Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Of course I am. Why?”
“It sounded like she was the one who got away.”
“No, that was my next girlfriend.” He winked at her. “Just kidding, princess.”
“You know, I’m holding a pie,” she said calmly. A few beats passed and he started to sense he wasn’t in the clear yet from the dangerous nature of this conversation. “But speaking of pie, I’m just . . . curious. You’re very good at . . . you know. Indulging in a little pie yourself. So when did all this practice occur—”
He was already shaking his head. “Natalie.”
“I’m just saying, it couldn’t have been with the pastor’s pickle-making wife.”
“This conversation ends now. I only have eyes for your pie.”
“Just tell me,” she cajoled.
“No.”
“We’re both adults!”
“Oh my God, I . . . yeah, okay. Fine. I lost my virginity when I was twenty-two. Kind of late and thirteen years ago, Natalie. The girl was a friend of a friend’s girlfriend and I can’t even remember her name, but she . . . she looked at it and said, You better learn how to make a woman stupid before you even think of bringing that thing into the mix. She showed me a few tricks and I listened. Okay? And that is the end of this conversation.”
“Are you sure you don’t remember her name?” She had the nerve to sound disappointed. “I was hoping to send her a Christmas card.”
“Very funny.” His face was on fire. “I can’t believe I told you that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my wife. You’re supposed to believe I’ve existed only for you since day one.” In his self-directed irritation, he’d become a loose cannon and could no longer keep himself from erupting. Maybe he was worried that his confession had put doubts in Natalie’s head or maybe he was just tired of keeping the truth to himself. But for whatever reason, he chose the moment they pulled up outside of the Vos estate to spill his guts. “And when I look at you, I swear I have. Existed just for you all this time. It feels like I have.”
She was utterly beautiful and vulnerable in that moment.
Also pale and full of terror.
Awesome.
“Are you just . . . are you method acting because we’re getting ready to fake it in front of Ingram Meyer, or—”
“Nope. I meant what I said.” It was an understatement. A massive one. But her visible fear told him to rein it in. “I have feelings for you, Natalie.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Glanced over his shoulder, where he could hear the front door of the house opening. Footsteps approaching. “Can we talk about this later?”
* * *
I have feelings for you.
Natalie walked into her childhood home trying desperately not to fumble the pie. Her fake husband had just admitted to having feelings for her. What kind of feelings? They didn’t get that far. Did he mean lust? Did he mean he cared about her? Because she’d already sort of sensed both of those things, but they weren’t supposed to speak about it out loud. That made it real. That made it something they would have to deal with.
“Do you want me to carry the pie?” August asked, resting his fingertips against the small of her back. Goose bumps sprung to life on the nape of her neck as a result, her eyelashes fluttering, thanks in part to the conversation they’d been having leading up to his confession. She’d gone from jealous to turned on faster than an upside-down roller coaster loop. Perhaps she was in the minority, but a man who listened to a woman’s advice on sex, going from pupil to master? That was unforgivably hot, no matter which way she sliced it.
Still, she wasn’t supposed to get tummy flutters over phrases like I only have eyes for your pie. Yet here she stood. Fluttering and flushed and trying to come to terms with this huge presence in her life now having feelings for her on top of everything else.
Maybe even her own feelings for him. Big, daunting ones.
“No, it’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ve got it.”
“Do you want me to carry you and the pie? Those heels look uncomfortable.”
Briefly, she glanced down. “I used to wear shoes like this every day of the week.” She used the pie to gesture at the dining room ahead, where voices could be heard, including one belonging to Ingram Meyer. “The heels make me feel more confident. I . . . need some confidence at family dinners.”
August searched her eyes, nodded—and Natalie was flooded with the strangest sense that he’d seen exactly what was going on upstairs in her noggin. “I got you, princess.”
She blinked up at him. “You’ve got me?”
“What did I say in my wedding vows? I will take your side in every argument, unless it’s with me. Were you listening or just standing there looking like a goddess?”