Page 44 of One Wealthy Wedding

“You are entirely too obsessed with dessert,” I mutter as he leans in.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He winks at me. “All the best things are forbidden.” He brushes a thumb over my lip like he did the other night. “Open.” His voice is low and meant for my ears only, and my mouth parts against my will. He spoons the tart in. I can’t help the little sigh of pleasure that comes from me at the taste of rich burnt sugar.

“See what I mean?”

I do see. All the best things are forbidden. Especially Theo. Fuck.

15

Cat

Aweek after our brunch, it’s Friday night, and I can hear the bass thumping from my bedroom. How is that even possible? These walls have to be thick. Those Gilded Age robber barons knew about quality construction, and this mansion has been lovingly maintained. It’s not the bachelor pad I expected it to be, even if Theo primarily seems to use the kitchen and the gym. He’s a ghost in his own home. I know when he’s been in the kitchen because of the washed and neatly stacked breakfast dishes. When I run on the treadmill, his heady scent lingers in the air.

Or maybe it’s my imagination. And isn’t that messed up? Because even though I grit my teeth every time I put the wedding ring on my finger, I still try to catch the lingering scent of Theo’s cologne.

I turn up the volume on the classical music I prefer for studying and refocus on the problem set. Corporate finance is kicking my ass. Really, all of business school is. The networking is supposed to be the most valuable, but that’s never been my strength. It’s like a rusty door hinge or an unused muscle. I smile a second too late, respond a little too sharply. I bet Theo excelled at all that stuff.

Don’t think about Theo.

He’s not thinking about me. I’ve barely seen him in a week, and now he’s downstairs, having a grand old time from the sound of it. Just like he did all those years ago when I trailed after him like a lost puppy. Until he left and never looked back.

A particularly loud whoop comes from downstairs, and I slam the textbook shut. Fuck this. How is anyone supposed to study in this environment?

I march out of my room, textbook clutched to my chest, following the sound of the music. Past Theo’s bedroom, which I avoid like the plague, then a right turn down the hall, past the guest bedrooms, then down the sweeping staircase to the first floor. Past the massive kitchen and my preferred living room. The sound is growing louder, along with men’s raised voices.

“Some of us are trying to—” The words die as the scene unfurls before me. “Oh my god,” I whisper.

Theo has half the New York Royals hockey team here, along with a few minor celebrities. I recognize his surly brother, Cole Archer, who cracks a sheepish smile from his place on the couch. He’s the only one sitting. Their goalie, Grant Dawson, is there, famous for having all his teeth and being named the Sexiest Man Alive last year. Miles, Theo’s business partner, is there too, grinning and grabbing himself another beer. No Jonah. From what I know about him, he’d rather be caught dead than in a scene like this.

There’s a hookah on the grand piano, and the furniture has been pushed aside to make room for a beer pong table. What are we? In college? Mrs. Astor is rolling in her grave somewhere. There are empty beer cans perched on the bust of Napolean. I hope to god it’s not an original.

In the center of it all is Theo, in all black and a backward hat. He looks good enough to eat. All hard edges and deceptively casual smiles. Based on the number of cups on his side of the beer pong table, he’s winning. He sees me in the door. I freeze. Why did I come down here?

He saunters over until he’s way too close, smelling like liquor and body wash and filling my vision with his broad shoulders and powerful chest. He might be a billionaire, but he’s roughly the size of a hockey player, and why do I find that so hot? It’s just Theo. This is part of his allure, in the way of particularly colorful birds.

“Take your time, by all means,” I say when he appears in front of me.

“Did you come to join in the fun?” He leans against the doorjamb, forcing me to take a step back.

“No. I came to tell you to keep it down. I’m studying.” I tilt my head up so I can look him in the eye. The cool green flares with interest.

“On a Friday?” He raises a brow.

“You’re very loud. I can’t concentrate. You sound like a pack of wolves.”

He grins at me. “Want to have some fun, Little Red Riding Hood?” His smile suddenly seems wolfish, all sharp incisors and too much interest in how I might taste.

I hate how he unsettles me. I’ve been on my back foot with Theo Archer for ten fucking years. No more.

“Let’s play for it.” I give him a cool smile.

Shock colors his features before he recovers. “Play for what?”

“I’ll play you in beer pong. If I win, you have to turn all the music off.”

“And if I win?” His eyes gleam. I have it in the bag, his say.

I narrow mine. I’m very motivated, mine reply. I have twelve more problems to do and a last-minute lunch shift tomorrow. One cocky playboy isn’t going to stop me, even if he does have the athletic prowess of an Olympian and a face hot enough to stop traffic.

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