Page 155 of The Bad Wedding Date

This was it: the moment I discovered the purpose of life. I’d stay this way for the rest of my days if she’d allow it. If I could prove to her that I was worthy of her love.

After what had happened to Mum, and to Jodie, I never thought I’d want another woman in my life again, but then there’d been that unsure figure standing at the bus stop, fiddling with her dress, clearly uncomfortable in her shoes, and I hadn’t been able to ignore the pull I’d felt to go to her.

I’d always been scared to love.

Now I wanted to drown in the fucking thing, and it was all because of her.

Charlotte’s body pressed against mine on her bed, our legs tangled, her hand on my stomach, and her head against my chest as she lost herself to sleep. She’d drifted in and out of it all night long, the memories of what had almost happened making her jolt awake every now and then, a look of panic crossing her face until she regained enough clarity to realise that I hadn’t left her side. I never would again. I’d managed to coax her back to sleep against me, my fingers trailing through her long, soft hair as I stared up at the ceiling, not caring to close my own eyes after months apart from Charlotte and her warm body. I needed to soak every second of my time with her in. I needed to feel her skin against mine as proof of life that I hadn’t messed everything up. She’d be okay in time. We both would. We’d saved her. Thank God.

We’d finally got him, too, and with the help of Mitchell, I could relax in the knowledge that Matteo wouldn’t be a free man anytime soon. Not even his money or power could save him from going up against the Grant family who had been witness to their daughter asleep in Wade’s arms because of Matteo Vega.

The thought of him made my jaw tick as I stared up at nothing, the only thing bringing it down being Charlotte’s steady heartbeat against me, reminding me he hadn’t got to her like he had my mother.

Ba bump. Ba bump. Ba bump.

It was a piece of music even Smokey Robinson couldn’t top.

Soon, the dark night turned into hazy dawn, the light of the morning filtering through the open windows of Charlotte’s bedroom. It didn’t take long for her to rouse, her lashes fluttering against my chest before her limbs stretched out and she sighed, looking up at me and blinking slowly for a moment or two.

“Hey,” I smiled down at her, unable to tame the way my heart fucking pounded at the sight of her in my arms. It was where she belonged. I’d never been with anyone who fit so perfectly against me.

“Hey,” she rasped, her fingers curling into my stomach as a smile of her own rose to life. “Did you sleep?”

I shook my head against the white pillow in answer.

“Not at all?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I needed to enjoy this.” I curled my arm tighter around her. “You. Me. Here. Your soft breaths and gentle snores.”

“I don’t snore.” She scowled, unable to help the twitch of her lips.

“Yeah, you do, baby.”

That twitch of her lips turned into a shit-eating grin. “I see you’re set on the whole ‘baby’ thing then.”

Closing my eyes, I started to sing the tender lyrics of Smokey Robinson, just like I had at the wedding. Charlotte laughed and groaned simultaneously before she dropped her head back to my chest and allowed her body to relax. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and I continued to sing the lyrics of one of my favourite songs of all time.

A soft yawn escaped her, making me pause.

“You’re still tired,” I said, stating the obvious.

Her legs curled around mine even more, and she tried to pull me impossibly closer. “Hmm,” she moaned. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s the trauma. It wipes you out.”

“I feel pretty safe here.”

“Then let yourself sleep.”

With a soft sigh, she tipped her head back until her eyes met mine, and the golden hour of the rising sun streamed across her face, making her look impossibly more gorgeous than ever before. Two months away from her had felt like a lifetime, and I struggled not to throw her onto her back, push her legs apart, and push myself inside her… but there would be plenty of time for that. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Decades.

“I’ve finally got you back,” she whispered. “Sleeping feels like a waste of time.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Charlotte.”

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