Page 28 of Defending What's Mine

“All right, all right,” Melanie says, tossing the lingerie back into the bag with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

She winks at me as she grabs her things and saunters out of the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

I glance at Charlotte, who’s now standing rigidly by the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. She won’t look at me, and honestly, I can’t blame her. I’m trying to keep my own composure, but all I can see when I close my eyes is that damn lingerie. On her.

Focus, Hawke.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat again. “Eventful shopping trip?”

She groans, finally meeting my gaze. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Let what go?” I ask, doing my best to sound innocent. “Melanie’s sense of humor? Or your impeccable taste in, uh... clothing?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It wasn’t my idea, okay? Melanie thought it would be funny.”

“Well, she’s not wrong about that,” I say, biting back a grin. “Funny and... unexpected.”

Her blush deepens, and she shakes her head, clearly exasperated. “Can we please just pretend this never happened?”

“Sure,” I say, but my brain isn’t cooperating. Because now that I’ve seen it, I can’tunseeit. And the mental image of Charlotte in that lingerie is going to haunt me for the foreseeable future.

I shake the thought away and focus on the tension that’s still lingering in the room. It’s not just about the lingerie. There’s something else on her mind.

“You okay?” I ask, my tone softening. “You seem... off.”

She hesitates, then sits down on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumping. “Nancy cornered me on the way back.”

My jaw tightens. This woman is becoming a threat. “What did she say?”

“She kept asking questions about you,” Charlotte says, her voice low. “How we met, how long we’ve been together, why we’ve kept it a secret. It felt... off. Like she wasn’t just curious. I think she was fishing for something.”

“Fishing for what?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“I don’t know,” she admits, running a hand through her hair. “But it wasn’t just that. She brought up the idea of having the wedding this weekend. Again.”

Of course she did. I pace the room, trying to process what this means. Nancy Sinclair isn’t just meddling—she’s pushing an agenda. And if she’s suspicious of us, that makes her even more dangerous. I pace the length of the room, thirty-three steps in total.

“We need to be careful,” I say finally, stopping to face her. “If Nancy’s digging, it means she’s not convinced. We can’t slip up.”

“I know,” Charlotte says, her voice weary. “I just... I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

I sit down beside her, keeping a careful distance but close enough that she knows she’s not alone. “We’ll get through it,” I say, my voice firm. “But if she pushes again, let me handle it.”

She looks at me, her expression softening. “Thanks, Asher.”

“For what?”

“For... being you,” she says, a faint smile crossing her lips.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Not sure if that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it.”

She laughs softly, and for a moment, the tension eases. But as I lie back on the bed later, pretending to read a report on my phone, my mind keeps drifting back to that lingerie.

And to Charlotte.

Focus, Hawke. Focus.

The bathroom doorclicks shut behind Charlotte, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but my thoughts. And those thoughts? Not helpful.

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