Guess I’ll have to kill more flies with honey. I sigh and crook a finger.

“Come here, then. There’s a stain on the side.”

She looks down.

“No, you won’t be able to get it.”

She huffs and walks over until she’s just under my chin.

“Turn around.”

She turns, baring her back to me. Why are all her dresses backless? A back is just as hot as a woman’s front, sometimes hotter. There, the base of her neck where my hand could go. There, the crease of shoulder, where I could bite her and breathe in every shiver. “You have something right”—I grab the fine material of the dress, right at the tag—“here.” I rip it down the middle.

“Theo,” she screeches. She whirls, holding the garment up with her arm. “That was my favorite.”

“I’ll get you another.”

“I don’t want another. I don’t want you to tell me what to wear. Don’t you think I spent enough time being told how to dress and how to act?” She stomps up the stairs, and I blink after her, frozen in place. The bang of her bedroom door sends me into motion. I race up the stairs and smack my hands on the door.

“Cat.” I need to know what she meant. I’m desperate for it.

“I’m changing,” she shouts, but there’s no need for shouting, because I’m already skidding into her dressing area.

“Fuck.”

She turns.

I gape.

My brain fizzles. There’s no other word for it. All rational thought flees, when for the very first time in my life, I see Catherine Peterson naked.

She’s perfect. The first thought my sputtering brain makes. My cock quickly agrees.

---