Chapter Bex #2
“It wouldn’t slip right in,” he replies. “It would require some effort.”
Oh. Jesus. “You’ve come a long way from lecturing me about how you and your friends don’t discuss sex.”
He offers me a sleepy smile. “Except I’m not out with my friends. I’m in bed with my wife.”
Why is that hot to me? The more he calls me his wife, the more I want to make this thing between us a little more real than it is.
“I fear I’ve been a bad influence on you,” I say, reaching across the pillow and resting my hand on his arm.
He’s smiling as he yawns. He does not ask me to remove my hand.
· · ·
I’ve never been someone who wanted to sleep like two spoons—with Brian, I’d detach myself as soon as possible—but when my alarm wakes us, I’m curled right up against him, and that pillow he wedged between us is nowhere to be found.
His arm is tucked beneath my head, his other arm draped around my waist, and while there’s no repeat of this morning’s raging erection incident, there’s definitely something against my ass.
Eventually, we have to get up. He lets me have the bedroom to get ready for tonight’s outing, which was planned entirely by Lars and is a little ridiculous. We will be drinking champagne at the Eiffel Tower, which is a lot of effort when I could just drink champagne here in my pajamas instead.
My hair is straightened and then I go to the garment bag. The dress Mindy sent is floral, floor-length, and satin with a slit that goes nearly to my crotch. The upper part of it is a corset, one that has my rack on display in a way even I’m not sure about.
“Bex,” Theo shouts. “We have to be down there in five minutes.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Fine.”
I finish my makeup quickly and then emerge from the room, a big heap of awkward.
It’s our wedding day all over again—me making a ton of effort for something he thinks is a big fucking joke. Something I’m supposed to think is a joke but no longer do. Not as much as I should.
I’ve never cared about someone’s opinion of my appearance. It’s that I do care about his that’s making this unbearable.
Theo is on the couch, already in a tux—lovely, suave, slightly in need of a shave. His gaze locks on mine for a moment too long.
“I feel silly,” I announce before he can make fun of me.
He swallows as he rises. “You’re stunning.”
I fight a pleased smile. It means more to me than any compliment I’ve ever received.
We’re taken by car to the Eiffel Tower. Theo shepherds me through the crowd and onto the elevator, and we ascend to the viewing platform, where Lars is already set up to film us watching the sunset.
From this height, the city resembles one of those miniature replicas, the Seine curving like a ribbon through it, the roads running in perfect diagonals from the Arc de Triomphe, like the spokes of a wheel from its axis.
I wish I could have come here with Theo alone. I wish that instead of pretending to enjoy it, we could actually enjoy it.
The cameras are annoying, but even worse is the guide who accompanies the experience. She tells us how many meters high the tower is, among other things I don’t care about. Fortunately, the champagne seems to be unlimited, a bribe to keep us listening.
And by the time she’s done…it’s possible I’ve had a lot of champagne.
“Okay, let’s get you guys doing a toast and then we’re out of here,” says Lars.
I grin at Theo. “What are we toasting to?”
Theo grins. “Unconsummated marriages? They seem to be the best kind.”
“Sex would definitely ruin it,” I reply, and his gaze catches mine.
Is he thinking the same thing I am…that it would be interesting to put that to the test?
“Guys, let’s do that again,” Lars says. “Fewer references to consummating marriage this time.”
We clink our glasses together.
“To marriage,” I announce, “which isn’t nearly as terrible as I’d anticipated.”
He sips from his glass. “Almost pleasant, at times.”
“Okay, kiss and we can call it a night,” Lars says.
I glance up at Theo. Yes, we kissed this morning, we kissed in Italy, we kissed at our wedding. I’m not sure why this one feels different. As if it matters.
He leans down, spreading his palm along my jaw.
I want that hand to stay right where it is—on my face, pushing back into my hair—as his mouth presses to mine.
I want to keep gripping his jacket so I can remain on my toes, seeking that mouth, not ready to let this end. I want to hold his quiet, surprised exhale inside me forever.
“Well done, guys,” says Lars. “Extremely convincing. You’re finished for the night. Go enjoy Paris.”
We hand over our mics and proceed to the elevator. “I want Five Guys,” I tell him.
“We’re in the gastronomic capital of the world and you want a greasy American fast-food burger?”
“Precisely. And Paris is not the gastronomic capital of the world. Tokyo is, based on Michelin ratings. Like, a hundred and ninety-four to one twenty-three. And as my husband, I’m sure you wouldn’t force me to walk back down the Champs-élysées alone at night, so I guess that means you want a burger too. ”
“I absolutely would let you walk back alone,” he replies. “Fortunately for you, I’m starving.”
We call a car and have him deliver us to the middle of the Champs-élysées. Theo nods at the restaurant. “Order for us both. I’ll be right in.”
I don’t love walking into Five Guys in a floor-length gown alone, but I do it and am having a friendly chat with the girl behind the counter when he returns…triumphantly brandishing a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.
What a good husband he’d make. I always wanted to end up with someone who realizes I need wine with my cheeseburger.
We drink it on the patio with our food, and as fun as it is, it’s also bittersweet. This was a short trip—Theo will return to London tomorrow night, and I’ll remain behind to be interviewed one-on-one for the show.
I wish it was longer. I wish he was coming home with me.
We slowly walk back to the hotel. I’m leaning on his arm because I’m drunk and he’s allowing it because he’s tipsy too.
There’s an outdoor bar, surrounded in greenery. Everyone is singing together, some French song I don’t know.
“Vive l’amour!” shouts a guy, glancing at our rings. “American, I think? And newlyweds? Come in, come in! A glass of champagne on the house tonight. We must toast to your union. May it last forever.”
“Shall we toast to our union lasting forever?” I ask Theo.
I’m absolutely certain he’s going to say no when he shrugs. “I suppose one can never toast to a union too often.”
We are led to seats at the bar. A bottle of champagne is opened, and glasses are filled.
“Now you must kiss,” our benefactor pronounces.
Theo and I glance at each other. “Nothing we haven’t done before,” I say, leaning over to chastely brush his lips with my own.
The man groans. “Pathetic,” he says, hitting Theo on the shoulder. “Surely you can do better.”
Theo’s mouth slides up on one side. “I can do a little better, yeah.”
Just like the dream I had.
I’d tell him that I might have psychic powers but there’s no time as he presses his palm to my face and drags my mouth back to his, harder.
His lips open and mine do as well, and despite the cheering around us, when his tongue brushes against mine I can hear his groan, as if he’s finally digging into a meal he’s wanted for a very long time.
I’m blinking, silent, wordless when he finally lets me go.
He takes in my swollen mouth and smirks. “You look surprised.”
“I expected you to kiss more like Margaret Thatcher off camera,” I reply.
“Because she’s dead?”
I laugh. He made the joke before I could.
There is more champagne. The guy—who turns out to be the bar’s owner—asks me if Theo is a good husband. “He’s a terrible husband,” I reply.
“We will fix this,” he says, and then he pours us shots. “The cure for every bad marriage. Also, the ruin of a good one, but this is another story.”
We toast. I’m now so drunk I’m having a hard time sitting on this bar stool, and Theo is so drunk that he decides it’s a good idea to buy a bottle of champagne.
“Why have you been such a bad husband?” I demand, giggling. “We haven’t even consummated our marriage.”
He laughs low, his teeth sinking into his lip as he leans over to reply close to my ear. “Because I have a lot of baggage, because your father would hate it, and because I wouldn’t want to consummate it once. I’d want to consummate it repeatedly, which would make the next few months very messy.”
“It wouldn’t be that messy,” I reply, brushing my mouth over his. “I’d shower afterward.”
“Bex,” he groans and I laugh.
“Fine! I don’t want to sleep with you anyway. You’d probably be so bad at it. And then I’d be stuck.”
He pours me more champagne. “I’d undress you and then say I wanted to put it in your butt. I’d whisper it every single time Lars makes us kiss.”
I crack up. The next time we’re forced to kiss, one of us is going to think it and laugh and ruin the shot.
I press my lips to his cheek, to his neck, before I take a sip of the scotch he ordered alongside the champagne. I normally hate scotch, but now it reminds me of Theo and it’s my new favorite drink.
“Is this what you’re like in a relationship?” he asks.
“A drink stealer?”
He laughs. “No. Affectionate.”
“This isn’t affectionate.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he says, smiling. There’s so much warmth in his gaze that my heart is no longer fluttering. It’s full-on seizing up.
I elbow him. “You adore me, don’t you? If we were in Vegas, I’d make you marry me right now.”
He leans down and nips my earlobe. “We’re already married, little wife.”
I laugh against his shoulder.
“You’re the worst husband I’ve ever had,” I tell him. “That’s why I forgot. You haven’t made me come once.”
He shakes his head and lifts the scotch to his lovely mouth. “You’ve made me come so many times I’ve lost count.”
It takes me a minute to understand what he’s saying and…damn. As drunk as I am…damn. That was unexpectedly hot.