Page 71 of The Marriage Clause

His eyes lift to mine and he walks toward me.

"I guess we both lost our mothers," I say. "Just in different ways."

He reaches past me for the frame, his arm brushing mine, and picks it up. His eyes glance over it for a long moment. Then he sets it face down on the shelf.

"Come on," he says. "We should get you to bed. The wedding is tomorrow and we could both use some sleep."

As if there is any way that I’ll fall asleep the night before I marry Everett Kauffman.

Neither of us says it. We don't have to. Sleep isn’t coming for either of us tonight.

"Right," I say. "Good idea."

I force a small smile. "At least I don't really have to pack. Everly had Lana shop for me."

He raises an eyebrow. "She packed for you?"

"Something like that. Though I should probably make sure she packed me any real clothes. She joked that she told Lana to only pack lingerie."

Everett chokes on his whiskey. An involuntary cough that he tries to swallow back and doesn't quite manage.

He sets the glass down and clears his throat.

"Sorry," he says. "Went down wrong."

His ears are pink. This damn man can stare down a boardroom full of executives without blinking, but the word lingerie takes him out at the knees.

If I'm being honest, I kind of love that. I decide, kindly, not to mention it.

"Goodnight, Everett."

He sets the glass down with exaggerated care, and doesn't look at me when he does it.

"Goodnight, Aria."

I make it halfway up the stairs before his voice catches me.

"Aria."

I turn.

He's still standing at the island, one hand flat on the marble, the other in his pocket. The low light does something unfair to his jaw. To his forearms. To the whole damn picture of him standing in his kitchen looking too good to be marrying tomorrow as my fake husband.

"For what it's worth," he says, "I hope she packed real clothes… For both our sakes."

My pulse kicks so hard I feel it in my throat.

I don't trust myself to answer back or to ask for him to elaborate. So I turn and walk to the guest room and close the door behind me and lean against it until my breathing does something closer to normal.

The wedding is tomorrow.

I'm marrying that man.

And I'm starting to think the consummation clause might not be the problem Christian made it sound like.

Chapter Thirteen

EVERETT