Page 100 of The Billionaire's Bride
"Hmm." I turn away, as he heaves his pack on his shoulder, then takes a step toward me.
"I know how you can help me," he says.
"Oh?"
"Yeah." He holds up his arm, points at the space next to him. "Come 'ere."
I notch myself under his arm, and he leans on me. I wrap my arm around his waist, take some of his weight. Gah, he’s too heavy, but I am not going to say anything.
"Happy?"
I scowl up at him and he chuckles.
"Shall we go inside?"
35
Ava
It’s been a week since Edward and I returned from the hospital, and things are going… Fine. Every morning, he cooks me breakfast, then I do my admin stuff for my studio, while Ed gets on calls with the rest of the Seven. He’s been taking an active interest in 7A, the company that he owns with the rest of the Seven. The money he’s made, up until leaving the Church, has all been in a trust that carries out charitable work, and he doesn’t want to touch that. So, he’s working on a separate ‘starter portfolio’ with the Seven that he can grow and invest. The gains will provide an income from which he is going to live. And when I say live, I mean he can live a very good lifestyle off the money he’s set to make.
His sprain healed up quickly, and while I took the tube to work the first two days, from the third day onward, Edward has insisted on taking me. I can tell that leaning back against the car seat—any seat, really—causes discomfort, but he denies it.
Now that the men who attacked me are behind bars, at least, I’ve been able to regain some level of independence. I have told Ed he doesn’t need to drive me, but he insists.
While I am in the studio, he heads off to the offices of 7A or makes calls, or sometimes, simply heads back home to work on his assets some more. He’s always back in time to pick me up… And yeah, he has cameras stationed within my studio, so he can keep an eye on me. And yeah, also tracking devices in my phone—a new one that he bought for me.
We normally have dinner together, which he insists on cooking, and then, we sleep in my bed. He spoons me as I fall asleep and I am glad for his warmth. Still, most mornings I wake up on the opposite side of the bed from him. It’s like he’s giving me time and space to come to terms with the decision. And somehow, it’s not helping.
I wish he were more demanding, more dominating, more the kind of Edward he was when he’d sauntered into my home and fucked me before taking off. Somehow, that Edward had been raw and hurting. He hadn’t cared that he was going to upset me when he left… Or if he did…he hadn’t shown it. And it had been honest and real and… Everything that I had been looking for. Now, he’s the same man… So, why do I feel so unsettled about being with him?
Today, after the last student departs at the studio, I decide to stay a little longer. I text Edward to let him know that I need a little more time. Then I flip the music to one of my favorite pick-me-up dance songs. The beats ofGasolinaby Daddy Yankee fill the space. It's reggaeton, not strictly belly dancing music. But told ya, I love to interpret belly dancing in my own style.
I shimmy my shoulders, lift one side of my hips, drop, swirl into a figure eight, then lift my arms, allow the beats to thrum over my skin, sink into my blood. I plunge headlong into the rhythm, the music already pounding at my temples. Lift and drop my hips…lift and drop, let the beats ripple down my spine, curve my torso, my hips, twirl on my toes, and again. Drag my fingers down my arms, turn, and crash into something hard. My heart hammers in my chest and my eyelids snap open. I meet Edward’s amber gaze.
"Oh," I press my hand to my heart, "you scared me."
He grips my shoulder to right me. "Did I?" He peers into my face. "You didn’t expect me to come in, did you?"
"N…no." I step back and he lowers his arm. "I won’t be long, I just wanted to take some time to perfect a new routine."
"That’s okay," his lips twitch, "I love watching you dance."
And there was a time when I’d loved having him watch me. I walk over to the panel in the wall and shut off the music. Silence descends. My breath still comes in pants from my earlier exertion. I reach for my towel, mop my forehead. "I really won’t be much longer," I murmur.
I sense him move, hear his footsteps approach, and stiffen.
He bends, pressing a kiss to the curve of where my neck meets my shoulder. I freeze.
He takes my shoulders, urges me to turn around. I drag my feet, allow him to position me so I am facing him.
I stare at the tendons of his throat, the familiar square jaw, now set in uncompromising lines. He notches a knuckle under my chin, tilts it up. I raise my gaze, meeting his eyes, then glance away.
His chest rises and falls; he blows out a breath.
"It’s not working, is it?" he asks, almost tenderly.
"What…what do you mean?" I swallow. My heart begins to race. Shit, shit, shit. And I thought I had disguised my emotions so well.
