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On the other side are beautiful ball gowns, pantsuits, and dresses. One section has graphic tees and ripped jeans from black to blue to white. Converses, in every shade, all my size. I glance at one of the T-shirts, and it says,Billionaire Obsessed, in cursive.
I burst into laughter and slide it on. “Smart-ass.”
I grab a pair of jeans, noting that the tag readsGucci. Another pair is Balenciaga. These aredesignerclothes. My eyes scan over everything he purchased, and it’s well over six figures. I want to know how he pulled it off without me knowing.
A small dresser with a mirror on top sits between summer and winter wear. There’s a card folded in half with my name scribbled across it. I smile when I notice Easton‘s handwriting.
Surprise, darling. I knew you’d find this eventually.
“He’s so good at this,” I say, bending over to put on shoes.
As I straighten to stand, I glance into the full-length mirror. My fingers trail across my neck, where Easton lost control. Light bruises pepper my delicate skin. I decide to wear my hair up so no one misses it. If we’re givingusa real chance, everyone needs to understand he’s mine—at least for now.
When I’m downstairs, I grab my phone, and it feels foreign in my hand. I haven’t turned it on in a week because we were lost together. I press the button and wait.
The headlines quickly load after I type his name into the search bar.
EASTON CALLOWAY IS OFF THE MARKET.
EASTON CALLOWAY IS MARRIED!
EASTON CALLOWAY FOUND HIS FOREVER WOMAN!
EASTON CALLOWAY AND HIS WIFE!
EASTON CALLOWAY MARRIES DOWN!
EASTON CALLOWAY’S FAKE MARRIAGE
THE DIAMOND PRINCE HAS WED.
I see countless pictures of us together in Fiji. When we were there, everything disappeared. It felt like it was just us. We were foolish.
The text messages flood in, along with missed call notifications from Carlee, Remi, my mom, and my brothers. It’s too much.
I sit back on the cushion, wishing it would swallow me as my phone buzzes.
The front door swings open and I make eye contact with Easton. I can barely speak as he bolts toward me with fire in hiseyes. I stand up to greet him and his hand finds its way behind my neck, pulling me closer.
I laugh against his lips. “What are you doing here?”
“I canceled the meeting,” he said. “I didn’t give a fuck. Ineededyou.” He lays me back on the couch. “Ichoseyou.”
“Reckless,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, wanting him closer.
“You’re right. You might be bad for business.”
He stands, removing his suit jacket and tie. I join him, pushing his shirt from his shoulders, then remove his belt and slide his pants down.
When he reads my shirt, a howl of laughter escapes him. “Surprised?”
“You’re too good to me,” I tell him as he quickly removes my shoes, pants, and panties like a magician.
“You make me want to be better. I’m a better man because of you.”
He parts my thighs and sinks deep inside me. We’re desperate, like the six hours we were separated was too much.
Deep grunts release from him as I nearly gasp for air. We greedily chase our high, pushing one another to climax, as if we were running a marathon. He pumps inside of me hard; our moans mix, creating a symphony of passion. I don’t ever want this to get old. I don’t want anything to change.