Page 68 of The Wrong Billionaire
It’s a delicious thought… but of course it’s just a symbol. Maybe it should be like an electric fence and shock the wearer if they go too close to the opposite sex, but unfortunately it doesn’t actually stop some people from cheating.
I push the thought out of my head, open the KitKat, and break off a finger for him. He takes it, and I eat mine, trying not to stare at where the sunlight is turning the hairs on his arms golden. How the arms of his polo shirt are tight on his biceps. How the denim of his jeans stretches over his thighs.
I look back out of the window, savoring the taste of the chocolate. We’re out of the city, and the car is eating up the miles. Soon, we’ll be arriving at the farm and then… My stomach flutters. It’s going to happen, Wren. And this time you can’t try and ease your nerves with alcohol. You’re not drinking a drop tonight. You agreed to do this, to marry Marcus, and you need to fulfill your end of the bargain.
And then, hopefully, you’ll have a baby. In the past, whenever I’ve fantasized about it, I’ve pictured being alone. Even when I thought about asking Caesar, and I envisaged telling him it had worked, I could only imagine feeling a bit odd, as if I was telling him I’d gotten a promotion, or won a prize in a competition.
But the man sitting next to me is going to make the baby with me. That’s so incredibly… personal.
And it’s not just any man. It’s not as if I’ve married an old, ugly guy, and I just have to close my eyes and think of England. Somehow, I don’t think Marcus is going to let me think about any UK country while he does his thing.
“Are you cold?” he asks, and I realize I’m trembling.
“A little.”
“Want me to close the top?”
“No, it’s okay, I have a sweater.” I lean over, fish it out of the backpack, and bring it back. As I do, I brush his arm with mine, and both of us inhale. Our gazes meet for a moment, and my face warms before I turn away to drape the sweater around my shoulders.
The air feels charged between us. We sing to the music, and talk occasionally as we pass landmarks, but I think he’s as conscious as I am that we’re nearing our destination.
“‘The town of trees and champions,’” he quotes as we enter Cambridge. “Caesar and I went to school there.” He gestures as we pass a high school.
“It’s a state school, right?”
“Yeah. Dad has always believed in keeping his children grounded.”
“Do you think you’ll be the same with your own kids?”
“With ours?” He corrects me, glancing at me. “Yes, probably. I’ll be guided by you. You’re the education expert.” He glances at me, then indicates as he slows at a roundabout. “Not far now.”
His phone buzzes from the holder on the dash at that moment, and as he stops in the queue, he checks the message. “Oh,” he says. “Nice.” He smiles at me. “We got the house in Stanley Point. The owners accepted the offer. Mind you, I’m not surprised; I offered fifty grand over the asking price.”
I stare at him, jaw dropping. “Fifty grand?” It was already up for five million.
“I wanted you to have the house you liked.” He taps on the wheel to the music, clearly thrilled. “We’re paying cash, so it shouldn’t be long until it’s complete.”
I think about the beautiful Edwardian villa, with its panoramic turret that would make a great playroom for kids.About the lawns that would have swings and footballs and roller skates. About the stunning corridors that could be filled with the laughter of children, and the warmth of family life.
He glances at me. “Are you pleased?”
I nod. “I’m thrilled. It’s a gorgeous house. Thank you so much.”
He smiles and looks back at the road. But my heart continues to race.
As we leave the town behind us, I look out at the rolling fields dotted with sheep and cows. He’s offering me everything a woman could want. A family. Wealth. Safety. Security. Commitment. Sex. Love? He hasn’t mentioned that yet. But even if he does, it doesn’t come with a guarantee.
I feel so conflicted. So afraid of getting hurt. I don’t know how to negotiate this complicated maze of feelings and emotions. And it’s only going to get worse once we arrive at the farm. Once we’re alone. Once he touches me.
How am I going to survive without losing my mind?
Chapter Fifteen
Marcus
Wren’s quiet as I signal and turn off the main road onto the drive, but I can see her looking at the view as I press the button for the gate, and it swings open. The Bentley’s tires scrunch on the gravel as I ease it forward, and I close the gate behind us and head for the house.
The drive winds through rolling paddocks, most of them with sheep grazing contentedly in the warm afternoon sunshine. Eucalyptus trees provide a windbreak on one side, partly obscuring the round hay bales stacked near the fence, the old hay shed, and the tractor barn.
