Page 34 of Marry Lies
There it is. That same humbled expression he wore when I walked down the aisle.
I press my lips together. “I’ll tell you if you tell me about that scar on your neck.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly. Without another word, he reaches over to where a bottle of Dom is sitting on ice. Uncorking it, he pours it for us both, and we toast.
“To marriage,” he says, his voice somber.
“To marriage,” I repeat, clinking my glass a little too hard against his.
Neither of us look away as we drink, and I down my flute in one go, as does he.
He refills both, but before he drinks, he clears his throat. “You really do look beautiful. That, at least, wasn’t fake.”
I give him a genuine smile. “Thank you. You don’t look terrible yourself.”
“Why purple?” he asks, taking a sip.
“Did you expect a white dress?” I counter, feeling a bit snarky from the alcohol.
He huffs out a laugh. “No, I suppose not.”
We both look away and drink our champagne slowly in silence.I should ask him about the kiss. Or his brothers. Or about just what my father said to him about the ring—
“I had your things moved to my bedroom during the ceremony,” he tells me, keeping his gaze on the view from the window. “I hope you don’t mind. You don’t actually have to sleep in bed with me, but we should appear to be sharing a bed. Your clothes will remain in your room as I assume you will need your own closet.”
“Several closets, probably,” I reply.
He smirks as he sips his champagne, and after that, an awkward silence fills the air. I pour myself a third glass of champagne. Miles does the same, and by the time we pull up to the castle, I’m already tipsy. Miles opens my door for me, and I nearly fall over as the champagne hits me quickly. He grabs my elbow and steadies me.
“Careful,” he warns, green eyes twinkling. His expression is warmer now. More relaxed.
Ply him with alcohol. Good to know.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, following him up the drive.
As we reach the front door, he turns to face me and holds out his arms. “Shall I?”
I stiffen. “What? No. I’m not—” I shake my head. “No.”
He chuckles. “Let me carry you over the threshold, Estelle.”
I take a step back. “No,” I repeat, cheeks flaming. “I’m not the same size as your model ex-girlfriends—” I squeak as he leans down and picks me up, placing one arm under my knees and another one under my arms. I’m quiet as he carries me through the front door and sets me down gently on the other side.
“Come on,” he directs, taking my hand and leading us to the elevator.
“Why are we rushing?” I ask, nearly jogging to keep up with him. Granted, he is almost a foot taller than me.
“Because I want everyone to think I can’t wait to defile the new Mrs. Ravage.”
“No one is here,” I retort, looking around.
“The extra security is here,” he replies. “For the reception later. And you can be damn sure they’re watching our every move on the security cameras, Estelle.”
The door closes us inside the elevator just as he finishes speaking, and when he looks down at me, his eyes are dark as they search mine. I’m suddenly reminded of our earlier kiss, and I pull my lower lip between my teeth as he watches me. For a second, it seems like he might kiss me again, and I’m instantly horrified with myself that I actually want it. I mean…I shouldn’t beentirelyhorrified. My new beau is a catch. Our chemistry is off the charts. I’m not an idiot. I know we’re both aware of it.
And it’s like he bloodyknowsthe navy blue of his suit is a stark contrast against his chartreuse eyes. But still.
No.
