Page 137 of The Unwilling Bride
"I asked them to respect you because I didn’t want to make things more difficult for you in the kitchen."
I scowl, feeling conflicted and, perhaps, a little disappointed. Doesn’t he realize I have to already work twice as hard as he does to get my peers to respect me? And then, to have him come across all protective in the kitchen, it minimizes my achievements.
I draw in a breath.
“Your intentions were in the right place. But if I want the team to take me seriously, it’s best that you let me fight my own battles.”
His jaw grows even harder.
"I’m not trying to fight your battles. But the reality is, you're my wife. For this marriage to look real, the team has to believe it. And for them to believe it, they need to see me defend you. No one gets to question your position in the restaurant. No one gets to question our marriage. That's all I was doing."
I deflate. He’s right. And I was wrong to expect more from him. He’s only delivering on his part of the agreement. Why did I expect more from him?
Suddenly, I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open.
"Where’s my bedroom?" I yawn.
"This way." He leads me up the stairs and toward one of the doors opening off a seating area.
I walk in, and when I see the big bed, I all but moan with pleasure. "My clothes?—"
"I hired a service to pack your things, bring them over, and unpack them."
I shoot him a grateful look over my shoulder. "Thank you."
He stays just outside the door, not entering the room. A tall, hulking figure with muscular shoulders who fills the doorway.
I turn slowly to face him.
His gaze drifts toward the bed, lingering for a moment too long before he shifts back. He jams his hands into his pockets as if he’s caught himself thinking something he shouldn’t.
The room grows very quiet.
His eyes flick back to mine. For a second, neither of us moves. His gaze turns intense. It feels like he’s mentally tracing my features with his eyes.
A familiar heat flushes my skin. That unspoken connection between us tightens. The one which brought me here to his penthouse.
There’s something in his eyes. A question, perhaps. Or the shadow of one. Something unspoken that hangs between us, heavy and fragile at the same time.
This is our wedding night.
The thought settles in my chest, heavier than it should be. Not frightening. Not entirely unwelcome either. Just…real in a way I haven’t let myself consider until now.
In another life, in another version of this marriage, tonight would have been different. Nervous laughter. Whispered confessions. The shy anticipation of sharing the marital bed for the first time.
Instead, we stand a few feet apart.
The distance between us feels charged, like the air before a storm. Quiet, but vibrating with something neither of us seems willing to touch.
My gaze drifts to his mouth before I can stop it. The firm line of it. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. The way his lips press together as if he’s holding something back.
He notices.
Of course, he does.
His eyes darken, the blue turning deeper, almost midnight in the low light of the room. He scans my face leisurely, then down my body. I feel itlike he's touching me with those thick, blunt fingers of his, rather than his eyes.
Heat stirs low in my belly.
