Page 124 of The Bad Wedding Date

“Acknowledge it. Say I’m right.”

“No.”

“You think I’ll think less of you if you admit that I’ve brought nothing but chaos into your life?”

“No. I’m scared you’ll try to leave me and claim that it’s for my own good.”

Fraser blinked, my answer clearly surprising him. He had a good poker face—I’d learnt that over the time I’d spent with him—but I was getting good at reading all his tells. Every little flinch or reaction he had.

“I won’t,” he whispered.

“Don’t try to be too convincing when you say it or anything.”

He spun me around in his arms, and I immediately lifted a hand to cover my mouth, scared of how I must have smelt given the fact I’d been throwing up only moments early. I pressed my free hand to his chest and tried to push him away, but Fraser was strong, and he pressed back against me, meaning I couldn’t hold him for long.

Pushing a finger under my chin, he held my gaze. “I won’t leave you until you ask me to. In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m actually a little crazy about you, too.”

My cheeks flamed to life, making me want to vomit again.

I’d forgotten I’d said that to him in the middle of my rant while hung over the sink.

“I’ll only go when you ask me to, Charlotte.”

“And if I don’t?” I mumbled behind my hand.

“You’re stuck with me.”

* * *

After brushing my teeth three times to get rid of that god-awful taste in my mouth, I sat across from Fraser on the sofa opposite his, with only a small black coffee table between us. The people of London roamed and drove along the streets below. We watched them from our window high in the sky. It looked like a miniature city from up here, one where we could pick up the cars and people beneath us and move them around how we pleased.

If only life could be manipulated so easily.

“Time’s up,” Fraser said, drawing my attention from the city to him. “You’ve had thirty minutes of silence to get your thoughts in order. Now we need to talk about everything.”

“I’m scared that if we talk about it, it means it’s real.”

“It’s real, Charlotte.” He rested his head on the fist of one hand, his other resting on his legs.

I’d noticed the red marks around his knuckles that he was trying to keep from me—hence his cheek pressed against them now—but those were the least of my worries.

“Matteo really had nothing to do with the car following me, the break-in, the photograph, or the knife,” I said, laying the facts out on the imaginary table. “That means he’s not a risk to me anymore.”

“I don’t know.”

“Whatdoyou know?”

“That Matteo boarded a private plane out of the country the day after the wedding. He’s no longer in England. Whether that means his men went with him or not, we’re not a hundred percent sure, but he’s been off the radar since he left. I’ve no doubt they’ll have their eyes on me at some point in the future. That’s a risk I take on any job I do.”

“Job,” I huffed, forcing a false laugh out. “I sometimes forget that’s what I was to you in the beginning.”

Fraser had the decency to look a little ashamed of the fact. “You were never the job, Charlotte.”

“No, I was just someone you could use to get the job done.”

He had no argument, and he knew it, so he didn’t say anything.

“My head is spinning,” I told him. “Why would Penn do this to me?”

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