Chapter Twelve
Roxy
O ne minute, I’m pressing my hands against Christian’s crisp, pressed dress shirt, then the next, my hands are roving over his exposed abs.
“Shoot, sorry,” he mutters through the mic.
I run my hands up his side one more time just to confirm what my brain can’t quite comprehend. “Did your… buttons just fly off?”
He begins frantically grasping at the edge of his shirt as if he can close the distance between the two sides with just one hand. “I—yeah. Guess so.” His deep rumbling laughter radiates through my palms.
“Here.” I pull the shirt closed as much as I can. “How’s this?”
“Hm.” He leans back a bit. “Better.”
With one hand flat against his stomach—partially clutching shirt, partially touching warm, soft skin—I clear my throat. “Does this happen often?”
Again, his deep chuckle reverberates through me. “Uh, no. This is a first. Guess I got a little carried away with the speed there.”
“Felt good, though.” I smile. “It’s a little scary, but also fun.”
“Roxy Dia, are you an adrenaline junkie?”
I bite back a laugh by digging my teeth into my bottom lip. “No. I mean…I don’t think so.”
My brain immediately begins throwing up memories of my younger self. My stomach sours at the many reckless situations I put myself in, the careless choices I made without regard to my safety or others’ well-being. “Okay.” I sigh. “Maybe a little bit.”
Christian hums a laugh. “Hey, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I like it.” The rasp in his voice sends a shiver through me that I dutifully ignore.
He may like a girl who feels comfortable on the back of his bike, but I guarantee he wouldn’t like the past version of me. Or the secrets I’ve been hiding. I stuff those unhelpful thoughts away and try to focus on the thrill of this moment. It’s a different type of high, an invigorating burst of adrenaline I want to experience again and again. Innocent. Untainted. But no less addictive. I can’t remember the last time I felt so uninhibited, so free . Like none of life’s problems can touch me.
Christian’s shirt slips free of my hold, so I tug it back in place and press a little more closely to him. We’re practically plastered together with my chest against his back, but there’s little I can do to help it. Not when the poor man’s shirt was about to blow off.
He takes a slight left, then we’re riding a curve up the side of what looks like a mountain. Dark evergreens line the road, stretching toward the pink-hued sky. Before long, we crest a ridge that looks as if it overlooks the entire city. Christian slows and takes the next turnoff.
He parks the bike and removes his helmet, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. It’s odd to see any part of him out of place after only ever witnessing his pristinely perfect executive persona in the office. “Can I help you down?” Christian reaches behind him, offering me a hand.
“Oh. Yeah.” I clasp on to him and extricate myself from the bike, wobbling a bit at the change in elevation.
“Easy there.” He steadies me with his warm touch. And then I peek a sliver of the exposed abs I was so carelessly stroking when his shirt tore apart. Attraction zings up my spine like a lightning strike, stripping my mind of words. My mouth goes dry.
“I can take your helmet for you,” he says, still reaching toward me.
“Right. Of course.” My fingers scramble to unlatch the chin strap, but fumble mercilessly.
“Here, let me.” I lift my chin as Christian gently tugs me—by way of helmet—toward him. His fingers brush against my skin like they did earlier, but this time, it feels more somehow. “There you go,” he says, aiming a small smile at me as he removes it.
“Thanks.” Turning toward the overlook, I attempt to fix my hair. Surprisingly, the veil hasn’t budged. I step toward the opening in the trees and gaze out at the magnificent sight.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I twist toward Christian. He’s managed to clasp a couple of top buttons and tuck the bottom of his shirt into his pants. I tear my eyes away and refocus on the view. “It really is.” When he steps up beside me, I ask, “Do you come here often?”
He takes a deep breath. Releases it. “Not as often as I’d like.”
“Seems like the perfect place to go when you want to clear your head.”
I feel more than see Christian angle toward me. “Do you feel the need to clear your head a lot?” He’s staring, I know he is, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “I do. Life’s been…” I swallow, struggling to find the right words. “Hard lately. Even before Eddy passed.”
“I’m sorry.” The words are quickly spoken, but no less meaningful.
“Yeah. Me too.” I don’t know how long we stand there, side by side, soaking up the silence and the breathtaking view. But it’s long enough for dusk to have fully settled by the time we get back on Christian’s motorcycle.
The ride back into town is quieter, more subdued. Maybe even a little awkward. But I guess that’s to be expected. We haven’t known each other long, and yet we’ve thrust ourselves into a situation that demands we share certain intimacies. Not physical ones, though right now, we’re close enough to feel the rise and fall of each other’s chests. I mean emotional and intellectual intimacies. We’re indebted to one another. Responsible for each other. If something is off with one of us, it could affect everything we’re trying to accomplish. I need this to work and so does Christian. So no matter how awkward our time together may feel at first, we have no choice but to learn to get comfortable with each other.
Once the city lights gleam above our heads, traffic picks up, forcing Christian to slow down. “Are you ready to charm our friends and family?” Despite the hint of humor in his tone, his question brings a spike of anxiety along with it.
“I guess I need to be…don’t I?”
I feel the bike decelerate beneath us. “Roxy.” My name comes out like a soft plea. “We can stop all of this at any time. You have the power here.”
His last statement rings over and over in my head like we’re in an echo chamber. For the first time in my life, someone is giving me power instead of stripping it away. It feels…good to know that I could stop this fast-moving train we’re on at any time if that’s what I wanted. But it’s not. I need to go through with this. For Axel. For Eddy.
“I’m just not great at mingling with people,” I say honestly. “Especially people I don’t know.” That wasn’t always the case. I used to be the life of the party. But that was when I used alcohol as a buffer. Now I’m just me, awkward and dull. Certainly not the type of woman who could snag a guy like Christian on her own.
“I didn’t used to be either. I get it.”
I almost balk at Christian’s confession. “That’s hard to believe, considering I’ve seen you in the boardroom. You never look anything but poised and professional.”
His sigh comes through the mic like a puff of static. “It took a lot of practice to be able to talk to people I don’t know. It’s a skill my grandfather taught me.”
A needle of sadness pricks my already tender heart. “Sounds like he meant a lot to you.”
“I was closer to him than my dad. He took me fishing, spent time with me, let me play with my toy cars in his office. And he instilled the importance of family. Of working to keep things in the family.” He pauses a moment. “It’s why I’m so adamant about becoming the next CEO. If the position went to someone else who didn’t know him, they might prioritize profits over people. They’d lose his vision entirely and…I just can’t let that happen. He worked too hard for me to give it all up now.” His voice rings with familial pride.
“Then let’s fake it till we make it. Okay?” I let out a shaky breath. “We can do this.” I pat his bare stomach. “But it’s probably best if you stop at your place to get a shirt first.”
Christian laughs, his muscles rippling underneath my touch. “Will do, wife.”
Christian’s buildingis gray brick and beautiful, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the sophistication that is the interior of his penthouse. It’s modern and masculine with clean lines and dark academia vibes, paired with the shiniest dark cherry hardwood floors I’ve ever seen. And either Christian is a total neat freak, or he pays someone a pretty penny to keep this place immaculate.
We exit the private hall, and he shuts the door behind us, tossing his keys onto an entryway table that looks as expensive as the rest of the place. “I’m going to head back to my bedroom to change. Feel free to look around while you wait.”
Once he disappears down the hall, I grow bold and step toward the open concept living space, careful to avoid the large, plush rugs scattered about. I can’t help but run a hand along the beautiful leather couch on my way to the kitchen. Christian’s high-end taste carries over to the gleaming granite countertops and cabinets with frosted glass doors, allowing a peek at the glassware inside. The fridge looks more expensive than any I’ve ever seen and my fingers itch to pull open the doors.
But as I round the kitchen island, my boot hits something hard. I blink down at the three cardboard boxes with the word “kitchen” scrawled across the side. I’m amazed at how fast whoever Christian hired to move my stuff has already packed it up and dropped it off.But just three boxes? Is that all? Back in our small two-bedroom apartment, it felt like more.
Sudden panic hits me. What will Christian think when he finds out I barely own enough kitchen utensils to bake a cake? Or worse, what will he do when he realizes that I can’t cook a decent meal to save my life? This marriage may not be real between us, but I’d at least like to bring something to the table here. Literally.
I back away from the boxes and nearly trip over a foot. “Easy there.” Christian grabs me by the upper arms. “Can’t have you breaking an ankle right before our big reveal.”
I turn and try for a confident smile. “Right.”
Christian looks past me toward the boxes and tips his head forward. “Your clothes and things are in my room. As you requested.”My cheeks heat in a ridiculous display of shyness. Him mentioning my stuff in his room shouldn’t sound so...suggestive. But something tells me the deep, raspy timbre of Christian’s voice could make anything sound that way.
“Right,” I say again, apparently at a loss for anything more clever. “And Axel’s?”
“I peeked inside the guest bedrooms on the way here. His stuff is in the first room.”
At my nod, he gestures back the way I came. “Would you like an official tour now or did you want to save that for later?” “Um. Later is good.”
“All right, then.” He extends a hand toward the door. “After you.”