Page 195 of The Elusive Billionaire

“You did?” I confirm. I’m very careful not to push her. As much as I want her to have the wedding of her dreams, I wasn’t lying when I said I am perfectly happy exactly as we are.

“October twelfth.”

“That’s eleven months away,” I blurt, then I realize what date she chose. “Our anniversary.”

She smiles, and her cheeks flush pink. “The anniversary of the first time we met.”

“Our first fight.” I laugh.

“And our first kiss.” She blushes harder.

Damn, do I remember that kiss. It happened later that night at the inn. I was the fuse, and she was the match. We didn’t stand a chance.

“It’s a great date,” I say honestly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, but that also calls for a renegotiation.”

I groan and push my soggy sandwich away. If she brings up a post-nuptial agreement one more time, I will chain her to our bed until she promises to drop it for good.

“Monroe, we’ve been over this. I’m not signing any kind of agreement over our marriage. It’s done—we’re married. What’s mine is yours, and you are mine.”

She rolls her eyes, and I huff out a breath. Over the last year, fighting with her has become much less fun, and I find myself caving just so I can see her smile.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

“This is a renegotiation of our other terms.”

“What other terms?”

She opens her to-go container and pulls out half of her turkey sandwich, then hands it to me before taking a bite of her own. I’d still prefer she eat her whole lunch, but she’s in charge of this particular journey, so I sit in silent support and eat the damn turkey.

After she takes a bite, she places the rest back down and pulls out a folder, peers into it, then slowly slides it across to me.

I stuff the rest of the sandwich into my mouth, dust off my hands, and pull the folder forward.

Opening the cover, my lunch sits like molasses in my throat.

The Ray of Sunshine Surrogacy Center logo stares up at me, and I want to vomit. Or rage. I’m not entirely sure what emotion I’ll go with yet.

“Explain,” I grumble through a mouthful of food.

She chuckles, then reaches across the table and flips the page to a new one.

This one is about IVF, and no matter how hard I try to swallow, I can’t get the food down.

I spit it on the ground instead.

“What is this?” I ask, and panic begins to curl in my gut.

I’ve spoken to Dr. Collins about this. Even if Savvy decides she wants children one day, she’s not ready. Past trauma and her disordered eating take time to recover from, and I’m not willing to risk her health for anything. Not even a child.

“I’ve been talking with Dr. Collins?—”

“So have I.” The words are aggressive, but Savvy just offers a placating smile.

“I want you to hear me out, Grey.”

I nod, but my vision is hazy. I will not risk her life. Never again.