Page 53 of A Secret Escape

(Four Months Later)

Lila

S unlight peeks through the blinds as I blink my eyes open and roll over in bed.

Marcus is already awake, propped up against the headboard with his iPad in his lap.

Most mornings, if he wakes up earlier than me, he’d be reading a book, but lately, he’s been so consumed with preparations for the gala that he’s barely been sleeping.

He's wearing his glasses – thin, dark frames that make him look infuriatingly intelligent and sexy. It’s quickly become my favourite look on him, even edging out the navy suit, just barely.

He notices me stir and looks down at me, smiling.

“Morning gorgeous,” he says, setting the iPad and his glasses on the nightstand before sliding down to face me.

I smile, loving the way he always puts me first, even when I know there’s so much on his mind.

I smile sleepily. “ Mmm, morning.”

His arm curls around my waist and my body instinctively shifts to press against him. We’d fallen asleep naked – as we did most nights now – and the warmth of his body sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

“Got much planned for today?” he asks, his voice low and hazy.

His eyes are twinkling in that way that always gets to me, and his smile – God, that smile – melts my heart every single time.

I run my hand through the soft tendrils of hair falling loosely around his face, then down the curve of his muscular arm.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, my voice light and teasing. “There might be some kind of fancy charity thing going on tonight. I was thinking I might stop by, you know, if I have time.”

His eyes flicker into that devilish flame I know all too well by now, and suddenly he’s on top of me, pinning me to the bed with a grin that makes my whole body ignite.

“Is that so?” he whispers, pressing his cock against me, already hard for me.

I open my mouth to answer, but before I can say a word, his lips are on mine, his hands in my hair, and everything else melts away.

A rush of heat spreads through my veins as I lift my leg, wrapping it around him, and I feel him smile against my mouth as his fingers reach down and find me ready and soaking wet for him.

He slides into me slowly, purposefully, his body syncing with mine like it’s the only place we were ever meant to be.

I clutch his back, nails grazing his skin, his name rising from my throat in a moan as his lips wander down my neck and collarbone.

I hold him as he finishes inside me, burying his face in my neck as he exhales with a deep, shuddering sigh. I love the weight of him on top of me, the way our bodies stay connected making everything feel complete .

He props himself up onto his elbows, looking at me in that way he does that makes my insides melt every single time.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I say, and his lips press against mine, the overwhelming emotion spreading through every part of me.

***

It has been nearly four months since that night at the cottage, and every day, I still feel as though I’m in a dream.

After we got back, Marcus helped me clean out the flat. Most of my things had been ruined – the couch, the bed, the TV. I bought a cheap mattress on a credit card and put down a few cushions in the living room to sit on, but it hadn’t mattered as I was spending almost every night at his anyway.

He first told me he loved me a month after we got back. He’d been teaching me how to cook, and we were in his kitchen one evening, chopping vegetables side by side, the radio playing softly in the background. The evening light was streaming in through the window, bathing the room in a golden glow.

I was telling him a silly story about work, gesturing with a wooden spoon as I mixed up the salad, when I caught him staring at me. His eyes had that tender look – the one that always makes me forget what I’m saying.

“What?” I asked, laughing shyly.

He shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. His hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

“I love you.”

The simplicity of it took my breath away. My heart seemed to stop for a moment, then race forward. The wooden spoon clattered onto the floor as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“I love you too,” I whispered against his lips.

And although it seemed completely insane, after only two months, he asked me to move in. It felt wild… but also right.

I was practically living here anyway, and it made more sense that I could contribute towards bills and groceries than keep paying for an empty flat.

We’ve now been living together for nearly two months, and not a day goes by that I don’t feel like the luckiest girl in the world to be waking up next to him.

I got on birth control the week we got back from the cottage, and the sex?

It’s everything. Slow and tender some nights, rough and desperate others.

We’ve done it in the bath, on the couch, even on the stairs once – which was surprisingly hot – but nothing beats the bed, where I can look into his eyes and tell him I love him.

And I do. So much.

***

I glance at the wardrobe, where my dress for the evening hangs on the door.

It’s an absolute dream – strapless, floor-length, with a deep emerald-green bodice covered in tiny jewels that cascade into a sheer, flowing skirt that drapes elegantly to the floor.

It has a slit on one side up to the thigh, showing off my legs as I walk.

It shimmers and sparkles with every turn of the light and I feel like a princess every time I try it on.

It had been completely out of my budget, but Marcus insisted.

I tried to argue, but honestly? There’s no point when he gets that look in his eye, so I caved and let him buy it for me.

He groans, kissing me softly before rolling onto his back beside me.

I turn onto my side, resting a hand on his chest, my fingers brushing the cool onyx stone. “You okay?”

He looks over at me with that familiar, warm light and a grin that still knocks the air out of my lungs. “I am now,” he says. “You?”

I nod, smiling. “Yea… I really am.”

***

The rest of the day floats by uneventfully. I go for a run after breakfast, and Marcus heads to the gym with Mike. We meet up in town for lunch and to pick up a few last minute things for tonight.

At exactly 8:00pm, our taxi pulls up outside the Mercure Manchester Piccadilly Hotel.

Marcus climbs out first, then turns and holds his hand out to me. I step out into the soft evening light, the fabric of my gown catching the glow of the setting sun like I’m stepping into a dream.

The air is warm, with just the faintest chill of the evening setting in. The city is alive and vibrant, and my skin hums with anticipation for the night ahead.

Marcus’s fingers lace through mine as he flashes me that devastatingly perfect smile. “You ready?”

I nod, heart fluttering, and we walk inside.

The hotel lobby is buzzing. A mix of people mills around us, many of them guests arriving in gowns and tuxedos, while others are tourists or hotel staff passing through. There is a sense of movement and energy everywhere .

We fall in step behind an older couple – the man in a tux, the woman in a cream-coloured dress with a large hat with a flower angled on the side of her hair. We follow them through the lobby in the direction of the signs pointing towards the International Suite.

Even though I have no reason to be nervous, I feel a flutter in my stomach and a tingle in my fingers, biting my lip as we approach the door.

I attended the gala last year, but it had been on a much smaller scale, with only a hundred invited guests.

This year, the guest list stood at six hundred, with each guest paying anywhere from ￡1,000 to ￡3,000 for the evening’s entertainment and food, not to mention the massive donations to charity many of the guests would be making.

Last year, I’d been a shadow in the background. This year, I’m on the arm of one of the main organisers of the event. I won’t be able to hide in the wings – I’ll have to talk to people, smile for photos, and mingle with guests.

Marcus squeezes my hand, glancing at me as though he can sense my nerves, and I feel steadier.

As we step through the doors, I gasp at the beauty of the scene in front of us. If I felt like a princess before – the ballroom amplifies that feeling tenfold.

Light pours in through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow that mingles perfectly with soft pink and purple uplighting along the walls and on the stage.

Rows of beautifully set tables stretch before us, each adorned with black seat covers and silver accents.

Crystal chandeliers shimmer overhead, scattering tiny reflections like stars across every surface.

Marcus walks in confidently, pulling me gently forward as I realise I’d frozen in place, mouth slightly open, completely awestruck by the beauty of the space – and had blocked a row of people behind us.

I flash an apologetic smile, giving a small wave as I fall in step beside him, his arm slipping comfortably around my back as soft music floats on the air.

We make our way to the bar where Marcus grabs two flutes of champagne from a neat line of ready-poured glasses and hands me one. I take a quick sip, needing something to settle the flutter in my chest.

“A bit bigger than last year, huh?” he says with a cheeky grin.

I laugh. “Just a bit.”

He turns, scanning the room. “Ready to talk to hundreds of people you’ve never met before?”

“Bring it on,” I say, pride blooming in my chest.

He’s worked so hard for this night – late nights, constant stress, endless details – and it’s all come together beautifully. Seeing the confidence in his smile makes every sleepless hour worth it.

Marcus leads me over to a small group of people standing in a circle behind a table. As we approach, a short man with a thick moustache breaks from the group, walking right up to Marcus.