Page 36 of War

She scrunches her nose and then coughs out a humorless laugh. “A man like Xander?” She snags her phone off the floor by her feet and taps at the screen. Then she’s holding it up. The image on the screen is grainy and dark, but I can clearly see the nearly naked woman with her bare ass grinding in Xander’s lap and the huge smile on his face.

“Is that from tonight?” I grit out as I take the phone from her to inspect it. Rage fills me and bubbles over. How could he leave her here on Christmas Eve to go do that?

“I don’t need a man to give me a love story.” Her voice is soft but determined. “And I definitely don’t want one with anyone like Xander. I’ll write my own. JosieandBray and Scarlett”—she holds eye contact, her expression serious—“can be my love story.”

“So you’re not looking for anything from me?” I ask the question, even though I’m not sure what kind of answer I’d prefer from her.

“I’d like us to be friends,” she says evenly.

The words hit like a knife to the gut. I’ve never hated a sentence more, and I don’t want to dig into the reasoning there.

Clearly reading my reaction wrong, she adds, “I’d prefer it if my husband didn’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I say softly.

Her eyes light up, full of mirth. “Say it again like you mean it.”

I chuckle. “I don’t hate you, Ava. I just—” I groan, sifting through my thoughts, hoping to put them in order in a way that makes sense. “I want you to be sure. Take the night to think about it. Hell, take a week. By morning, you’ll probably change your mind.”

Me? I’ll be left dreaming of what could have been. And kicking myself for pushing back rather than dragging her to a justice of the peace right now.

“I don’t need a night. I don’t need any time at all. This is how it’s supposed to be, War. Can’t you see that?”

Yes. “I don’t know. Fuck, this is crazy.”

She grins. “You said that already.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and ask her one more time. “You really want to do this?”

“Yes.” Her smile only expands, just like my damn heart. She’s so goddamn beautiful. There’s no way this won’t hurt. She’ll fall for my kids, she’ll live in my house, and she’ll be my damn wife, but she’ll never truly be mine. This isn’t my love story, but it is theirs, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll keep my kids from living it. She lifts her pinky and holds it up between us. “Pinky promise.”

Jesus Christ, this woman is so rare. My swallow is hard as I stare at that finger. Never have I ever longed for a goddamn pinky in my life, but right now, I want to reach for it. It’s a lifeline. A solution.

Blame it on old habits dying hard, but I can’t help but push a little more. Standing, I ignore the gesture and instead hold out my hand to her. “Then I guess we should head to bed, wifey.”

She blinks at my hand. “What?”

“We’re going to be married. For a long time.”

“I-I’m not sleeping with you,” she stutters.

A sharp laugh escapes me. “You are. But yeah, I’m not fucking you.”

She winces in response to my brash declaration and finally drops the damn pinky.

I blow out a breath. Jeez, some moments I forget how fucking innocent she is. I’m an asshole. I should have grabbed her pinky. But I wouldn’t have wanted to let go. I’d have wanted to tug her closer. She’d have fallen into me, not expecting it. And then…

No, Tyler. And thennothing. “It’s just sleeping,” I say gruffly. “If we can’t share the bed for a night, how the hell are we going to live together for years?”

That word—years—echoes between us, resonating, soaking in. That’s what this is. A true commitment. Though it won’t be a real marriage, it will be a partnership, and if we’re going to make this work—and god, for some reason, I really want to—she needs to be comfortable around me. And I need to get over whatever this fucking obsession is with her.

I offer her my hand again. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.”

She swallows thickly, scrutinizing my hand. Like she’s worried it’ll morph into a bear trap the moment she touches it. I hold my breath, certain she’ll tell me to get lost. That she had a momentary lapse injudgment, but she’s come to her senses. That she can’t possibly put up with me for years. I don’t want her to do that, though. So I lift my little finger and waggle it. “Pinky promise.”

Instead of recoiling, she surprises me for the hundredth time today. Looping her finger with mine, she meets my gaze. “Okay, let’s go to bed.”

FOURTEEN

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