Page 25

Stella

“You’re so lucky you moved to London with only a couple of suitcases. If I have to unpack another box, I’m gonna scream.”

I snicker at Janelle’s complaint as I sweep setting powder under my eyes. Her call is keeping me company while I get ready for the day, and I’m relieved we’re finally in the same time zone. Trying to coordinate with a five-hour difference at play has been tough. Poor Mika will probably keep getting accidental four a.m. phone calls from me.

“Once you’re settled in, you’ve got to come over for dinner,” I suggest. “I’ll make all your favorites.”

“God, yes, please. I told Ron I was craving biscuits and gravy and the man looked at me like he just discovered he’d married a serial killer.”

“I had the same reaction when Thomas told me his favorite dessert was something called spotted dick .”

By the time Janelle recovers from cackling, I’m done with my makeup and out of the bathroom. “How’s living together going?” she asks. “You haven’t shown up on my doorstep yet, so I’m assuming things are good?”

“Honestly?” I pause, considering her question as I move to the dresser, where my ring sits waiting for me in a little ceramic dish. “It’s going really well. He’s so easy to be around.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since I moved in, and barring that trip to his family’s house, things have been smooth sailing. Dare I say it, things have been nice. Really nice. Concerningly so, because the last thing I need is to develop a crush on my husband. Which I…think I might already have.

Oh God. Don’t go there. We’re not ready to admit that.

Even as busy as we both are, we’ve made time to have dinner together every night. We’ve been on walking tours of the neighborhood and wandered Kensington Gardens together. Hell, he even vetted the Pilates studio down the road to make sure they had the type of classes I told him I liked—and then he bought a membership for me. It was so thoughtful that I nearly teared up when he handed me the studio’s brochure. How embarrassing.

It’s amazing that he’s even been able to do all of that with or for me. He’s been slammed, going to meetings with his manager, filming commercials for his remaining sponsors, and wrapping up other postseason business. He’ll be free from F1 obligations after Zaid’s gala tomorrow night and I’m curious to see what it’ll look like for us when he has free time. I won’t have any, considering my schedule is chaos until Christmas, which is barely two weeks away. The holiday season is our busiest and there will be plenty of fires I’ll have to put out—possibly literally.

“And have you decided if you’re going through with the second wedding?”

I blow out a breath as I pick up my ring, watching it sparkle under the lights. “Not yet,” I answer honestly. “Thomas and I need to talk more about it.”

We seem to be operating under the impression that it’ll happen. I sent my measurements to Calais and told Iris I’m a big fan of warm neutral colors, so whatever happens now is out of my hands.

Janelle giggles. I can practically imagine her twirling a curl around her finger. “Can’t wait until you call me to say you finally let that man dick you down six ways to—”

“I’m going now,” I interrupt loudly, not about to entertain that thought—mostly because I’ve already been entertaining it nearly every night while alone in my room. “Call you again soon.”

“Hopefully after you’ve gotten that great British—”

“Good bye , Janelle.”

I punch the button to end the call before she can finish that terrible pun, then slide my ring on with more force than necessary. Last thing I needed was a reminder of the sexual tension between Thomas and me—and my hand in the dark.

“Sounds like Janelle is supportive of our second wedding.”

I whip around at Thomas’s voice coming from the doorway to my bedroom, not having realized that my door was open or that he was even upstairs. Oh God, the call was on speaker…

“How much of that did you hear?” I hedge, face ablaze. I’ve never been so glad for the dark brown of my skin.

“Enough,” he says, smirking, though it’s just a twist away from being a full-blown grin. “I think there was something about my great British—”

“ Nope ,” I interrupt, striding forward to push him out of my room. “You’re going to forget you heard a single word of that conversation.”

Thomas laughs and walks backward as I press at his chest. His solid, strong, absolutely perfect—

Ah fuck . I’ve been a horny mess ever since our night spent cuddling for warmth, and that doesn’t seem to be waning any. But the kindness and attention he’s shown me since then have only served to turn me into a simpering mess. I already knew we had a physical connection, but I’ve discovered that I actually like the guy as a person.

It’s a complication I don’t need if we’re going to have a clean break, whether that’s in two months or by the end of next year. We can be friendly, sure, but I don’t need this veering any further into I have a crush on my husband territory.

I stop when Thomas does, though it takes a beat before I pull my hands away, not above feeling him up. He doesn’t mind it, if the glimmer in his eyes means anything.

“I came to see what’s on your schedule for today,” he says. “Busy one?”

I nod and check my watch. “I have about ten minutes before I need to leave for my first property viewing.” I glance up, a question coming to my lips before I can think better of asking. “Do you want to come with me? I could use a local’s opinion on the neighborhoods.” When my brain finally catches up, I quickly add on, “I know you’ve probably got a lot to do, so it’s fine if you can’t.”

The few beats he takes to consider it feel like the longest of my life and I regret asking. Of course he’s too busy to go property hunting with me, what was I thinking?

“I’ll reorganize a few things and tag along.”

My face is somehow hotter than it was before. “Thomas, you don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he says. “I want to.”

He’s so casual about it, as if it’s really nothing for him to reschedule his entire day so he can come with me. Such a simple thing and yet it alters my brain chemistry, shooting off those pesky attachment hormones. “Okay,” I choke out.

His smile wrecks my insides, but it gets worse when he holds out a hand to me. “Come downstairs, I have something for you.”

Sliding my hand into his is a mistake for my emotional stability but great for keeping me physically steady in my heels. Even when we reach the bottom of the staircase, his fingers stay wrapped around mine, guiding me along behind him until we’re in the kitchen. His broad back blocks my line of sight, so it isn’t until he steps out of the way that I see what’s sitting on the island.

An open box of a dozen chocolate-iced doughnuts greets me, a single candle shoved into the one in the center. I stand still and watch as Thomas flicks open a silver lighter and then holds the flame to the candle, drawing back once it’s lit. He then turns to me, eyes creasing at the corners with his smile.

“Happy one-month anniversary.”

I press my lips together to fight against the delighted laugh that threatens to bubble up and out because this man is ridiculous .

“If you’re planning to make me wear one of those as a ring again,” I say once I’m convinced I can keep my voice level instead of squealing like an excited schoolgirl, “I’m leaving you.”

“I’d actually prefer if we could eat these, if you don’t mind.”

“Then I guess we can stay together.”

I approach him and the box, knees wobbly, and then bend to blow out the candle. I grab one of the doughnuts, the chocolate sticking to my fingers, and offer it up to him. But instead of taking it from me, Thomas leans down and bites into it, his eyes not leaving mine as he does. It’s so sexy that I might need to go back upstairs and change my now-incriminatingly-damp panties.

He licks his lips and stands up straight again, leaving me to practically shove the rest of the doughnut in my mouth to keep from asking if he wants to spend the day eating these in between rounds of mind-blowing sex.

Thankfully, Thomas breaks me out of the spell by announcing that we should probably head out if we don’t want to be late for the first viewing. I go to wash the sugar off my fingers, letting the cold water from the tap cool me down. I don’t need to be thinking about Thomas putting his mouth on me like he did that doughnut while we’re looking at industrial ovens.

I shouldn’t have invited him to come with me. Because I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about my husband—and all the things we could have done by now if it weren’t for all my rules.

After surviving a full day spent with Thomas on Friday, Saturday brings Zaid Yousef’s gala. And I’ve got to hand it to Calais—the woman makes a damn good dress.

As I slip into the gown she designed, I make a mental note to hire her for all my couture needs in the future, even once Thomas and I go our separate ways. Although, if this silk column dress with the most beautifully draped neckline and thigh-high slit is a taste of what I can expect for my wedding, I might want to go through with the whole spectacle just for a chance to wear it. What’s a church aisle if not a runway by another name?

I’m buzzing for tonight. Partially because it’s an excuse to get dressed up and drink champagne while contributing to a good cause. The other part is because I get to see Willow Williams tonight—and I’ve got my fingers crossed that she’ll have come through on her promise to get Reid to speak to Thomas.

We’ve been texting back and forth recently, mostly me sending her photos of my bakes and running flavor ideas past her after I discovered she’s familiar with our entire menu. In addition to being a superfan of mine, she’s an incredibly cool person, and she’s even given me some advice about being in a relationship with an F1 driver. It’s strange to belong to this mini WAG club, but it’s growing on me. Certainly helps that Willow’s sweeter than everything I’ve ever baked.

“Stella darling?” Thomas calls from the hallway. “You nearly ready?”

“Almost!”

I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror, debating which shoes to wear, when there’s a knock on the doorframe. I glance over, prepared to tell him that I need another five minutes, but the words die on my lips as I take him in.

As expected, he’s in a tux, and I already know from past experience that I’m a sucker for him dressed like that. But tonight, he somehow looks even better than he did in Vegas. How is that possible? It’s the same damn man. Same ocean-blue eyes perfect for drowning in. Same chestnut-brown hair, expertly swept back except for an errant tendril that brushes his forehead. And same broad chest and narrow hips and big hands that can do absolutely wicked things.

Maybe it’s because you like him for more than just his looks now? the little voice in the back of my head suggests.

I tell it to shut the fuck up.

I want to stamp my foot and whine because it’s not fair how alluring he is dressed like this. Honestly, if they need a new James Bond, he should be it. Then again, not sure I’d trust a man who commonly says sod it and crikey to have a license to kill.

As I admire him, he’s doing the same to me, eyes drinking in every inch from head to toe. I’ve swept my hair up into a chic twist, leaving a few strands out to frame my face, and I’ve gone full glam with my makeup. The dress is the true star of the show, the silk skimming my body in all the right places and leaving just enough to the imagination, but it’s undeniably provocative every time the fabric ripples back to expose up to the top of my thigh. I look good, but I feel even better.

“Wow,” Thomas breathes out, still unabashedly staring. “You look…”

I arch an eyebrow to prompt him into finishing the sentence. I don’t need his compliments, but I want them. I want his praise and his adoration and anything he’s willing to give, all because I want to give the same back to him. It lingers on the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill out in waves of I might just be the luckiest woman in the world to have you on my arm and Sometimes it scares me how much I love your smile .

“You look…” He trails off again, pausing to take a breath that practically shudders through him. “There are no words for how stunning you are, Stella. It’s a bloody privilege to even lay eyes on you.”

He sounds so achingly genuine that it steals the oxygen from my lungs. Something is shifting between us and it’s getting dangerous. I didn’t expect to feel anything like this so soon after my world was turned upside down. I thought it would be years before my cracked heart could beat again. But it’s limping back to life, giving a thump here and there to remind me it’s not dead. That with the right touch, the right electric shock, it can thrive.

I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to offer it up to be healed. What if it gets shattered all over again?

“If I’m getting compliments that good, then the woman who marries you for real is going to be so lucky,” I say to remind us both that this can’t be anything more, but the words taste like ash in my mouth. I look down at myself again, needing to break our connection before I do something silly like drag him to me and press my lips to his. Instead, I smooth my hands over my hips. “You sure the color is okay? I feel like I’ve been overdoing it on the white lately.”

He shakes his head, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. “It’s perfect. Besides, we’re still newlyweds. Take advantage of it for as long as you can.”

“And we have another wedding coming up.” I dare to look back over at him. “Have you found a way to get us out of that yet?”

“Haven’t really been trying,” he admits. “But I’m starting to think we should let it happen. Really cement our relationship to people. Plus, any excuse for a party, right?”

He might be right. This can be our classy do-over to prove to everyone how serious we are. Surely Figgy can’t continue to harass him after she watches us recite our vows. And it’s not like I have to plan, organize, or pay for anything, so I should be on board for those reasons alone. I don’t have much left to protest.

Except the little fact that this isn’t feeling so fake these days.

I shake the thought away, pointing to the three pairs of shoes sitting in front of the mirror so I can change the topic. “Help me pick. Which ones go best with the dress?”

I already know which ones I’m wearing—the heeled sandal with pearl-embellished straps—and I don’t expect Thomas to have enough knowledge of fashion to make the right choice. Shockingly, he picks up the ones I want, then motions for me to sit on the bed.

I do as I’m instructed, expecting him to hand the shoes over so I can put them on, but he’s kneeling in front of me a moment later. A shiver races down my spine as his hand curls around my ankle to lift my foot, then slides the shoe onto it. The buckle on the ankle strap is fickle, but he manages it with ease before repeating the process on the other side.

I’m not breathing when he looks up, a pleased smile on his lips from completing his task. Seeing him on his knees is hot enough, but that tiny act has a wildfire blazing a path straight through me.

“Ready to go convince more people we’re madly in love?” he asks.

My answer comes out as a shaky exhale. “Absolutely.”

Because right now, that doesn’t seem like a very hard task.

Thomas’s hands haven’t left my body since we stepped out of the car to walk the red carpet.

Right now, one lingers on my hip, keeping me tucked into his side as we wander the ballroom and greet all the people he knows, from drivers past and present to politicians and humanitarians to celebrities I try not to gawk at as he proudly introduces me as his wife. Before that, our fingers were interlocked as he guided me up the marble steps into the venue, making sure my heels didn’t catch in the hem of my gown. I can’t wait to discover where his touch ends up next.

I take a gulp of champagne to wash the thought away, glad for the brief reprieve from people approaching us. I’m scanning the room for anyone I know, and while there are a few vaguely familiar faces from the circles I run in, I still don’t see the one I’m looking for.

I try not to be too disappointed that I haven’t spotted Willow yet, but Reid Coleman is circulating on the other side of the room, and I’m desperate for him and Thomas to talk. Willow promised she’d be the facilitator of that tonight, and I’m not about to drag Thomas over and simply hope for the best. No, we need our sweet-talking mutual friend to make sure this goes smoothly.

“Would you like to dance?”

Thomas’s question gets me to glance up, distracted from my searching. “You know how?”

He huffs a laugh. “Sweetheart, I grew up going to galas like this. I learned how to waltz about five minutes after I learned to walk.”

“Well, now you’re going to have to prove it.”

I down the rest of my champagne before letting Thomas sweep me through the crowd and onto the dance floor. True to his word, he does know how to dance, and he’s gentlemanly enough to keep his hands in all the proper places, except for a slip here and there when his palm finds my lower back.

“People are watching us,” he murmurs in my ear as we turn around the floor again.

I stare over his shoulder into the crowd. He’s right, there are plenty of eyes—and a few cameras—on us. “Unsurprising,” I say breezily. “We’re hot as hell. I’d be offended if they weren’t looking.”

His chest rumbles against mine as he chuckles. “I’m trying not to get jealous over all the men staring at you.”

Jealousy has no place in our current relationship, and yet a wave of giddiness crashes through me. “I mean, my ass does look fantastic in this dress, so no wonder they can’t keep their eyes off me.”

In response, Thomas’s hand slips lower on my back. “You’d think they’d have the decency not to ogle another man’s wife.”

“Maybe you should kiss me,” I tease, feeling nearly as bold as I did the night we met. “Show them you’re the one who gets to take me home tonight.”

“I could.”

It’s a vague answer, one that trails off as if he’s not really considering it. God, I shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have suggested it in such a flirty way, but we did agree that we’d save things like that for the public. Who cares how I’ve said it? It’s all still fake. For show.

“But?” I press, needing to know what’s stopping him. “It’s just a little PDA.”

Thomas looks down at me, our faces close enough that it would be so easy to bring our lips together. “That’s the problem.”

We share a breath, a beat of silence. A second where I swear we’re the only ones in the room.

“When I kiss you again, Stella,” he murmurs, “it’s not going to be for show.”

My heart stops. I’m not sure if we’re dancing anymore. I don’t know anything except the depths of his eyes, the truth that lies in them. He means every word of what he’s said.

And if I’m honest with myself, I want the same. I want a moment of real, of genuine, of the trouble I told myself to avoid to keep myself safe.

My lips part, but I don’t know what I’m about to say—that I want this? That it’s a bad idea? I need more time to think before I do something I can’t take back.

So it’s probably a good thing that someone clears their throat from beside us and saves me from making the choice.

Head snapping to the right, I find Willow standing there with a sheepish smile. Her hands are clasped in front of her stomach like she’s nervous to have intruded, but there’s a determination in her eyes that I can’t ignore.

“Willow!” I exclaim in surprise, dropping my hand from Thomas’s and taking an unsteady step back. “I didn’t know you were here yet.”

“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But, Thomas…Reid wants to talk to you.”