Page 22 of Mistletoe Missus
Holly had. She wouldn’t be careless enough to reveal the truth, and she had my best interest at heart. I would not tell Mitt.
This was someone else’s doing. The person who did this was calculating and lacked humility. A cruel person with a scheme of their own and up to no good.
Mitt answered, “Someone did.”
I gulped. “Who?”
“My father,” Mitt replied simply.
Cameras flashed against the tinted windows and caused me to jump. Startled, I pulled back from the window as Albert came to a halt up against the curb. This was too much, and my stomach was in knots. I blinked several times and sweat beads coated my forehead. Instantly, the temperature was too hot as I peered with wide eyes at the pack of savage animals baring their teeth. They were ready for the kill as soon as we opened the door and exited the vehicle.
Was I ready for this fame?
Could I handle Mitt’s extravagant lifestyle?
I should’ve known this point would come. Mitt was used to this way of life, and I had to face it too. This version of his world was mine now because I was Mitt Morgan’s wife.
Suck it up, Tinsley!
I had dealt with much worse. My ex humiliated me and dumped me in a crowded restaurant on Christmas Eve. The man who I thought had loved me had a whore on the side and left me for her. That was far worse, and this unfortunate event was doable. I could freak out and have a panic attack in front of the press, but I was stronger than that. I was Mrs. Tinsley fucking Morgan—a married woman no tabloid wanted to mess with.
“Look at them...” I mumbled with power. “Scrambling around like lost animals searching for their leader.”
“They aren’t going to stop until we give them what they want,” Mitt said as he turned to me and his eyes came to life.
“They want us. Don’t they?”
“Yes,” Mitt breathed as he leaned in closer and his mouth was inches from mine. “But they also want this.”
Mitt kissed me.
It was a full blast of passion right on my unsuspecting lips. He made me delirious, breathless, as he bruised my mouth and heat formed deep in the pit of my aching belly. My pussy dripped for a taste of his skillful tongue to flick between my trembling thighs.
“Mitt,” I moaned into him when he let me catch my breath.
He broke the mind-numbing kiss and asked, “Are you ready for this?”
With hesitation, I answered, “Yes.”
Immediately, Mitt opened the door and exited the vehicle. The crowd went wild, and security came out of nowhere, forming a circle around him. He paid no attention and handled the situation like he was born for this life, made for everything thrown at him, and he leaned into the car, prepared to welcome me into his world.
“Take my hand, Wife, and I’ll protect you at all costs,” Mitt said as he extended his hand and peered at me. “No harm will ever come to you. I promise you.”
I reached out, but paused when a woman yelled, “Mr. Morgan! Any word on this rushed marriage?”
I saw a short man bounce up and down. He tried desperately to get a good picture of me sitting in the limousine as Mitt held out his hand for me to take—a tender moment I was sure was worth thousands of dollars.
The delayed reaction lasted a moment until I zoned back in on my husband. The man who had made my dreams come true. He was the reason for all this insanity, but my heart beat wildly for him. The reassurance in his hazel gaze made me certain of my decision, and I took his hand. Our fingers intertwined as he gracefully helped me out of my seat and into the flashing spotlight—into a place where all attention was on us and the sounds grew louder. The clicks of cameras, voices all around, and footsteps moving on the crisp ground.
“Back up! Mr. Morgan and his wife need through,” A security guard exclaimed as he pushed back against the swarming crowd and urged us to step forward.
My pulse raced and my heartbeat hammered. I glanced from left to right as the scene before me grew blurry, and I was dizzy, lightheaded from all the flashing lights blinking at us and causing me to feel sick.
I raised a hand in front of the lights as someone yelled out, “Mitt! Mitt! Did you do this for love or money?”
What kind of insane question was that?
I turned to Mitt, and he didn’t answer. Surprised to find his eyesight focused solely on me, like I was the most prized possession in his life and nothing else mattered to him. Only me.
