Page 122 of The Reluctant Wife

Zoey was right. I should talk to him. I should tell him what I’ve decided. I should explain to him why I needed the time to process everything that happened. And why I decided to leave my official duties as a duchess.

He’s my husband. He loves me. He’ll understand it.

"Ryot"—I whisper—"I missed you."

"I missed you so fucking much, it feels like a part of me was torn out. I feel so fucking incomplete without you, baby."

"Me too."

My phone buzzes again. Then his phone vibrates.

"Goddamn." He releases me, then snatches up his device. “We’re on our way.” He disconnects the call and looks at me. “They’re waiting for us. Can’t start the festivities without the birthday girl.”

“I love you so much.” I reach up and press my lips to his.

He deepens the kiss, and when he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth, my core quivers. I melt into him.

He pulls me close enough that I can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. The kiss goes on and on, and when he finally pulls away to press his forehead into mine, both of us are panting.

“Now I wish I’d decided to keep you to myself.” “I wish I could keep you to myself.” He pockets his phone, and reaching down, swipes his thumb around the edges of my lips, removing any smeared lipstick.

"I need to refresh my makeup." I turn, but he grips my arm.

"What if I want them to look at you and realize you’ve been kissed soundly by your husband."

His words are so possessive, my blood turns to lava. When the buzzer to the suite sounds again, he twists his fingers with mine. "Let’s get out of here."

"Thanks, baby." I take a flute of champagne from him and sip from it. Cold bubbles burst on my tongue. "Mmm, I neededthat." I take another sip. "If I had to pretend to laugh at another joke by that senator, I’d have to kill myself," I say only half-jokingly, then proceed to toss the rest of the champagne back.

"Take it easy, Empress," my husband cautions.

"I need to be a little drunk to get through the evening." This, I say seriously.

He gives me a funny look, then takes my flute and sets it aside.

"Hey, I thought you were going to fill me up," I pout.

He takes my hand and leads me off to the side. Of course, we’re stopped by the Queen of Spain, who kisses me on both cheeks and wishes me a happy birthday. She goes to kiss my husband, but when he scowls at her, she blinks and steps aside hurriedly. He hustles me to the end of the room where a chaise is pushed up into the shadows. There are potted plants around it, which give us some degree of privacy. He sits down then pulls me into his lap.

I squeak, "What are people going to say?"

"That we're newlyweds?" He raises his shoulder in that nonchalant way I've come to love. "Frankly, I couldn’t give a damn."

I giggle.

"God, I love that sound. If I could spend every moment of my life making you happy, it wouldn’t be enough."

I fasten my arms around his neck. "I never would have thought someone as alpha and as stern as you was such a romantic."

"And I thought you’d know by now not to try to stereotype me."

"I’d never." I look into his beloved features. "Now, why is it that you pulled me aside?"

He looks taken aback, then laughs. "Am I that transparent?"

"Only to me."

He nods, a thoughtful look coming into his eyes. "If you hate this, why do you do it?"

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