Page 67 of The Wife Situation

“You reallyshould’veread the contract, darling,” he quips.

I’m second-guessing myself for not doing so. “Was sex mentioned?”

“Your body isn’t up for negotiation, Alexis, just your time.” His words are dominant in all the right ways.

The silence takes over.

“I don’t want a shitty courthouse wedding,” I say. “I’d like it to be somewhat special, even if it’s not legitimate.”

His lip quirks up. “Whatever you want, darling. We’ll make it an adventure.”

Excitement soars through me. “And we’ll write our vows.”

He gives me all of his attention. “With truths.”

“With truths,” I repeat back to him.

His phone vibrates and he pulls it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “I have to take this.”

I nod before I’m left to myself again, but he’s not gone for quite as long as before.

When he returns, his hair is a mess, like he ran his fingers through it a few times, and he looks tired. I can’t imagine the pressure he’s under with this. His family, the business, the public, and then I’m mixed in somehow. It’s a lot. All I have to do is look pretty as he deals with the consequences of our actions.

“We should probably go,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Sure.” I grab the booze and follow him inside and up the stairs, where the steering wheel is.

As he navigates us back to the marina, I sit beside him, lost in my thoughts.

Sometimes, when I’m with him, neither of us says anything. We don’t need to because the silence isn’t always awkward. Words don’t always have to fill the space. If being with him has taught me anything thus far, it’s that.

After killing the engine, he turns off the lights and locks everything. Before we leave the cabin, Easton stops me.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice smooth like chocolate. “I know you’re stopping your life for this.”

“For you,” I correct, searching his eyes. “You have a good heart, Easton. That means something.”

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I hold him for a few seconds before we break apart. With his hand on my shoulder, he guides me outside.

As soon as he steps foot on his private pier, he holds his hand out for me. I grab it, but my heel gets stuck in a crevice in the wood and I fall toward him, crashing into his body.

“You’ve got a knack for that,” he whispers, catching me.

We’re standing too close.

“I know. And you keep saving me,” I say, noticing how he’s looking at me.

My world shifts—or maybe that’s the alcohol taking over.

Our fingers interlock as we walk back to the Charger. Holding his hand comes naturally.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as he opens my door.

“What the internet will say tomorrow.”

My door closes and I lean my head against the seat as he joins me.

“I can predict what they’ll say. Our story will be the love story of the decade.”

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