Page 72 of Married in Michigan

I know his schedule, now.

He frowns. “Go see her.”

“But this is why I’m here.”

He shakes his head. “I can manage without you for a few nights.” A strange, unsettling smile. “I did manage for a while, you know.”

I laugh. “I know. It’s just…this is why I’m here. It’s why we’re together.”

He nods, shrugs. And then his eyes find mine and there’s an odd light in them, an unsettling openness. “I managed without someone for years…my whole life. I was fine. I didn’t want a wife.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Weird how quickly I’ve gotten used to you being there. How much I’ve come to rely on you being here with me.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t do anything.”

“You do more than you know.” He looks down at his glass, swirls. “Just you being there helps me mentally, somehow. Like, I know you’re there. If a conversation is becoming something I need an escape from, you’re there. You give the women something to talk about besides my love life, and honestly you make me look better with the men.”

I frown at that. “How so?”

He smiles, one that saysYou really don’t realize?“Because you’re so fucking stunning.”

I shiver, shrug a shoulder, shake my head. “I’m out of place. I don’t fit.”

“Which is exactly why they’re all smitten with you.”

“No one is smitten, Paxton.”

He arches an eyebrow. “At cocktails last night, the guy I was talking to most of the night, Mick Branson? He couldn’t stop talking about you. How his wife was girl-crushing on you, and how he couldn’t figure out what a ten like you is doing with a five like me.”

I snort, my trademark blast of sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, okay.I’mthe ten,you’rethe five. Good one, Paxton.”

He frowns. “You think it’s the opposite?”

I shrug again. “I mean, no. I don’t think I’m a five. I know I’m pretty. It’s mostly my build, but I know I’m okay. I’m comfortable and confident in who I am and what I look like, so don’t think it’s self-deprecation. But you’re way out of my league, Paxton. You’re the elite. Women want you, and men want to be you. You have everything. It’s fucking annoying, actually. I wanted to assume it’s because you’re rich and beautiful, that you’re shallow and vapid. But you’re not. You smart and you genuinely care.” I’m fully aware of how bitter I sound.

He frowns at me, head tilted, eyes searching. “That really bugs you, huh?” he says, half-laughing.

“Yes!” I shout. “It does! You can’t have literallyeverythinggoing for you! It’s not fair.”

He doesn’t laugh with me. “I don’t have everything.”

I eye him speculatively. “Oh? And what are you missing?”

He takes a sip of whiskey, and doesn’t answer for a while. Eventually, still staring into his glass, he answers. “More than you know, Makayla.”

Something in the silence stops me from asking what he means.

After what feels like several minutes of silence, he finishes his whiskey, pushes his empty ice cream bowl away and slides off the stool. He makes it as far as the hallway before he stops and turns back to me.

His expression is opaque, unreadable. “I’ll drive myself tomorrow. Liam will take you to the fitting, and I’ll have the jet on standby for you, with John on the other end waiting to take you to see your mom.”

“Paxton, it’s fine. I can get a ticket on my own.”

He laughs. “Well, yeah, I’m sure youcould, but why would you?”

I sigh. “ It just feels weird.”

“What does?”

“Using your things. Spending your money on clothes and purses, taking your family’s private cars and jets, using your drivers.” I shrug, helpless to explain it. “I don’t know how to cope with it. It’s all too much.”