Chapter 39 #2
Even so, I got out of bed and threw on the shirt he’d had on yesterday—or today—and walked to the doorway, following the sound of his voice.
I hadn’t even had time to look around this place they called the lake house.
All I’d seen so far was the house from the outside, the foyer, and well-appointed main bedroom.
Slowing my steps, I glanced around the room on my way to the door, noticing a massive walk-in closet off one side of the room with what appeared to be a bathroom on the other side.
The light was on in there and I could see the corner of a shower as well as a part of the vanity. Hardwood floors with expensive rugs covering them stretched beneath my feet and there were large, wide windows looking out at the garden beyond.
A giant bed— our bed for now—sat in the center of the space, but along with a fireplace, a dresser, and an ornate, full-length mirror on the wall, there wasn’t much else in here.
When I reached the door, I turned into a wide hallway, passed two doors I assumed led to more bedrooms, and then I was in the main living space.
Facing the lake, the front walls of the house were all made of glass and there was a living area on one side of the open-concept area, a dining room on the other, and at the back in the middle, also with a glorious view of the water, was the kitchen. That was where I found my husband.
Sterling stood at the island with his laptop open in front of him and his phone pressed to his ear.
His hair was messier than I’d ever seen it, sticking up in all directions and looking like he’d shoved his hands into it more times than I probably wanted to know about.
Or maybe it still looked like that from having my hands in it.
Either way, he was barefoot, a glass of bourbon beside him and his forearms flexing as he typed.
The glow of the screen lit up his profile, highlighting his strong features as he snapped into the phone.
“I don’t care how many influencers they’ve paid.
That content goes down by sunrise or I’ll bury that entire PR firm. Got it?”
He paused for a beat, then spoke more calmly. Reaching for his drink again, he listened. “Good. Send the paperwork to Nathan. I’m not fucking around on this one, Bruce. Get it done.”
He hung up and exhaled, closing his laptop with a finality that sounded like victory. Figuring that meant he was done for now, I took a step forward and he lifted his gaze, smiling softly when he saw me.
It wasn’t the smirk I’d gotten used to at the beginning or the cool, collected expression he wore like armor when facing the world. This was warm, like seeing me was genuinely something he looked forward to.
“Hey,” he said gently, nodding toward the couch. “Come here.”
He walked around the kitchen island, met me in the living room, and pulled me down on the couch with him.
I curled into his warmth, legs tucked under me, and rested my head against his shoulder.
One of his arms stretched along the back cushion.
The other slid around my stomach and pulled me closer to him.
“You weren’t sleeping well?” he murmured, fingers tracing random patterns on the shirt over my belly as his head fell back against the couch. “Or did I wake you? I hope it wasn’t that.”
“It wasn’t.” I glanced up at him. His eyes closed as he held me. “I think I just woke up because you weren’t there. I don’t really know, but once I was awake, I wanted to come check on you.”
A low sound of approval hummed from the back of his throat and I suddenly became aware of a different kind of quiet energy radiating off him. It was a sort of peace or maybe satisfaction that people got at the end of a long day when they knew they could finally relax and turn in.
Somehow, I knew that it meant he’d fixed things. Or at least, he’d started to.
“Do you want to know what’s happening?” he asked, his voice gentle.
I surprised myself when my head started shaking before I’d even thought about the question. “No. Not right now.”
I didn’t want the details tonight. All I wanted was this quiet peace between us.
I wanted to pretend that nothing outside of this room existed and that my business wasn’t on fire.
Pretend that the internet hadn’t turned me into a meme and that my heart wasn’t cracking open a little more every time Sterling looked at me like I mattered.
His chin dipped in a nod. He reached for me, stood, and scooped me up with him like I weighed nothing. Part of me wanted to resist, to tell him I could walk, but instead of protesting, I curled into his chest, slid my arms around his neck, and rested my cheek against his collarbone.
“I’ve got you,” he said, the words rumbling against my ear.
Warmth spread through my insides—along with the firm belief that he was telling the truth. He really did have me. It’d been the worst day, but being here with him was absolutely the best medicine.
He carried me back to bed and climbed in without saying another word. Rolling over to face me, he draped one strong arm around my waist and pulled me closer until I was nestled against him. A low groan of satisfaction rumbled someplace deep in his chest.
As his eyes drifted closed, I let my own follow suit and let myself believe that just for now I was safe. I was wanted. I was his .
Outside of this bubble, my entire world was burning, but Sterling made it feel like just maybe it wasn’t all about to turn to ash.