Page 48 of Perfectly Wedded

I hurry to my bedroom, leaving Vale on the couch, still reeling from how much I want to give in and step off the edge of the cliff. Why is he making me feel this way?

Because he feels what you feel.

When I swing open the bedroom door, I immediately freeze. My bed is covered in red rose petals, alongside a box of chocolates and a card on the pillow.

I shake my head and back away like it’s a live snake. “No,” I whisper.

About the time when everything feels like a dream, when I might believe Vale feels the same, reality comes back to smack me in the face. None of this is real. Not Vale’s flirting. Not the way he looks at me with longing. Not even this rose-covered bed that practically begs for us to fall into it.

I grab the envelope and rip open the seal, pulling the notecard from inside. In my sister’s perfect handwriting, she’s written, “Happy honeymoon! Expect more surprises this week.”

Surprises. . .what surprises?

“Uh, Vale?” I call. “There’s something in our bedroom you need to see.” My voice trembles slightly.

“What is it?” He looks around the room. “Looks like someone vomited rose petals all over the bed.”

I shove the note at him. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

He reads it, then shakes his head. “No. But it’s the honeymoon suite. Jaz probably arranged it beforehand.”

“What does she mean by surprises?” I ask. “Did she tell you anything before we left?” My voice sounds accusatory, convinced everyone is scheming against me even though Vale’s done nothingto deserve my suspicion. If anyone’s to blame for my inner turmoil, it’s me. I inconveniently fell for a hot hockey player and then married him. Nobody knows it’s a fake marriage, and my own husband doesn’t know I’m harboring irrational feelings of desire for him on a daily basis.

The rose petals were just a warning.Back away from the bed...and the hot man next to you.

Vale touches my arm, gingerly rubbing his thumb over my skin, like a lit match. “If I knew about any surprises, I couldn’t hide it, Sloan. When it comes to you, I’m pretty much an open book.”

His thumb stops moving, and so does my heart.

So what he said earlier is true?

Don’t get too cozy, Sloan.The honeymoon suite is doing weird things to your brain.

I whirl around to face him. “How long do you want to be married, Vale?”

He drops his hand and stares at me. “As long as it takes. I never set a timeline on this marriage.”

I straighten my spine, about to rip the Band-Aid off this fake marriage and pretend it doesn’t sting. I point between me and him. “This thing between us was only supposed to be temporary. I think this will be easier for everyone if we set an end date now.”

A crease deepens between his brows. “You’re already worried about the end of our marriage? I thought we’d decide later, based on your health.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “My health is unpredictable. I just think it would be in everyone’s best interest to have a clear timeline. Just so...” I glance around the room. “So we keep expectations in check.”

“Expectations aboutwhat?”

Like he doesn’t know.Literally every romance movie that features a bed with rose petals has a couple crashing into it within the next ten seconds. Maybe it’s the lack of control I feel right now, but I take a step away from Vale, making it clear we shouldput space between us. “I don’t want either of us getting ideas about what will happen this week.”

“Exactlywhatdo you think will happen this week?” he says, taking a step toward me, his eyes burning with questions.

I back away, suddenly feeling like this is a game, and I’m about to lose...spectacularly. It’s not that I don’t want Vale. The problem is, I do.Overwhelmingly so. But I’m afraid of the future, scared to care for him so much, terrified of hurting him and everyone who believes this marriage is real. It’s like I’m facing off with a locomotive, barreling toward me full speed.

“I’m not saying anythingwillhappen,” I say, my voice wavering. “I’m establishing guardrails. So we don’t do anything we’ll regret.” Especially rule number four.

“And what would we regret, Sloan? I want to know,” he presses.

The back of my thighs bump against the mattress, and I lose my balance and fall to a sitting position on the bed, scattering rose petals everywhere. It’s like I can’t get away from the siren call of those stupid roses. Vale stands over me, his gaze dark, and excitement shivers through me.

“We should never be in this bedroom together,” I say, my voice low, determined. “And definitely not in bed.”

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