Page 101 of One Wealthy Wedding

“No she doesn’t,” he says.

“I’m telling you. She totally knows. Her eye was all glinty with meaning.”

“Glinty?” He cocks a brow and gestures for me to precede him into my bedroom.

“Yes. Her eye was glinting knowingly. This is a disaster.”

As I finish speaking, footsteps sound in the hall. I make bug eyes at Theo. “See,” I hiss. “She’s checking up on us.”

“I’ll sleep here.” He shrugs, like sleeping here is not a big deal.

“You cannot sleep here,” I say, but he’s already pulling off his sweatshirt in that painfully masculine way—one hand at the neck, his shirt riding up to display the ridges of muscle on his back. When he turns, his broad shoulders are pulling at his T-shirt.

He really cannot sleep here.

“You don’t even have pajamas,” I say, though that’s the least of my concerns.

“I sleep naked.” He slides the zipper down on his slacks, pushes them off, and raises a brow, daring me to object.

“Theo.” I cross my arms.

“Princess,” he says, holding my gaze as he slides his T-shirt over his head. I refuse to look away, so when his T-shirt joins his sweatshirt on my chair, I can’t help but stare. He’s big. Broad and muscled, with fine hairs that lead into his boxers and those vee-shaped muscles on his flank that speak to lots of workouts and very low body fat. But he’s not obscenely large or muscular. Worse, he’s lean and strong and elegant, even with the tattoo curling over his chest and neck.

“You’re staring,” he says softly.

I am. Shit. “Let’s just brush our teeth,” I say faintly.

We brush, and I try—and fail—not to admire his arms. It’s all so domestic. Leaning over our separate sinks, spitting, running water. Our eyes meet in the mirror. His mouth is tipped up.

“Is there anything you don’t find amusing?” I ask.

“This is ridiculous. Admit it.”

“Why is it so imperative that your mom not know about the fake marriage?”

His expression shutters, and he pushes off the sink and walks back into the bedroom.

“Theo, come on. Give me something. I’m in this with you.”

He yanks the covers back and slips under the duvet. He stares at the ceiling with an expressionless face. “Because she’ll be disappointed in me. And I’ve already disappointed her enough. Now get in the bed. I won’t look.”

I sigh and change into my pajamas while Theo broods. When I lie next to him, I mirror his pose. His breaths are deep and even.

“I doubt your mom thinks you’re a disappointment.”

He snorts. “Look at me. And then look at Cole. Oh sure, I’m successful. But my mom has never cared about that. She’d be happy if I quit working tomorrow. She wants my soul to be fulfilled.” He says the words like he has no soul, and I think back to what he said the other day. My soul is blacker than the space where a heart should be.

Oh, Theo.

My heart feels wrapped in a constrictor’s coils, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“The fake marriage would be the last straw,” he adds. “So, please, Cat, don’t tell her it’s fake. Okay?”

The pain in his voice punches me in the chest.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I promise.”

I feel him relax into the bed. “Thank you.”

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