Page 62 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

“She wanted to keep it in the family. And you and Toby are my family now. She’d be thrilled to have another brilliant woman cooking in her kitchen and bringing delicious food to the people of Paris.”

“Well, what about Grey’s?” I argue. “We can’t just jet off to Paris when you have a successful restaurant to run.”

“Grey’s will be fine. I already told Liam I’ll be training him to keep things up and running while we’re gone.”

“Liam?” I shriek. “You’re leaving that fucking baby in charge of Grey’s?”

Grey laughs. “And here I thought you liked him.”

“He’s a sweet kid, but that kind of responsibility will tear him apart.”

“I have faith in him. Just like I had faith in you. Just like Sophie had faith in me. None of us knows what we’re capable of until we’re tested. And if I’m being honest, I’m ready to get the fuck out of this town for a while. I want to make a home for our family—somewhere that we can all be happy.”

I feel that in my soul. “I’ll agree with you there. So when are we leaving?”

“It’ll take a couple months for the apartment above Le Fournil to be ready for us and Toby.”

“Will we get to keep him?” I ask, finally addressing the legalities of keeping Aurélie’s adopted son.

“Do you want to?” Grey asks, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Bringing a son into our lives is a huge, lifetime responsibility. I can understand if you’re not prepared for that.”

“Of course I want to keep him,” I reply without needing any time to consider it. The tension in Grey’s face relaxes immediately. “If he wants us, that is.”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say. I already had Ashford’s lawyer draw up the papers. Since Aurélie already publicly acknowledged him as my son, there isn’t much left to do. If he stays with his father, it’ll be less work for the French government to handle, so everyone is happy.”

“Toby wants to stay with us?” I ask, feeling my heart swell with emotion.

“I don’t think anyone could pull that kid away if they tried. He spent every day in this room, holding your hand. Talking to you. He tried to sleep here too, but I made Liv take him home.”

“We don’t deserve him.”

“Oh, I think you definitely do. And me—well, I’ll just spend every day trying to make sure I measure up.”

“You already do,” I tell him, unable to keep the tender smile from my face.

“He asked me if I was his father after the police left. You can imagine seeing and hearing the kinds of things his mother did would have him questioning everything she told him.”

Poor kid—he’s gone through so much at such a young age. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him I was.”

I blink at Grey in shock. “You lied?” He never lies.

“I didn’t lie. I don’t give a fuck who brought that boy into existence, he’s mine. I am his father, and that’s all he needs to know.”

I frown, loving the sentiment but hating what that kind of evasion could do to him if he learns the truth. “And what about when he gets older and wants to know his own story? His real story?”

“Then I’ll tell him everything. But me being his dad is never going to change.”

“Of course it won’t,” I agree. I’m touched by Grey’s determination to be Toby’s father. I think it makes me love him even more.

“Well, what do you think, then?” he asks for a subject change. “Do you want to wait here or take a little Parisian holiday for the next couple months? We could tour all the best restaurants and see if there are any chefs we want to poach for your own.”

“A holiday sounds nice. When’s the last time you took a real vacation, chef?”

“Probably a decade ago,” he says with a laugh.

“Let’s do it then. Break me out of this hospital, and we can be packed and ready by tomorrow.”

“We’ll have your injury cleared by a doctor, then we’ll start packing.

Oh, and one more thing.” He reaches into his pocket again and pulls out something small, sparkly, and suspiciously circular in shape.

Before I can protest, he slides the damn thing on my left hand.

“There, I told you I could do better than a ring in a box. Now you’ll have a restaurant of your own and a world-renowned chef as a husband. ”

I’m not really sure what my reaction should be, so I just stare at the pretty gold band inlaid with diamonds and set with a large, teardrop-shaped diamond in the center.

It’s beautiful and somehow suits me in spite of the fact that I’ve never even daydreamed about having a ring on my finger.

What I’m trying to figure out is—what the fuck just happened?

“I’m sorry,” I stammer, my eyes still fixated on the huge engagement ring and my ears still ringing with the word husband. “Should there be a fucking question that comes with this? Because I feel like you skipped a step— or three.”

“Will you be my wife?” he asks, his voice so husky and deep I feel like he’s stroked my pussy with his words. And I’m so desperate for his touch.

“Why does that sound so much more sexy than will you marry me ?” I gasp, swallowing thickly.

“Probably because you’re imagining the benefits that come with being my wife,” he practically purrs. His fingers claw down my inner thighs, and my breath catches in my throat.

“S-such as?”

“Such as being stuffed with your husband’s cum every morning and every night,” he growls as he slips his hands under my gown and finds me wet and aching for him.

Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside me, and I cry out at the delicious feeling of being filled.

He uses his other hand to circle my swollen clit, and I keen with pleasure.

“Do you like the sound of that, angel?” he asks, continuing his blissful assault that has me teetering on the edge within just a few moments.

“Yes,” I cry out as he hits that perfect spot tucked deep inside me with a curl of his fingers.

“So what’s your answer?” he demands.

“Yes,” I moan, not even sure what I’m answering.

“Yes, what?” His fingers still, and all I need is more.

“Yes, I-I’ll be your wife. Just keep going. Please keep going.”

“That’s it, little ruin. Your husband is going to keep you stuffed full every minute of the day—you’re going to take his cock, his fingers, his tongue, his cum, and you’re gonna beg him for more. Aren’t you, wife?”

“Yes. Fuck , yes.”

“That’s it. Squeeze that perfect cunt around my hand just like that. Such a good fucking girl.”

The minute the words leave his mouth, I’m coming. “Grey!” I scream, my moans filling the room as I ride his hand hard and fast. I love having him inside me. I love being his . I even love having his ring on my finger, claiming me as his partner forever. I love him so much my heart aches.

Grey’s fingers are still inside me when the door bursts open. We jerk away from each other guilty, like two teenagers caught having sex behind the bleachers at school.

“Angel!” Toby calls in excitement as he rushes toward me. “I thought it sounded like you were awake. I heard you down the hall.”

Mierda , the kid heard me having an orgasm that was so loud it traveled down the hall? I’m going to have to work on reigning myself in. Or maybe getting our bedroom soundproofed.

“Hey, Toby,” I gasp, still trying to control my overactive heart and lungs. “I’ve missed you, little chef.” I pull him into a hug against my good side, and he melts right into me.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” he half-sobs against my chest. His small fingers trail up and down my arms, like he’s reaffirming that I’m real and safe and not going anywhere.

The day after I met Tobias, Grey told me he noticed I wasn’t triggered by his touch.

And it’s true. I’ve never even considered pulling away from Toby, no matter how soft his touch is.

Something about him disarms that side of my brain that tells me to panic when I feel things that remind me of my past. It’s given me hope that maybe I’m not broken beyond repair—maybe there’s a chance for healing finally.

I’ve been brave enough to try it with Grey, too.

I’ll let him touch me for a few seconds, lightly stroking his fingers down my arms or across my cheeks.

I breathe myself through it, and each time it gets a little bit easier.

Maybe one day he’ll be able to touch me without being afraid to break me.

And until then, we’ll just enjoy how skilled he is at breaking me for fun.

“So what did she say?” Toby asks excitedly. Grey finishes drying his hands and throws the paper towel in the bin by the sink.

“Wait,” I look between the two of them, “you knew about this too, little traitor?” I hold up the large ring on my finger as evidence.

“Of course,” Tobias admits proudly. “I helped pick the ring. Do you like it?”

“I love it. You did a very good job.” I glare up at Grey for involving a nine-year-old in his entrapment scheme.

“And did he tell you about Paris? And the restaurant?”

Clearly Grey keeps Toby better informed than he does me . “He did,” I tell him, my own excitement growing as I feel Toby’s about to explode.

“And? Are we going to Paris?” He looks up at me with wide, blue eyes that I could never, ever say no to.

Tobias clearly misses the country he grew up in, and I don’t blame him.

There’s something special about Paris—the restaurants, the culture, the wine, the pastries.

Everything seemed brighter and fresher there.

The weekend that Grey and I spent in Paris was one of the happiest moments of my life.

And I’d love for us to make Paris our home.

“We are,” I announce happily. “Just as soon as they let me out of this hospital bed.”

“Will you let me help with the restaurant? Can I help you cook?” Toby asks, his tone wary like he’s afraid I might turn him down. But I’m not Aurélie. I would never keep a kid from the kitchen.

“Of course you can, little chef. I don’t think I could manage it without you.”

He grins at me. “Really?”

I smile down at him, my chest so full of happiness it hurts. “Really.”

Grey walks over and wraps his large arms around both of us, squeezing until Toby and I are squealing and giggling. “So what are we going to call this restaurant of yours? It’s your first one, so you better make it something good,” Grey teases.

“Hmm,” I hum, thinking for a moment. “ To Die For has a nice ring to it.”

“Christ, you have the darkest sense of humor,” Grey sighs with an indulgent smile. “But To Die For it is.”

“It’s going to be the best restaurant in all of Paris,” Toby declares with the utmost certainty.

I ruffle his dark hair and stare into his bright blue eyes before turning to the identical eyes of his father. “Yeah, little chef, I think it might be.”