Page 87 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

I WAKE UP AND AM GREETEDby the faint scent of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla.

Everly and I are entangled in a mess of limbs—she’s draped across my chest, her legs intertwined with mine, her head nestled in the crook of my neck.

God, I’ll never tire of waking up like this.

I can’t help drifting back to the night it all began.

Everly squeals as I lift her into my arms and carry her down the hall. “Cash, what are you doing?”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s tradition to carry the bride over the threshold.”

My pulse races when she winds her arms around my neck, resting her head against my shoulder. I’ve waited so long to have her in my arms, and it’s hard to believe this is real.

Once we’re inside my hotel room, I shut the door behind us and bypass the living room, taking her straight to the bedroom.

When I set Everly on the ground, she looks up at me with wide eyes. Her pouty lips part slightly, begging to be kissed. I trace her jawline with my thumb, like I did at the chapel, savoring the feel of her surrendering to my touch.

Everly is my wife.

It’s our wedding night.

The desire to claim her pulses through my veins as she licks her lips and watches me with her chocolate-brown eyes. It’s on the tip of my tongue to promise her a night full of bliss, where we’ll fuck until morning, but my conscience holds me back.

Everly isn’t a one-night-stand conquest. She’s the one I’ve wanted since high school. Now that she’s mine, I can’t risk losing her. No matter how much I want to spend the night memorizing her body like it’s a timeless work of art.

I can’t believe she’s really my wife.

Everly chews on her lower lip. “Cash?”

“What is it?”

“I’m hungry,” she says, giving me a sheepish grin when her stomach growls loudly in agreement.

We’ve been married for less than an hour and I’m already failing as her husband. We haven’t eaten since I found her at the bar. She must be starving.

I pull her in for a hug, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I’ll order room service.”

“Thank you,” she says.

By the time our food arrives, Everly has discarded her wedding dress on the floor, and made herself comfortable on the king-sized bed, watching a The Big Bang Theory rerun.

She’s wearing nothing but her bra and panties. The swells of her breasts peek out of her white lace bra, tempting me. It takes every ounce of restraint not to draw her into my arms. Luckily,I’m quickly distracted by her face lighting up when I push the room service cart through the door.

“It smells so good,” Everly says.

“Wait until you taste it.”

The Premiere hotel has world-class chefs in the kitchen, and the food is amazing.

Everly rubs her hands together with anticipation when I set a tray on the bed that includes two cheeseburgers, a mountain of fries, and a bottle of champagne the staff sent up to celebrate our nuptials.

I settle in next to Everly, and we both dig in while watching another episode. Once we’ve polished off our meal and the bottle of champagne, she falls asleep cradled in my arms.

As I absentmindedly play with her hair, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I’m never letting you go, Everly Stafford.”

We’ve come a long way since that night, and I shudder at the thought that not being transparent with her about Fallon preparing our meals and not contacting Marcus sooner could have jeopardized our future together, no matter how insignificant it might seem in the grand scheme of things.

I half expected Everly to storm out yesterday after she learned the truth. The reasons for keeping those things from her felt harmless, but in hindsight, I can see how challenging it must have been for her, given her past with her dad and Landon.

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