Page 46 of Merry Fake Bride

Sitting on Kairo’s bed, my heart skips a beat at how soft it is, then I spend the next two minutes texting them back to assure them I’m safe.

I also message my parents letting them know I’m staying with someone in the city and that I’m safe.

Mom replies instantly with a short, relieved text and a request for me to call her in the morning.

I promise to do so and wish her goodnight.

Staring around Kairo’s room, there’s not a lot to tell me much about the man.

Everything is neat and tidy.

A fitness magazine rests on his bedside table with a gaming one underneath.

The temptation to peek in his drawer is too much and given how he lied to me, I feel like I’m owed some dirt on him.

The drawer is filled with an unopened box of condoms, a black journal that I don’t dare read, and a couple of leaflets from a high-profile therapist.

Glimpsing them is like I’ve seen too much, so I close the drawer before guilt can get the better of me and turn to the clothes he left out.

They’re his clothes.

They’ll fit because even with my size, Kairo is much taller and bulkier than I am.

It might be the first time a man has given me clothes and I haven’t immediately balked at the thought of their not fitting or being stretched out once I’m finished.

Picking up the T-shirt, the softness is beyond anything I’ve felt before and unable to resist, I press it to my nose.

Breathing in, there’s a gentle scent of cotton and something floral, and then something else underneath.

Something faintly chocolatey that instantly reminds me of Kairo.

Is this what he smells like before he dresses for the day?

The soft scent that invades his clothes and his sheets before he dresses himself up and sprays?

My eyes close as I nuzzle into the fabric until I catch myself and pull back.

After drying myself with the towel, I dress in the T-shirt and joggers he left for me.

The T-shirt hangs off my frame, but it’s big enough that I feel hidden and safe.

The joggers have a waist tie for me to tighten, and I roll them up at my ankles so I can walk without tripping.

Then, after scooping my hair into a smaller hair towel that carries the slightly artificial scent of being brand-new, I head back downstairs.

Kairo’s changed clothes too and Ihatehow attractive he looks in just regular comfy clothes.

He’s in his kitchen, an open-plan area with tech I’ddreamof having at the bakery if that’s the oven I think it is.

With marble countertops and purple cabinet doors, it’s the first splash of real color that feels like there’s life here.

Kairo stands near the oven, staring at his phone while a silver pan rests on the stovetop.

His tank top hugs his sculpted body like a second skin and as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, the mouthwatering visible muscles on his arms and back shift like ripples in a pool.

Grey joggers hug low on his hips and his hair is now dry and extremely fluffy compared to earlier.

That rope necklace with the beads remains around his neck, and it rises as he glances up from his phone and smiles at me like he’s spent his entire life waiting for me.