Chapter 38
thirty-eight
I can feel how late it is before I open my eyes.
Even though I tried to follow Marco’s instructions to wait up for him in his room, I eventually gave in sometime around midnight and went to sleep.
He texted me right as I settled onto the sofa in his guest room, telling me he would call me when he was done working, but he understood it might be too late for me.
I warred with myself over whether I should stay in his room or return to where I slept before.
In the end, I figured that, while it was life-changing for me, a man like Marco probably has sex like that—or better—all the time.
I’m sure he wouldn’t want me assuming I belong in his personal space just because we hooked up… again.
When I blink awake sometime in the small hours of the morning, though, I find I’m no longer snuggled under his spare comforter. Instead, my body sways as a set of bulging arms gathers me into an equally hard chest.
“Shh,” Marco hums. “Don’t wake up, sweet girl.”
It’s impossible not to, though. He smells freshly showered, and his skin is softer than usual, as if he had to wash off his night before he came to get me.
… and bring me back to his bed.
He doesn’t speak as he lays me on his big mattress and rolls into place behind me. Or as he locks his arm around my middle, snuggling me into his body heat.
But just as I start to think I might be dreaming, his low voice rumbles in my ear.
“From now on, you sleep with me.”
“Alice?”
Ella’s melodic voice, tinged with a trace of amusement, invades my daydreaming.
I blink, remembering where I am. A blush sweeps over my cheeks.
“So sorry,” I mumble, shuffling a stack of the catering menus strewn around us. “I was just thinking about—”
Marco’s dark eyes sinking into mine right before he put his mouth on me. His hands dimpling my thighs while he tugged me closer. The way he stroked his hands over my body this morning and ground his hard cock against my ass. How we’ve now done it on the bed, the bathroom counter, the couch, the—
“—chicken or fish.”
Ella smiles kindly, letting me have my fib. “Huh. Alright. Well, according to Grayson, if we don’t serve some fancy fish, his mother will ‘die of shame.’”
I nod seriously, even though I know she’s kidding. “We can do both, if you want.”
My bride bites her lip. “And the ribeye?”
That was Grayson’s one and only menu request. I wince. “I suppose so.”
We share a worried look. This has been the theme of our planning sessions—both of us cringing over every penny of Stryker wealth we spend.
The budget Grayson has provided is, quite frankly, ludicrous. I wouldn’t be able to use that much money on ten weddings, let alone one featuring the least materialistic bride of all time.
Seriously. It was a struggle to convince the woman she needed new shoes to go with her gown. I finally talked her into letting me and Juliet go with her to try some options sometime in the next couple of weeks.
Assuming Marco lets us out of his sight.
He’s been more intense than ever this week. Insisting I stay at his place until further notice, checking every camera feed for his place, the Stryker’s, and my apartment. Bundling me into his own bed every night.
Which I’m sure has more to do with keeping me safe than anything else. Because it’s his job.
That argument becomes harder to believe every day. Especially today, when I woke to a note on his kitchen island, asking me to dinner this weekend.
Which is probably a terrible idea, right? I mean, aren’t I making enough of a fool of myself as it is? Walking around with butterflies in my stomach, all because he calls me sweet girl and likes to put his hands on me?
There’s no possible way this could ever last past a fleeting diversion for him. It’s only for as long as his business interests align with my safety. I’m sure.
But, still. Where he managed to find a single pink rose to place beside his note at six a.m. is still a mystery to me.
If I’m honest, I wish he would stop being so damn romantic.
Won’t this be hard enough for me to move on from, once it ends?
Does he really have to look like a cross between an ancient warrior king and a male model?
And does he need to spend evenings reading next to me on the couch before utterly destroying my body?
Or get more overprotective with every passing day? ?
He only deemed this outing safe because he has the Strykers’ house locked down tighter than his own. Even now, there’s a scary British dude looming in the far corner of Ella’s second-floor living space, watching us with flinty, unwavering focus.
“I suppose that’s okay,” Ella hums. “I know it’s more expensive to offer three options, but—”
“It will be perfect,” I promise, squeezing her hand gently. “Grayson will love it.”
That phrase has become my secret weapon. Once I figured out that the billionaire truly lights up at the prospect of anything that gives Ella joy—and vice versa—all I have to say is that their significant other would be thrilled. And suddenly they’re both on board.
It’s almost too adorable, even for me.
Grinning, I go down my mental checklist. “You’ve got the location, flowers, officiant, dresses, tuxedos, and place-settings. Once I give the caterers their final marching orders, we’re just down to choosing a band, photographer, and videographer.”
Ella exhales, looking as relieved as I feel. “Thank God.”
No one is more shocked than I am. I never dreamed I’d be able to pull this off.
We’ve managed to get a lot done very quickly—mostly because every vendor in the city wants a piece of the Wedding of the Century.
And thanks to Marco’s subtle intimidation and several well-placed NDAs provided by his cousin, Juliet, there haven’t been any leaks yet.
Marco is still upset about the ominous way my apartment door hung open last weekend.
I’m sure it was just Tris—especially since none of the wedding binders or my technology were taken.
I miss my roomie, but she is truly the definition of a Hot Mess.
Just this morning, I was cleaning out my purse, and I found one of her earrings, her least favorite sunglasses, her stray Metro card, the key to her locker at the gym, and a dead AirTag—probably one meant to help her keep track of her locker key.
The girl is a walking junk drawer, I swear.
I need her help, though, if I’m actually going to go on a date with the sexiest man in the city. She’ll know what I should wear. Hopefully.
Ella notices that I’m drifting into outer space again. Her teasing smile returns as she tilts her head at me. “You know,” she remarks, “Marco told me you’ve been staying at his place.”
Panic sticks in my gullet, but her grin only widens. “Now, I know Marco is dedicated to his job, but I’ve never heard of him bringing work home with him.”
Oh Lord. What do I say? Do I spill my guts and tell her everything, like a friend would? Or should I try to act professionally?
There is nothing professional about the way Marco and I have been this week.
“I—I—I’m—we—”
Ella interrupts my stammer by placing her hand on my arm.
Warmth swells in her eyes. “Whatever it is, I think it’s great,” she murmurs.
Her gaze slides to the side before she lowers her voice, ensuring our current guard can’t hear her as she adds, “He’s a little bit broken, though, Alice. Just be careful.”
There’s something about the earnest concern creasing her face that socks me in the gut. I try to swallow. “W-with him? Or because of him?”
Ella sinks her pearly teeth into her lower lip again. “Both.”