Page 89 of Vows We Never Made

Pages doesn’t want me to push her up against the wall and tear that dress off.

No matter how much I might want to.

My cock jerks at the thought and I inhale sharply.

Across the room, Hattie braces both hands on the flare of her hips and pushes.

She frowns, biting her lip as she runs her free hand down her bare arm, pinching her skin between her fingers.

She shakes her head.

Thoughts of shredding her clothes fade as I scowl. “What are you doing?”

She shrieks, leaps a foot in the air, and throws me a shocked glance.

“Holy shit. Do you ever knock? You shouldn’t be in here!”

“Didn’t we establish this isn’t a traditional marriage?” I step forward, unable to help myself.

My fingers itch to touch the dip at the small of her back, just to see if it’s just as soft as it looks.

“You shouldn’t be here, though. I’m not decent.”

“What were you doing?” I ask again, stopping behind her. “From where I was standing, it looked like you didn’t like what you saw in the mirror.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… the dress is insane.” The material is too thick for her to pinch her stomach through it, but it looks likeshe wants to. “I’m worried it’s a little revealing. That it doesn’t hide enough. Not like the first dress but—”

“Pages. Hattie.” I force my voice to gentle on her name, even though I want her to see all the dark things roaming my mind.

I’m half a second away from losing my sanity.

But that’s the last thing she needs right now.

“I don’twantit to hide anything,” I say. “I didn’t pick this dress because it hides shit. I like it because it shows you off.”

“But my stomach isn’t flat!” Her voice strains high. “And look how big my hips are! Ugh, my skin isn’t even smooth.” She takes my hand and draws it along the lush curve of her hip and down her thigh. “Feel that? That’syearsof lobster tacos catching up with me. You can see everything, Ethan.”

Fuck me.

Here I am, staring at my hand on her hip.

“And see that? Bingo wings. And these stupid muffin tops around my boobs?”

Enough.

I swing her around to face me in one quick movement, my hand still on her hip and the other resting on her back.

Dangerously smooth.

Painfully warm.

Silk under my fingers.

“Woman, shut it. You are perfect and I want to marryyou,not your fucking mother,” I whisper. I’m done being gentle.

I’m growling, furious that this insufferable girl has so many insecurities about her looks when she’s stunning.

What did her mom’s nagging do to her?