Page 62 of Perfectly Wedded

I haven’t thought about what I’ll pursue after hockey, but Sloan needs someone who supports her dreams and provides her with stability, in case her health remains uncertain. What can I offer her that another man can’t? And if I lose her to someone who makes her happier, what will I become then?

Because a life after her is no life at all. I don’t want to imagine the man I’d become without her.

I’m quiet on the drive back to the hotel, suddenly doubting this whole plan to convince Sloan to be my real wife. Whatever the future holds, I won’t be my father. I won’t walk away. But if she asked me to give her up because I can’t offer her what she needs—what then?

That’s where I keep getting stuck, the snag in the plan.

I knock softly at the door in case Sloan is sleeping. It opens with a jerk, like she was waiting for me.

“So, what was your little secret trip with Brax all about?” she asks eagerly.

“I can’t tell you about it yet. But be ready by six,” I say.

She bites back a grin. “Everything is so secretive with you these days.”

“It’ll be worth the wait. Trust me.” I rub the back of my shoulder without thinking.

“Are you hurting?” she asks, concerned.

“An old hockey injury. Sometimes it flares up, but I’m used to living with pain as a professional athlete. It comes with the job.”

“Job or not, I don’t want you feeling terrible tonight,” she says. “Did you know we have our own private hot tub on the deck?” She nods toward the sliding glass doors just outside our room.

To be honest, I’ve thought about getting in that hot tub with Sloan so many times.

“We could use it together after our date,” she says. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Mind?” I say with a spark in my chest. “Why would I ever mind sharing a hot tub with my wife?”

She tilts her head, and I can see the wordwifepleases her.

“Later tonight. Just you and me,” she murmurs.

I forget about my twisted thoughts, the ones about having to let her go if I can’t convince her to stay.

She’s mine, for now. And hopefully, forever.If she chooses to stay.

TWENTY-ONE

Sloan

“Gorgeous,” I say when Jaz comes out of the bathroom in her pink dress for tonight’s surprise date.

Jaz decided we should get ready together—without the guys—and promptly kicked Vale out of our room. Gloomily, he headed off to find Brax, suit in hand.

“That way, we can surprise them with our stunning transformation from beach bums to glamor girls,” Jaz said after shutting the door behind Vale.

For the next hour, we cram into the bathroom, covering the counter in travel tubes of makeup and magical lotions that promise to turn me into a goddess. Jaz forces me into some glittery highlighter to “accentuate my cheekbones” and pulls my hair into a sexy loose updo with a few stray curls that frame my face.

I choose an off-the-shoulder yellow dress that complements my dark hair and finish it off with a pop of lip gloss that smells like vanilla. When we finally come down to the lobby, Vale is talking to Brax, his back toward me.

Brax nudges him, then nods. When Vale spins around, his gaze sweeps over me. Judging by the spark in his eyes, he thoroughly approves.

I stop short of wanting to press myself into a hug, but he doesit for me, closing the gap between us. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs against my ear, sending shivers down my arm. How is he so good at this? Always making me simultaneously shiver while blood courses through my veins like lava.

I run a finger over the lapel of his suit coat. “You’re like a hot mafia man.”

He laughs. “Is that a good thing?”

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