Page 78 of Break My Rules

“The happiest day of your life, they said,” Max interrupts, sardonic. “More like the most mind-numbing six months of your life!”

“Aww, you love me really,” Annabelle coos, leaning over and kissing him on the lips.

“I suppose I do.” Max makes a show of rolling his eyes and smirking, draping an arm around her shoulder.

I feel a twinge of guilt. Thanks to that truth serum, I now know Max’s dirty little secret. It’s the last thread from my investigations still holding me back, and I’m still not sure if I should say anything to Annabelle about it.

“But back to Tessa,” Hugh takes up the toast. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say, I never thought this day would come. Anthony St. Clair, in a stable, committed relationship,” he says, teasing. Saint laughs easily beside me at the cheers, raising his glass. “But we’re so glad you came along and brought him to his knees.”

“Hear hear!”

I laugh along, giving Saint a mischievous smile. “Did you hear that?” I murmur softly, so only he can hear. “They know you like it on your knees…”

He grins back. “Only for you, darling. Just say the word.”

His fingertips graze soft circles on the nape of my neck, and I shiver with delicious anticipation.

“Time for a bathroom break,” Annabelle announces, bobbing to her feet. “Come on, Tessa, I want to tell you about an amazing interior designer I know. She would work wonders with this place.”

“Not so fast,” Saint protests. “What’s wrong with my house?”

“Nothing, except it’s so masculine and dreary.”

“You mean, classic.”

Annabelle wafts a hand, dismissing him. “You’ll learn soon enough to just agree on these things. It’s so much easier when they don’t put up a fight,” she adds.

“But much less fun,” Saint says, shooting me a smoldering look. He pinned me down over the arm of the couch this morning, and teased my clit relentlessly until I was spitting mad and ready to claw his eyes out—and then I came so hard, I swear I almost passed out.

I clear my throat, blushing, and follow Annabelle into the house, but she must have caught the look, because she grins. “The honeymoon phase is the best, when you just can’t keep your hands off each other.”

“It’s… Nice,” I agree. Understatement of the year. “Especially living together now, we can really just relax, and enjoy each other, without it feeling so temporary.”

“If you want permanent, just wait until he puts a rock on it!”

I blush again. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do, and that man is smitten as a kitten.”

I pause, idly clearing some glassware in the kitchen as Annabelle ducks into one of the bathrooms downstairs. I’m trying to think of a way to broach what I found out from Max—or if I even should. I know that if our positions were traded, I would want to know he had a secret child stashed away, before I walked down the aisle and said, ‘I do’. But Annabelle has always seemed to have a different kind of view on things.

Would I be sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted?

I wait until she reemerges, and browses Saint’s wine collection to select another bottle. “It was fun hanging out in France,” I say casually. “Maybe a little too much fun.”

Annabelle trills a laugh. “Max needs to let off steam from time to time, that’s all. No harm, no foul, isn’t that what you Americans say?”

I wouldn’t exactly call a love child no foul, but before I can think of how to raise the subject, Annabelle looks over. “Did I tell you, my father and Cyrus Lancaster are in business together?”

I blink. “No, you didn’t.”

“Daddy’s business was going under, last year, and Cyrus bailed him out with a big investment. They’re thick as thieves now, can’t wait for the wedding. It’s the title, you see,” she smirks. “As much as Cyrus likes to make a to-do about being a self-made man, he’s simply gaga at the thought that his grandchildren will be in line for the English throne. That’s why I know I can depend on Max never to embarrass me,” she adds, giving me a pointed look. “He’ll always to whatever it takes to clean up his messes and keep his father happy. Which keeps me happy. Ooh, a ’97 Dom!”

Before I can process her words, she brandishes a bottle, all smiles. “We should get back,” she says, sunny. “Heaven knows what they’re up to without us.”

She links her arm through mine and steers me back out to the garden. They’ve moved to the couches by the fire pit, and I slide into a spot beside Saint, relishing the warmth of his embrace.

“Everything alright?” he asks, checking in.

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