Page 47 of Perfectly Wedded

“Do you at least want to see the bedroom?”

“And see what I’m missing?” he asks with a smirk. “No, thanks.”

“We could take turns sleeping there,” I suggest. “To be fair, you earned this suite too.”

“It’s all yours,” he says. “I’ll be on my comfy couch, watching a movie.” He leans back and links his hands behind his head. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Can I wear my pajamas?” I ask.

He lifts an eyebrow. “As long as I can wear mine. And fair warning: they’re not flannel pajamas either.”

Heaven help me, if that man’s pajamas involve boxer briefs, I’m a goner.

“As long as you follow one rule,” I say, trying not to let my face show how much seeing Vale in his “pajamas” scares me. Right now, the swimsuit under my dress is so tight, it feels suffocating. “You have to wear more than just underwear.”

He bites back a smile. “You thought I’d show up to movie night in my underwear?”

“Well, yeah,” I say with an embarrassed shrug. “I saw you a few weeks ago, before Vegas, in the living room...” I blurt, then stop myself.

His mouth quirks. “Sloan. Have you been spying on me?”

My cheeks flame. “For the record, Iwasn’tspying. I walked into the kitchen late one night to get water and I thought someone had left the TV on. That’s when I saw you doing pushups in your underwear.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” He folds his arms across his chest.

“Vale. That would make itlooklike I was guilty.”

“And were you?”

I scoff. “You need to learn manners.”

He narrows his eyes. “Please.”

I was totally ogling my husband. Vale was a sight to behold, all muscles and tanned back, along with other assets.

“It’s kind of hardnotto notice,” I say in my defense. “Look at you.” I wave my hand at his tight T-shirt. The poor cotton is being stretched to near shreds by all that muscle.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You’re very muscle-y.”

Vale catches me staring at his chest and grins. “Would you like a repeat performance?” It’s so unfair that any man should be this good-looking...ever.

I put my hands on my hips. “You know, you should be glad I don’t walk around in my underwear.”

“Maybe you should,” he suggests with a cocked eyebrow. “Just to make things even. Every good marriage is based on equality. And it would be very unfair for me not to suffer through the same experience.”

I smack him on the arm. “You wish.”

He smirks. “I do, actually.”

I laugh. “Stop. You’re teasing now.”

“Who says I am?” The way he asks it, like the truth rather than a question, makes me take a step back. Maybe this is how itfeels to go to the edge of a cliff and put your toes over, just to feel the razor-sharp edge of danger.

“I thought we...”were only faking this marriage.

The words won’t come out. They’re lodged in my throat, too heavy to say. My eyes drop to the ground. “I should change into my pajamas.”

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