“I think there’s a middle ground,” she said, softly. “Charlotte isn’t old enough to remember our wedding, but at some point, she’ll probably be interested in seeing pictures. So we should at least stage a ceremony for her. I’ll need a dress,” she continued, thinking aloud. “You should wear a tuxedo.” Her mouth went dry at the very thought. “And even though it’s not a real wedding, I can’t imagine not having my mom with me.”
“It’s real in the ways that matter,” he said quietly. “The implications are real.”
She didn’t want to think about the implications of their marriage. “And if my mom’s here for the wedding, I don’t think it’s fair to leave your family out.”
His eyes narrowed. “It makes the thing more credible if we include them.”
She swallowed past a lump in her throat.
“However, the kind of wedding you’re suggesting would also necessitate a honeymoon.”
She blinked at him. “No way.”
“We can go to the island,” he said, referring to his Mediterranean bolt hole. But there were too many memories there, and she couldn’t imagine ever being ready to face them again.
“No. You’re busy. Make up an excuse – some kind of project you can’t get away from. We’ll say the honeymoon is delayed.”
A muscle jerked low in his jaw and she felt – sheknew– that he wanted to fight her, but to his credit, he shrugged instead, and then took a sip of his coffee.
“Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the apartment.”
He could seethe indecision on her face. The bedroom besides Charlotte’s was obviously the most logical choice – it was what he knew she wanted to pick. But it also happened to be across the hallway from his own bedroom, and her eyes kept flicking to his door tellingly.
“It’s your choice.”
She glared at him. “I’ll take this one.” Again, her eyes flitted to his door.
“Are you worried I’ll sleepwalk across the hallway at night?”
Her cheeks flushed a subtle shade of pink. “I can simply lock the door,” she said with an overbright tone to her voice.
“That won’t be necessary.” His nostrils flared, something like impatience bubbling in his chest. He moved closer to her, looking down into her face, reading the subtle changes in her features, the resistance to her desire. “I won’t come into your room uninvited, Abby.”
“Then you’ll never come in,” she said with a defiant set to her chin.
He laughed softly, a rumble that shifted the hair around her ears. “If you say so.”
“You’re so arrogant.” She lifted her hands as if to push him away, but her hands got caught on his shirt and stuck there, her eyes wide as she felt the warmth of his chest, the beating of his heart. Her lips parted as she stared up at his face, a small divot forming between her brows as though she’d forgotten what she wanted to say.
“You want me to kiss you,” he said slowly, moving his body ever so slightly closer, so one of his legs braced hers, her hands caught between them.
She bit down on her lip, a plea in her eyes. But for him to stop? Or stay?
“I hate you,” she whispered softly, tears sparkling on her lashes, so something tightened low in his abdomen, painful and abrupt. He wanted to kiss away her pain, to make her see that there was goodness here too, that they had Charlotte and a physical connection that would sustain them both. They could make this work, so long as they were honest about what their marriage was, and wasn’t.
But it had to be on Abby’s terms.
Two years ago he’d made assumptions on her behalf. He’d presumed she’d be fine with their relationship. He’d thought she understood what he was offering. He’d believed whatever he’d needed to keep seeing her, sleeping with her. He’d taken without thought.
He wouldn’t be that man again.
“I want you.” The words were bald and honest. “I will want you any time of the day. Or night. But you have to be brave enough to admit you want me too.”
He lifted a finger to her cheek, running it from her ear to her lower lip, pressing it there.
“If you said the word, I’ll lift you up right now and take you to bed.”
“Charlotte –,” she garbled.