Page 59 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

Jeannie’s breath hitched.

This was the man she married.

Her angel, her protector, her lover…

The one who knew how to tease, how to push her, how to make her heart race with a single glance.

Matthieu tilted his head, his voice deceptively casual as he asked, “Do you want some champagne?”

Jeannie shook her head slowly, her lips parting as he stepped closer.

“Do you want some water? Something to eat?”

Again, she only watched him, her breath quickening, her pulse a steady drum in her ears.

Matthieu’s lips twitched, his gaze dropping to the snug denim hugging her hips. His voice dipped lower, roughened with hunger. “Do you want out of those jeans?”

Heat curled in Jeannie’s stomach, spreading like wildfire beneath her skin. She inhaled, slow and deep, before tilting her head, a teasing challenge in her eyes.

“Do you want me to put my veil back on?” she countered softly, watching him.

Matthieu sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing at the mere suggestion. She couldseethe effect her words had on him, how his restraint frayed at the edges, how his fingerstwitched like he was one second away from tearing through every last barrier between them.

The air between them vibrated with anticipation, thick and electric.

And then she laughed softly between them. Low and throaty, the sound rich with amusement, with promise. A siren’s call and she saw something in her husband’s expressionbuckle—some final thread of self-control snapping beneath the weight of his need for her.

And just like that, Matthieu was lost as he closed the gap between them, kissing her with wild abandon, his hands trembling with desire.

Her beloved tiger had just been offered a tomahawk steak.

And he was starving.

Hours later, Jeannie lay nestled against him, her cheek resting on the solid warmth of his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The only light in the room came from the shimmering cityscape beyond the panoramic windows, casting a soft glow over the bed where they were snuggled beneath the sheets. The world outside bustled with life, but within this quiet sanctuary, there was only them—two souls wrapped in love, in promises, in the lingering magic of the night.

She traced delicate circles on his shoulder, feeling the slight rise and fall of his breath beneath her fingertips. The heat of his skin, the scent of him—a mix of something rugged and familiar—felt like home.

“So…” she whispered, the word barely audible in the hush of their cocooned world.

“So…?” His voice, deep and rich with emotion, vibrated against her cheek. There was something tender in it, something that made her chest tighten. “Any regrets?”

She exhaled slowly, drawing out the word in a teasing lilt. “Nahhhh…”

Beneath her, he tensed. His muscles coiled as if bracing for impact, and he lifted his head from the pillow, his gaze searching hers with sudden urgency.

“Jeannie?” His brow furrowed, concern lacing his voice. “Are you having regrets, babe?”

Her heart swelled. How could he think that? If anything, the only thing she regretted was the time wasted before they found each other, before they becamethis. She lifted her head, brushing her lips lightly over his jaw before giving him a soft smile.

“The only regret I have is that we waited so long,” she murmured.

Relief crashed over his face, and he let out a breathless chuckle, his head dropping back against the pillow. She loved that about him—how fully he felt everything, how his emotions were never restrained or dulled. The way his eyes sparkled when he was happy, the way he held nothing back. Loving him was like standing in the sun—warm, radiant, all-consuming.

She had never imagined this. A love so deep, so absolute, that it felt like a lifeline. And yet, here they were, on the precipice of forever, and she knew—without a doubt—she would give him anything to keep that light in his eyes.

This is what love is.

A flicker of sadness touched her heart, a shadow in the glow of her happiness. She didn’t want to tell him about the text she had sent earlier, about how she had reached out to her parents ina moment of longing, hoping—needing—to share in this joy. And how the only response had been silence.

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