Chapter 73

Next morning, I got up before sunrise, feeling like a guilt-ridden teenager after sneaking out.

There was no way Ashton hadn't noticed my entire performance last night, and I was not about to sit across from him at breakfast pretending | was a normal, functional human being.

So yeah,I tried to sneak out.

Tiptoed downstairs, shoes in hand, bag swinging at my side.

But guess what?

He was already there.

Sitting on the sofa like the king of the business world.

Watching the news.

Calm.

Shirt sleeves rolled up like a casual threat.

I nearly threw my handbag at his face.

"You're up early," | accused.

He glanced over, expressionless. "Where are you going this early?"

Busted.

I bit my lip, attempting that fake innocence that only works on men who want to believe the lie. "Yvaine wanted to do breakfast. I'm just gonna...yeah,head out..."

I edged toward the door.

Then, just as my fingers brushed the handle-

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

My heart plummeted straight into my shoes.

I froze.

Turned.

Marched right back across the room like I hadn't just been tiptoeing a second ago.

And then I climbed into his lap.

Straddled him, arms wrapped around his neck.

No hesitation.

Well, maybe a little hesitation.

But mostly flair.

Kissing was off-limits.

But hugging-I could do that blindfolded and drunk.

I leaned in, brushing my cheek against his neck,whisper-close to his ear.

"This is as far as I can go. For now. As for the other thing... maybe give me some time? I need time to mentally prepare. You're a man of action, but I'm a girl with nerves. I need a heads-up before we go full lip-lock."

I needed enough time to brush my teeth, drown myself in breath spray, and eat a hundred mints.

More importantly, I needed time to warn myself not to shove my tongue down his throat or do something wildly inappropriate and irreversible.

Ashton froze.

He literally stopped breathing.

His body stiffened, like someone had swapped his spine for an ironing board.

He just sat there, silent.

Was he angry?

Or disappointed?

Or silently going over our ironclad contract,searching for a clause that said, "If fake wife misbehaves, fake husband gets to unleash legal hellfire"?

I decided not to provoke him further. "Let's leave it at this for today, yeah?"

He exhaled. His voice was low and rough. "We'll talk tonight."

"Cool, cool." I bounced off his lap.

Then I noticed him looking at me strangely.

I squinted back at him.

Was his neck...red?

Like, sunburn-at-midnight red.

For a split second, I wondered if I'd given him a love bite without realizing, but unless I'd started sucking necks in my sleep, that wasn't it.

"Are you-?" | was about to ask if he was allergic to my lip gloss when Carmen popped her head in.

"Mr. Laurent, Mrs. Laurent, breakfast's ready." She gave me a sunny smile. "Mrs. Laurent, I made that spicy chorizo scramble you like so much."

"Thanks,Carmen."

I glanced longingly at the dining room.

Then at the door.

Then at Ashton.

His lips curved. "Thought you had a breakfast date with Yvaine?"

"It could also be a lunch date," I said."Or afternoon tea. Yvaine's very flexible."

He stood. "Let's eat."

I backed into the dining room.

Last night I'd been so hungry I almost raided the pantry, but I stayed in bed like a good little fake-drunk idiot to avoid blowing my cover.

Now I was starving.

I sat down.

Ashton tore a freshly toasted baguette in half and handed me one.

I slathered mine with strawberry jam and pushed the jar of paté toward him without thinking.

And then it hit me.

Not the food.

The domesticity.

The fact that this whole stupid, cozy, married-for-show breakfast ritual was starting to feel normal.

Like | knew exactly how he liked his coffee.

Like he knew I put jam on everything.

Like we were just another boring couple havng breakfast-not two liars trapped in a high-stakes fake marriage.

And that freaked me out way more than kissing him ever could.

After breakfast, I locked myself in the study to work on BloomState drafts.

Geoffrey had cleared out the roomn just for me, and I'd never been this productive in my life.

Even at Nyx Collective, with every professional tool and software available, I hadn't worked this fast.

Sometime in the evening, Ashton texted to say he wouldn't be home for dinner.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Then he walked through the front door twenty minutes later.

Apparently, 'not home for dinner' didn't mean 'not home at all.

Thanks for the clarity, CEO of Misleading Messages.

I was in the kitchen sipping water when I heard the door click open.

My fight-or-flight response kicked in.

I picked flight.

Slipping past the island, I tiptoed toward the stairs like a cartoon burglar.

And then I saw him.

Ashton was sprawled across the sofa like a GQ centerfold-legs crossed, shirt slightly undone.

His eyes were locked on me.

I scratched my chin and forced a grin. "Uh... long day? You should go to bed early. Beauty sleep and all that."

His right hand dangled lazily over the armrest.

Then his index finger lifted, curling at me like he was beckoning a pet."Come here."

I should have said no.

Should have kept walking.

I didn't.

My feet moved.

One step.

Two.

This morning I'd noticed how soft his lips looked.

Thin, precise, probably very kissable.

A kiss wouldn't kill me.

After all, I was getting paid.

Two million sat in my bank account-that was enough motivation to treat him like a hot check with abs.

I picked up the pace and dropped myself onto his lap, like I did this every Tuesday.

Ashton blinked.

Clearly, this was not what he expected.

"I said come here. I didn't say do anything."

I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Come on. We both know what 'come here' means with you. Let's just get the rehearsal over with. I've got sketches to finish."