Chapter Eighteen Moving In
Haven
T he last box hits the floor with a soft thud, and I take a step back, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead. Moving into Christian’s house— our house, for now—feels surreal. It’s not like I didn’t know this was coming, but standing here, surrounded by boxes of my things, in this sprawling, pristine home, suddenly feels a lot more real.
Marie leans against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her chest, watching me with an amused expression. “You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.”
I let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through my hair. “I think I might be.”
“It’s just a house, Haven,” she teases, but her voice softens when she adds, “and it’s just Christian.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, glancing around. “Just Christian.”
Except it’s not just Christian. It is Christian—the man I’m supposed to marry. The man who’s not really my fiancé, but who’s standing by my side through all of this, acting like it’s real.
Marie walks over, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “You’ve got this.”
“Right,” I say, trying to convince myself. “I’ve got this.”
Still, I can’t help but feel a little out of place. This house—it’s beautiful, sleek, and modern. Christian’s world is polished, elegant, and I’m stepping into it like I belong here, like this is where I’m meant to be, but the truth is, I don’t know how to make sense of any of it. Christian insisted on hiring movers to pack my things and bring over, but I needed a sense of normalcy. Of having Marie bringing my meager things into Christian’s mansion to remind me this is an arrangement. Besides, I don’t have any large pieces of furniture. I either sold it all or gave it to Maggie, who’s been sleeping on a futon since she moved into her tiny, unfurnished apartment. Pretty much everything I have is going to fit into the bedroom Christian is giving me, which is huge with an ensuite bathroom and walk-in closet.
“Hey,” Marie says, her tone teasing. “I know this is a lot, but it’s going to be okay. Christian’s a good guy, and besides… you can use the pool whenever you want.”
“True,” I chuckle, but I remember what Christian and I did in the pool house, and I flush.
“You okay?” Marie asks, annoyingly perceptive as usual.
Nodding, I answer, “Yes, of course! Just got a lot going on, obviously.”
A sly grin curls Marie’s lips. “Oh, is that all?”
“Don’t you have an event at the library you need to go to?” I grumble.
She releases a dramatic sigh. “Yes, yes… I better get going. But call me if you need anything, okay? Even if it's to chat about wild, dirty fantasies you might be having about your husband to be.”
“Go away,” I declare with a mortified laugh.
She blows me a kiss before practically sashaying out of the kitchen.
Once she’s gone and things get quiet, I’m alone with my thoughts, surrounded by the boxes that contain pieces of my life now sitting in Christian’s house. The silence stretches out, and I realize how much this place still feels like his —not ours. Not mine.
This isn’t exactly what I thought it would be like to move in with someone and have a family. Oliver is out with his nanny, coincidentally planning on going to the library event Marie just left for, and Christian is still at work. The big house is empty and silent, and I feel a little bit lonely.
I’m about to start unpacking when the front door opens, followed by the sound of footsteps. Christian. My heart skips a beat, and I quickly glance at the mess of boxes, feeling a little self-conscious about the disarray.
“Haven?” Christian calls from the entryway.
“In here,” I answer, my voice a little shaky.
He appears in the doorway of the kitchen, his tie loosened, looking every bit as tired as I feel. He pauses when he sees the boxes, then his eyes find mine, and he smiles—a warm, easy smile that immediately puts me at ease.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” he says, walking over to me.
“Yeah, Marie helped me get everything moved in,” I reply, gesturing toward the stacks of boxes. “It’s, uh, a little overwhelming.”
He nods, glancing around the room. “Moving always is.”
“I didn’t want to make a mess of your house,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’ve invaded his space.
Christian shakes his head, his expression soft. “It’s not just my house anymore. You’re here now.”
I blink, caught off guard by how sincere he sounds. He walks over to one of the boxes and starts opening it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he’s welcoming me into his life for real.
“You don’t have to rush to unpack everything,” he says as he pulls out a few items. “We can take our time getting you settled.”
“Thanks,” I say, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m standing here, with Christian, in this house, like we’re really building a life together. “I appreciate that.”
The weight of his words hits me harder than I expected, and I can’t breathe. There’s something about the way he says it—so genuine, so sure—that makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, this could be more than just a plan. More than just an arrangement.
Before I can dwell on that thought, Christian reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The simple, unexpected gesture sends a shiver down my spine.
“Haven,” he says, his voice low, “I want you to feel comfortable here. Whatever you need, whatever it takes, we’ll make this work.”
The intensity in his gaze makes my heart race, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same shift that I am—if this is starting to feel real for him too. I nod, not trusting my voice to say anything coherent.
Christian clears his throat and takes a step back. “How about you take a break? I think you’ve earned it.”
I nod, looking around at the pile of boxes Marie and I hauled into the house. I’m not too eager to start lugging them upstairs just yet.
“That sounds great. What did you have in mind?”
“I could order some food, maybe open a bottle of wine. We could use a little downtime,” he suggests, his eyes scanning mine, as if gauging my response.
“Food and wine sound perfect,” I reply, feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect of just hanging out with him, away from the complexities of our arrangement.
He pulls out his phone and orders from a nearby Italian place, his fingers moving confidently over the screen. Before he moves to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
“Hope you like Cabernet,” he says as he uncorks the bottle.
“I love it,” I respond, watching him pour the deep red liquid into our glasses. There’s something disarmingly charming about Christian when he’s like this—relaxed, attentive, with a hint of mischief in his eyes.
He hands me a glass, our fingers brushing briefly, sending a jolt of warmth up my arm.
“To a successful moving day,” he toasts, lifting his glass.
“To new beginnings,” I reply. Our glasses clink, and I take a sip, the rich wine like velvet on my tongue.
We move to the living room and settle onto the couch. Christian seems more relaxed now, his body angled toward me, one arm resting along the back of the couch, almost but not quite touching me. The proximity sends a subtle thrill through me.
“How are you feeling about everything?” Christian asks, his voice low.
“It’s a lot,” I admit, meeting his eyes. “But being here with you, it’s more… comfortable than I thought it would be.”
He smiles, and there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart beat a little faster. “I’m glad to hear that. I want this to be a place you feel at home in, Haven.”
Home. The word coming from his lips is something I can’t imagine ever getting used to. But, it's a step in the right direction I guess. I mean, Mom approved of our engagement. The last thing to do is get my brother to accept it.
If that’s even possible.
The food arrives, and we continue to enjoy each other’s company while we eat. We talk about our favorite movies, and Christian shares funny stories of Oliver. I tell him about the time Garrett made a buffoon of himself in front of Marie, which only endeared him to her more. The space between us seems to shrink, our bodies drawing closer as we laugh and talk.
Christian refills our wine, and that warm, hazy feeling fills my body. This feels like a date. Is it? I’m almost afraid to ask because I don’t want to ruin anything between us. But when his fingertips trace the back of my hand, my eyes are drawn to him. He stares back intently, his gaze lingering on my lips as my pulse quickens.
“Haven,” he begins, his voice husky, “I?—”
When he doesn’t finish his sentence, I swallow, licking my bottom lip. “You what?”
Instead of answering me, he leans in, his hand reaching up to gently caress my cheek. I meet him halfway, our lips touching softly at first. Fleetingly. The kiss quickly deepens, fueled by the wine and the simmering tension between us. My heart soars as his hand slides into my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me until I’m breathless.
I gasp and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. He gently pushes me back so I’m lying on the couch and his body covers mine. When he slips his hands beneath my shirt and brushes his fingertips along the skin of my belly, I arch my back, wanting more. Needing more.
“Christian,” I whisper, sliding my hands up to grasp his shoulders. “Please…”
“What do you want?” he asks with a teasing lilt to his voice.
“I want… I want…” I release a long, shuddering breath. “I want you to touch me.”
“Fuck, yes,” he growls before slipping his hand down and into my yoga pants.
I let out a hiss of breath when his fingers work their way into my panties. When he brushes my clit, I groan.
“Oh, my God…”
Christian grins before capturing my lips in another kiss that’s demanding and hungry. Our tongues tangle as he strokes my sensitive folds and rubs his thumb in tight circles over my clit. The pleasure is overwhelming, and I’m soon completely lost to it. The world narrows down to just the two of us and where he’s touching me.
“Christian,” I gasp. “Harder, please!”
“Of course, gorgeous,” he hisses. “You tell me how you like it. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”
He increases the speed and pressure of his strokes, and when he slips a finger inside me, I cry out in both surprise and delight. He pumps his finger in and out as he continues stroking my clit, and I feel myself soaring to my peak. With his free hand, he pushes my shirt up and lowers his head to bite at one of my nipples through my bra. It’s just what I need to go flying over the edge.
I throw my head back and let out a desperate cry as my orgasm washes over me, making my body shudder and my hips grind into Christian’s hand. He continues to finger me and rub my clit, drawing out my release until I don’t think I can take it anymore.
When he removes his hand from my pants with a smirk, I reach up and cup the back of his head, pulling him back down into a wild kiss. This isn’t enough… I need more. I need to feel his naked body against mine as he drives his cock into me over and over again…
Suddenly, the front door opens and it feels like my heart momentarily stops. Christian and I stare at each other and his wide eyes reflect my own shock. Oliver’s voice echoes down the hallway, high-pitched and full of excitement. Christian and I spring into action, scrambling to straighten ourselves up and pretend nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Christian stands up, smoothing his shirt as I grab the empty wine glasses from the coffee table, moving quickly to place them in the kitchen. My heart is pounding in my chest, the adrenaline from our kiss mixing with the sudden urgency of not getting caught.
Just as we settle back on the couch, Oliver bursts into the room, his face lit up with pure joy, his tiny feet barely keeping up with his excitement. Behind him, Edna steps in, looking slightly amused as she watches him race toward us.
“Daddy! Haven! We went to the library ! And there was a puppet show !” Oliver practically leaps into Christian’s arms, his eyes wide with excitement.
Christian catches him easily, a huge smile spreading across his face. “A puppet show, huh? That sounds amazing, buddy. Did you like it?”
Oliver nods vigorously. “Yeah! There was a pirate, and he said ‘Arrrrr!’ like this.” He lets out his best pirate growl, and we both laugh.
Christian glances at me, his eyes twinkling, and everything feels so normal, so comfortable. Like we’re just a family, sitting here, talking about a trip to the library. I can still feel the heat of his kiss on my lips, and it’s hard to ignore the way his hand briefly touches mine when he sits back on the couch.
“That’s awesome, Oliver,” I say, leaning forward to give him a high-five. “Did you get any books?”
Oliver beams, his tiny hand slapping against mine. “Yes! We got three books! One about dragons!”
“Dragons are the best,” I agree, feeling a warmth spread through me at how happy he is. Christian holds him close, and I catch a glimpse of something softer in his eyes as he watches his son. It’s moments like this that remind me why I agreed to this whole arrangement in the first place—why I’m here, in his home, pretending to be something more.
Christian’s gaze flickers back to mine, and the air between us shifts again, heavy with everything we haven’t said. His lips part slightly, and I know he’s also thinking about what we just did. My heart speeds up all over again, and I have to force myself to focus on Oliver, who is now enthusiastically recounting the puppet show in vivid detail.
“We saw a dragon puppet too! And it went ‘Roar!’” He throws his hands up in the air, demonstrating the dragon’s roar, and Christian laughs, the sound deep and warm.
“That’s a scary dragon,” Christian says, ruffling Oliver’s hair. “Sounds like you had a pretty fun time, huh?”
“Yeah!” Oliver chirps. He wiggles down from Christian’s lap and starts pulling one of his new books from his backpack, thrusting it into my hands. “Can you read this to me tonight?”
I glance at Christian, who gives me a soft smile and a small nod. “Of course, Oliver,” I say, taking the book.
Edna steps forward, clearing her throat softly. “I’ll take him to get ready for bed. He’s had a big day.”
Oliver whines a little at the mention of bedtime, but Christian quickly distracts him with a promise. “Hey, after you’re ready for bed, Haven will read you that dragon book, okay?”
Oliver’s face lights up at the idea, and he follows Edna out of the room, bouncing on his heels. My heart swells at the idea that he wants me to spend that sort of time with him.
Even if it is just reading a book.
As soon as they’re gone, the atmosphere between Christian and me heats back up, the tension from earlier rushing back like a flood. I stand up, unsure what to do with my hands, trying to act like everything is fine, and like my heart isn’t racing every time I look at him.
Christian rises slowly from the couch, his expression unreadable. He takes a step closer, his voice low, meant only for me.
“Meet me in my room after Oliver goes to sleep to finish what we started.”
The heat in his words sends a shiver down my spine. I nod, my throat too dry to say anything. My pulse quickens at the thought of what might happen when we’re alone again, and it takes everything in me to not show how flustered I am.