Page 34 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Fiona

I shift a little in bed, not opening my eyes. Don’t know what time it is and don’t care. I’m too exhausted from last night, not to mention hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday. Meeting Zoe killed my appetite for the rest of the day.

I don’t know what Zoe fed Bryce, but it must’ve been something potent.

It’s been over twenty-four hours since she had him drugged, but he was insatiable again last night.

I came way too many times. Toward the end, it was all I could do to cling to him and scream until my throat turned raw.

It’s a real mystery—how can a man drive me so wild with lust, yet make me want to murder him with my bare hands at the same time?

Afterward, he clung to me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his big, strong body shuddering like a wounded animal. I ran my fingers through his hair, just the way he loved when we were together in college, then hummed a wordless tune softly until the tension in his muscles melted away.

Bryce once asked me what song it was, but it doesn’t have a title.

I just came up with it when I noticed he was too tense to fall asleep.

“Maybe I’ll call it ‘My Special Song for Bryce,’” I told him with a shrug, my cheeks slightly warm.

Although one of the reasons Zachary chose me was that I was musically adept and could carry a decent tune, my ability could never measure up to Finley’s—a fact that the Obermans brought up many times.

He cradled my face and smiled at me like I was the life-giving sun. Except he was the sun that warmed my soul. I was never certain if I could be worthy of happiness, but he made me feel like everything was possible if I’d just reach for it.

And I dreamed of myself, with him, creating a family I could belong to.

My life didn’t work out the way I wanted, but I could still comfort him in his sleep.

I ran my fingers through Bryce’s hair and hummed for him.

He stirred my shocked sympathy when it dawned on me that he had no idea that what his mother was doing was basically rape.

I couldn’t even speak. He’s a lawyer ! He should’ve realized it before anybody else.

But Zoe’s abuse when he was small might have been so bad that he copes by pretending what she’s doing isn’t as horrific as it actually is. Or maybe his lawyer brain just doesn’t work right when it comes to his family. Nothing is more complicated than families.

It’s also possible that I’m just more sensitive about consent than most people.

After all, Jude took me against my wishes for two godawful years.

If he hadn’t nearly died and I hadn’t had the opportunity to hack into his phone, laptop, and cloud storage, he might’ve continued until I couldn’t bear it anymore and done something unthinkable—and irreversible.

“Good morning, Fiona,” comes Bryce’s cheerful voice. The mattress dips as he sits near me.

I pull the sheets over my head and bury my face in the pillow, closing my eyes more tightly. “Go away.” I wince at how hoarse I sound. “You’re not allowed to come near me for the next seven days. Minimum.”

“Seriously?” There’s laughter in his voice. “Even when I come bearing a gift?”

That makes my eyebrows twitch a little. “What gift?” I ask suspiciously. If he says, “My hard, eager dick,” I’m going to murder —

“An Americano.”

I open one eye, lift the sheets a fraction and sniff, inhaling the beautiful, heavenly aroma of fresh coffee. I push myself up. “Gimme.”

Before I can extend my hand, he wraps my fingers around the handle of the mug with a small smile. “Thanks.” I take a sip. The warm liquid soothes my raw throat. “Not bad,” I say primly. “Still, stay away from me for a week.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you going to hold a grudge?”

“Maybe.” I focus on the coffee. “I think I’m entitled, don’t you?”

“But you got to attack me, get on top of me, and strangle me. Don’t you think that’s worth a little forgiveness?”

“Let me think about it for the next seven days. Alone .”

He laughs. Of course he’s in a great mood. He got laid. He strokes my left cheek gently. “Looks better now.”

“What?”

“Your face. Not so haunted.”

I trace the tingling trail his fingers have left on my cheek, torn between the desire to erase the sensation and hold on to it. “I’m a resilient person.”

“Or maybe my dick’s just that good.”

“Trust me, it’s not you, it’s me.” I pat him on the chest, wanting to continue the light mood.

When we’re like this, I feel like we’re back in time, filled with affection and laughter.

I wasn’t afraid to kiss him or show him how much I adored him.

I probably fell for him way too fast and deep.

The sensation of being seen was just too heady and addictive.

I’d had boyfriends before, in high school, and they liked the shadow of Finley I portrayed.

But Bryce… He liked me . Called me by my real name.

Watched movies that I was interested in.

Gave me flowers that I wanted. Dined in restaurants that had food I enjoyed.

There was no room for any part of Finley between us, and I clung to him desperately, never wanting to show even a glimpse of imperfection, lest I not measure up.

My heart aches for all that’s been lost between us—things I let slip through my fingers because I was too young and scared when Jude blackmailed me.

Hell, I’m still scared of not being good enough, not deserving to belong.

I’m almost thirty, but every time I’m around Bryce, I feel like I’m still twenty, desperate to be perfect so I can be worthy of love and acceptance.

The skin around my eyes grows hot with sudden tears, and I blink rapidly to clear them.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” I ask, wanting some peace and quiet to reconcile the many facets of Bryce. I thought I knew him at Harvard, but I realize I only saw a very few sides.

“No. I told them I’d be in late.”

“Two days in a row?”

He shrugs. “I rarely take vacation days. The firm will get over it.”

“You mean your family. Everyone knows they own the firm.”

He grins.

“Nepo baby,” I mutter, although I can’t fully disguise the half-teasing tone.

“Did you just call me a nepo baby?” he demands with mock outrage.

I nod with a small smile.

“Hey, I’m an amazing attorney. You’d be honored to have me on your side. Anyway, I drafted a short agreement for our unholy matrimony.”

I stiffen. I guess it makes sense to put everything in writing when something as important as marriage is at stake. “Fair enough. Guess you need to ensure I don’t get a penny of your money…” I shrug.

He snorts. “You already got two hundred million pennies of my money.”

My cheeks warm at the pointed reminder.

“But we won’t put that in the agreement, unless you want me to,” he says.

“It’s fine. Do I need to hire a lawyer?”

“Up to you. But if it helps, it’s in plain English.”

“Wow, I’m shocked. I was expecting it to be in legalese so dense nobody except the name partners at your firm could understand it.”

Bryce chuckles. “Now that would be an asshole move.”

“Yeah, it would be.” It’s weird to admit to myself that despite our history, he hasn’t been a total bastard.

He can be contrary and irritating, but he hasn’t gone above and beyond to be a vindictive dick.

I don’t know what to make of that. He hasn’t forgiven me for my betrayal, so why not cut me down? Humiliate me worse than Jude did?

But he hasn’t. He flipped out with worry when he found out about his mom’s “visit” with me.

Part of me wants to believe it might mean we have a future together, the kind that I lost when I acted so stupidly ten years ago.

But realistically, I know I’m being blindly optimistic.

He’s never going to love me or want to create a family with me.

I’m not sure if I could if the situation were reversed.

If I caught him in bed with another woman while we were dating, especially if the woman happened to be my rival… ?

Bryce hands me the piece of paper to review. As promised, the document is in plain English. There are three main points: one, we have to be faithful to each other; two, we have to share the same bed each night; three, absolutely no babies. The duration is set to two years.

I narrow my eyes. “I guess you’re not going to change the length of our fake marriage?”

“No. Two years, unless you want to go for forty.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t want to be stuck with me that long.”

An odd expression crosses his face, then his eyes widen slightly.

“What, did you forget an appointment? If so, we can discuss this later.”

“No.” He shakes his head slowly. “It’s something else. Not important.”

Bullshit . I trust his initial, undisguised reaction more than his Harvard Law-trained words. “So, I guess this means we don’t have to do that sex countdown.”

“I didn’t say that.” He leans forward. “After all, can we really go two years without sex?”

“Well, you probably can’t.” I shoot a meaningful look at his crotch.

“ Me? You’re the one who created this huge wet spot.” He points to the bed. “I had to put a towel over it because I’m a gentleman and I don’t let my partner sleep on the wet spot.”

My face heats, and I shake my head, self-conscious and annoyed at the same time.

Bryce and I have always had amazing chemistry.

He makes me so wet that it’s embarrassing sometimes.

It’s never happened with anybody else, but I’m not stupid enough to admit that.

Bryce would crow until I wanted to throw the Americano in his face. And I really need this coffee.

“So how are you going to do the sex part?” Time to move on from the wet spot. “I don’t want to do the countdown if I also have to be married to you for two years.”

“We’ll play it by ear.”

Why does that sound like, “We’ll do it every day”?

“But I am at your service anytime you want to jump me, just like last night.” He spreads his arms with a smug smile.

My fingers tighten around the mug. “How absurdly generous. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh, and I want to add that I’m always in the mood.”

And that sounds like, “I’ll help you get in the mood, baby.” Given our chemistry, it’s very possible that he could seduce me if he put his mind to it.

And part of me wants to see what he’d do.

I shake myself inwardly and read the rest of the document.

It says that we don’t have any claim over each other’s premarital assets, but I’m to live with him at his home.

Fine . We’re to keep our assets separate while married, and under no circumstances commingle anything.

Also fine . It should make our break cleaner.

“Birth control?” I ask.

“I can supply condoms, and if you want, you can go on birth control.”

I sigh. There’s nothing objectionable about the terms. “Okay. Give me a pen.”

He hands me a sleek Mont Blanc. I scrawl my name at the end of the document and date it.

He takes the pen and signs. As I watch him jot down today’s date, my stomach flutters with nerves and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

Anxiety floods me. It’s nothing like what I felt when I agreed to his payment plan for the two million dollars.

Oh my God, I’m really marrying Bryce . I breathe slowly in and out, trying to focus on the air moving through my body.

It’s going to be okay. Two years will pass in the blink of an eye. It’ll be like living with a roommate.

Besides, he’s too smart to not figure out a way to end our relationship as quickly as possible. I can’t imagine his wanting to spend any more time than he has to with me. Once the Zoe problem is resolved, we’ll go our separate ways even if it hasn’t been the full two years.

“So, when are we getting married?” I ask, praying it’ll take at least a month before the ceremony.

“Today.”