Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VALERIE
“ARE YOU SURE this is going to be okay?” I twist the straps of the purse in my lap, uncertainty making me fidgety.
Fynn looks tense next to me as we pull out from his building’s underground parking garage and I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s not thrilled about where we’re headed. Or maybe he’s not thrilled about the reasons we’re heading there.
Or maybe he’s just pissed about one of the million other things he has to be upset about thanks to my arrival in his life.
"It will be fine. I’m sure my mother will be thrilled to have us there with her." His eyes slide my way. "However, I'd much rather not have to worry about the sounds my wife makes when she comes being overheard."
My skin flushes hot. "We're not going to—"
"We most certainly are." Fynn’s hand slides across the console. At first I think he's reaching for mine, but then it wedges between my thighs, his pinky pressed right up against my pussy. "We've made a deal, and I take it very seriously."
I press my lips together, because, while I am preemptively embarrassed about the thought of fornicating in his mother’s home, I'm also more than a little eager about the terms of our latest agreement. Maybe even more so than the terms of our previous agreement.
Which is stupid, because our previous agreement is what will keep me from going back to Minnesota.
Or possibly ending up dead.
It’s that same possibility that has us on our way to his mother's home. Her penthouse condo occupies the entire top floor of the building she’s in, and the only people who have access to the private elevator are Fynn, his mother, and Nicholas, making it the safest place for me to be for now while Fynn, ‘handles the situation’.
Whatever that means.
The drive is a short one, and in under ten minutes, we’re pulling into her parking garage, taking a reserved spot next to a Bentley I have to assume belongs to his mother. Fynn shuts off the engine and meets my eyes. "Wait for me."
The tension is back in his expression, and realization dawns as he slides from the seat and closes his door. He's not tense because we’re going to his mother's house, or because he has to clean up my mess, or even because he’s not a morning person. He's worried.
About me. About my safety.
I glance in the side mirror, watching as he scans the parking garage before opening the trunk to retrieve our luggage. Nicholas appears from the vestibule leading to the elevator and Fynn passes the rolling suitcases off to him before closing the trunk and coming to retrieve me. He gives the space another scan before helping me out and whisking me to the waiting elevator. Nicholas gives me a warm smile as Fynn punches the button to close the doors, standing in front of them to block the opening with his broad body until they seal together. Then he turns to me, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit as he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls my body against his.
His reaction to all this has not been what I expected. I'm not sure it's what anyone would have expected.
He should be angry at me. Possibly even disgusted. Even if he couldn't allow himself to walk away knowing I'd likely end up dead because of it, he should still resent me a little.
Instead he's holding me close, as if he's worried letting me go will give someone the opportunity to snatch me away and collect the bounty on my head. Like the thought of something bad happening to me distresses him to an extreme level.
And that makes me feel a little guilty. I don't want to distress him. I don't want him to be worried or for my fears to be his.
Especially since right now only one of us can hold up our end of the bargain that brought us to this point. Fynn has no intention of letting me leave his mother’s home until this is resolved, which means I can't go around Sweet Side convincing everyone he's a loyal, doting husband, completing the redemption arc that will restore his reputation.
And that adds even more guilt to my growing pile.
The doors to the elevator open and Nicholas goes out first, rolling our suitcases into the gigantic foyer before turning to Fynn. "Shall I put you in the guest room overlooking the ocean, or would you rather be in the room at the opposite end of the apartment?"
Fynn tips his head to the left, gesturing at the hallway leading that direction without releasing me. "You can put us at the other end. I don't want to disturb my mother any more than we already are."
Nicholas gives him a nod of understanding, rolling both bags in the direction Fynn indicated.
I shift on my feet, feeling even more uncertain. "If our presence is going to be too much for your mother—"
Fynn pulls me closer, pressing my front to his as he leans down, one large hand curving against my face. "Our presence is not what I'm worried about disturbing my mother." His lips trace along my jawline to move against my ear. "I'd simply rather not have her hear you chanting my name as you come on my cock."
I wobble in my heels as I grip the front of his shirt, the entirety of my body bursting into flames at his words. I’m becoming a little concerned, honestly, because I’ve only had sex once, and already I’m becoming a little obsessed with the act. Fynn has made many promises and offered up many scenarios for me to juggle around my lust hazed brain. Each one of them takes up more than its fair share of space and seems to claim more brain cells with each passing minute. To the point I'm worried I'm going to start forgetting important things.
Like my name.
"Here’s my son and my beautiful daughter-in-law." Fynn’s mother appears, her arms outstretched. I step out of his embrace, moving away so she can hug him. To my surprise, Fynn is not who she reaches for first. Her thin, but strong arms latch onto me, pulling me in for a hug I feel all the way to my soul. This time I'm prepared for it though, so hopefully I don't make a fool of myself by crying at the feeling of love and warmth it provides.
"Thank you so much for letting us stay here." I swallow hard, hoping Fynn knows what he's doing. I didn't want to bring any sort of danger to his mother's doorstep, but he assured me that’s not going to happen. That this is simply a short-term solution until he can take care of my problem.
Which he oddly called our problem.
"Of course, darling." Fynn's mother leans back, her hands coming to my face. "I understand what it’s like to deal with renovations. The drywall dust gets everywhere."
I manage a weak smile even though lying to the woman in front of me makes me want to throw up.
There is no renovation. There's no drywall dust. Just a hitman. Coming for me.
"Give her room to breathe, Mum." Fynn’s tone is gentle. "Don't smother her before she's even made it all the way inside."
His mother's brows lift as she faces him. "And why not?" She hooks one arm through mine, lifting her chin at him. "If I can't smother my new daughter-in-law, then what purpose do I even serve?"
She starts walking me away as Fynn snorts behind us. "I believe your general purpose is serving as snack bitch for the dog pack you've accumulated."
His mother laughs, her head tipping back, the sound joyful and amused. "You are not wrong, my son." She continues walking, leading me into the same sitting room where we met yesterday.
Only this time, it’s much more crowded than I remember. Not with dogs—I think there are the same number of dogs. The clutter appears to be design boards of some sort. They’re leaned against chairs and bookcases, and even the line of windows overlooking the ocean.
"It looks like you've been busy." My eyes move over the one closest to me. It features a sketch of a faceless model draped in flowing fabric. A sample of gauzy material is clipped to the drawing, along with a few types of trim. Beneath all that is a printout of prices and delivery times.
I swing my eyes back to his mother, looking over her own flowing gown. "Are you working on a fashion line?"
Her expression brightens, smile widening. "I am. Would you like to hear about it?"
Fynn’s head tips back, eyes lifting to the ceiling. "Mother—"
"I would love to." My interest is genuine. "Are you wearing one of the samples? "
His mother pinches the voluminous flow of fabric at her thighs, pulling it out. "It is. Do you like it?"
"I love it." I can't stop myself from reaching out to finger the material. "It's very light."
His mother's eagerness is evident as she drops the fabric and clasps both hands in front of her. "This is the summer line I'm working on for next year." She moves to one of the many boards, lifting it up and propping it along an armchair, balancing it over the body of a snoring dog. "I want to be comfortable when I'm at home, but I’m simply not a sweatpants and T-shirt kind of woman, and I think there are many women like me." She motions to the board. "Women who want to feel put together and glamorous even when they’re relaxing on the sofa watching television."
I scan the board, looking over the individual drawings and materials. "So it's a line of high end caftans?"
She nods, eyes bright. "Yes." She smooths down her own caftan as she continues explaining. "These used to be referred to as tea gowns, because they were what ladies dressed in for their afternoon tea, but the more modern term for them is caftans." She lets out a little snort. "Which is infinitely more flattering than the term muumuu, which is how many refer to them."
I think for a minute, my brain tripping over information surrounding that word. "I think you might be misunderstanding." I run my tongue over my teeth, both because I can't quite remember the specifics, but also because I'm a little hesitant to tell Fynn's mother her perceptions might be incorrect .
To my surprise she moves forward. "Is it? Tell me what it means then." The question is open and interested. Like the thought of having a misconception is something she's happy to accept and rectify.
"Well, I'm guessing that maybe you thought muumuu was referencing cattle, correct?" It’s a common misconception and I don’t even remember how I discovered the truth, but I’m so happy I can share it. That I can contribute something besides the chaos I’ve brought so far.
She points at me. "Yes. I thought it was a term being used to suggest they were unflattering, when in reality the drape of them is beautiful."
I pull my phone from the pocket of my dress and open the browser. "I can see how you might think that, but the term muumuu is actually Hawaiian." I type it into the search bar and read through the results. “It means ‘cut off’ in Hawaiian and the garment it references was originally made of lightweight solid white cotton fabric and served Hawaiian women as a house dress, nightgown, and swimsuit.”
“Then I owe a huge apology to the Hawaiian people for being a complete arse.” Fynn’s mother doesn’t miss a beat. “I made assumptions I should not have made.”
I stare at her for a beat, a little shocked at how easily she took responsibility for her mistake. How readily she owned up to it without making a single excuse or attempting to transfer blame. That would have never happened if it was one of my parents standing in front of me .
While most of my anger and frustration is generally directed at my father—he is an easy target—I carry an equal amount for my mother. Not necessarily because she’s horrible in the same way my father is horrible, but because she's horrible in a different way. No, she wasn't responsible for directly attempting to marry me off to an asshole, just the way she wasn't directly responsible for any of the bad things that happened to me in my life.
But she was indirectly responsible. Never once did she stand up to my father. Never once did she tell him no. Not a single time did she try to protect me or save me from him and his fucked-up ideas. So not only would she never admit she was wrong, she also would never admit he was wrong.
And any time I tried to bring one of their many mistakes up, she either deflected blame, or shut down, blowing me off long enough to escape whatever accusation I threw her way.
Not Fynn's mother. She listened to me. Heard what I had to say. Took my words to heart and openly accepted that she'd been wrong.
I think I just fell in love with her.
I move closer, eager to get to know her better. "Can you tell me more about what you're working on?"
The next two hours are spent going over every bit of what she's done. From fabric selections to design choices to her marketing plan.
And that's where I start to get really excited.
"Who is your target customer?" I scan everything she's put in front of me, looking for the information .
"Someone like me." Fynn's mother is quick with her answer. "A more mature woman who has expendable income and focuses on quality."
I nod. "Okay. Where does she shop?"
His mother rattles off a number of stores, and I give up looking for what I want on the boards, because it doesn't seem like it’s here. "Okay, how often does she shop?"
I expect another quick answer, so when it doesn't come, I lift my eyes to find her staring at me.
"I should know that, shouldn't I?"
I offer a little shrug. "It’s useful information to have because it will help you come up with targets. Understanding if she's a casual shopper, or one who purchases with purpose, will give you a little more insight into how to handle your marketing as well as your production numbers."
His mother stares at me a second longer before her lips curve into a slow smile. "I don't suppose you're looking for a job, are you, my darling daughter-in-law?"
"Actually—" I don't finish my sentence, because Fynn suddenly jumps up from the chair he's occupied during our discussion, slamming his laptop closed as his eyes come my way, expression sharp.
"I need to talk to you, wife."
I glance at his mother, my stomach dropping. "Oh. Okay." I stand from where I've been sitting next to her on the sofa, smoothing down the front of my dress. "Maybe we can pick this conversation back up later."
Fynn clears his throat, pulling my attention his way. He jerks his chin toward the direction Nicholas took our bags, his eyes narrowing on me. "Now, Valerie."
I give his mom a wobbly smile as panic twists my gut.
Something has happened. Maybe someone sent him an email. Made him realize keeping me around was a terrible idea.
I try to keep breathing as I walk down the hall ahead of him, not really sure where I'm going, his presence at my back making my stomach and my thighs clench. Like my body can't decide if it's terrified or aroused.
"To the left." Fynn's voice is sharp, making me jump a little as I duck into the room he indicates. I take a few steps in before managing to pull in a deep breath, straightening my shoulders as I spin to face him. "I—"
"No talking." Fynn closes the door, flipping the lock before prowling my way, yanking at the buttons of his shirt. "You have had plenty of time to talk to me, Valerie."
I take a step back, because it's a natural reaction when a man is looking at you the way he’s looking at me now. "I have talked to you."
"Have you?" He yanks his shirt open, dropping it to the floor. "Because it would seem there is yet another thing you have failed to mention."
He keeps coming and I keep backing up, but the room is unfamiliar and within a few more steps, my legs hit the back of the bed. I'm not expecting it, so I go tumbling backward and he takes full advantage, his big body crawling over mine.
I suck in a breath as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. Flush against the hard line of his very erect dick as he hauls me up the bed.
"I've told you everything." I try to plead my case, even though he’s being very distracting, and it has every nerve ending in my body lighting up.
"That’s a lie." Fynn drops me to the pillows then one hand skims up my thighs, gripping the waistband of my panties before yanking them down to my knees. "Otherwise you would have told me how it is you know so much about business."
"What?" I'm so fucking confused. Confused and turned on, which is extra confusing.
He flips up the skirt of my dress and grips me behind my knees, pressing both thighs against my chest, presenting my bare pussy to his heated gaze. "Business, Valerie. How do you know so much about it?" One hand grabs my panties where they’re stretched between my knees, winding them up until my legs lock together. He uses the hold to keep me pinned in place as his free hand moves over my presented pussy. "Tell me."
"I have a degree in—" I suck in a breath as one long finger slides into me.
Fynn slowly penetrates my body, filling me with something that's not quite enough. "A degree in what?"
I clutch at the blankets as he strokes in and out of me, trying to keep my train of thought. "Business and marketing."
His finger slides out of me, and I whimper at the loss, but then it slides higher, teasing along the side of my clit, just far enough away that it's not providing the stimulation I want. "Why didn't you tell me this?"
I wiggle around, trying to line myself up for a direct hit, but Fynn’s grip on my panties pulls tighter, limiting my movement and making me huff out a frustrated breath. "You wanted to know that I had a degree in business and marketing?"
His eyes lift to my face, a second finger joining the first, splitting up each side of my neglected clit. "I want to know everything about you, wife."