Chapter 218 Callum
callum
I wasn’t fearless—I was practiced. And today, I’d stand tall for him, because he had carried me through breakdowns and bloodstains and storms I swore I wouldn’t survive. So when his hands started shaking, I reached for the wheel. That’s what marriage is. –Auri
Iwas a fucking idiot.
It was supposed to be a slow morning. That’s what I told myself as I scrolled through my phone, sprawled out on our bed—our bed—while the sunlight crept across the hardwood floors.
I’d been calm. Relaxed. At peace, even, because we were home and settling back into real life.
Until I realized what the hell was actually happening.
I watched Auri toss a pair of trainers into a duffel bag without even looking at me.
"You tricked me into meeting your family."
She didn’t even look up. "No, you just didn’t ask enough questions."
I sat up slowly. “That’s the same fucking thing.”
She hummed, smug and unbothered, humming along to whatever French indie song was playing over the kitchen speaker as she added a pair of silk pajamas to the pile. “You’re helping me move the rest of my things from the estate.”
“And tell your parents we’re married,” I deadpanned.
She shrugged.
I narrowed my eyes. “Before the media catches wind and they find out in a tabloid headline?”
“Wouldn’t that be rude?” she asked sweetly. “Just because I’ve barely spoken to them doesn’t mean they deserve to find out their daughter is married from the press.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “So let me get this straight. You want me to carry boxes, charm your family, survive what will inevitably be an awkward dinner, and pretend I’m not losing my fucking mind every time I look at you. Especially when you’re doing domestic shit.”
She paused, finally looking up, amused. “Domestic shit?”
“Like dishes. Or laundry. Or walking around in that robe with wet hair and no bra on, pretending it’s normal.”
“It is normal.”
I stood up, crossing the room to crowd her space. “You know what that does to me.”
“I do,” she said softly, feigning innocence, eyes sparkling. “That’s why I do it.”
My hands slid around her waist, pulling her in until her chest brushed mine. She smelled like lavender and sin. I buried my face in her neck and groaned. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“I already have.”
God help me, she had. And I loved it.
I held her there for a moment, just breathing her in. Letting the quiet fill my chest, soften the edges of my nerves.
“Aurélie,” I murmured.
She pulled back, gaze holding mine. “Callum.”
My throat tightened. “I’m nervous.”
Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes deepened, like she already knew my anxiety was a battle today.
“I don’t know what to feel,” I admitted.
“I’ve never done this before. Not just the family thing.
The… forever thing. The home and boxes and real life thing.
And now I’m about to walk into your childhood home and tell your parents we’ve already made it official without them.
It’s…” I paused and let out a heavy breath. “It’s intimidating.”
She blinked once, twice, before her hand came up to cradle my cheek.
“Mon amour, I’ve been talking about you for the last ten years.
” She pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Our relationship has been in the public eye before it was even official. I doubt this will come as a surprise to them.”
It hit like a fucking freight train. I kissed her, hard and fast, just once, before pulling back with a groan.
“Fine. I will do my husbandly duties and be your arm candy, move you out of your parents’ estate, and meet your terrifyingly traditional French father. Just making sure this is the first thing you’re cashing in on our happily ever after?”
“Yes,” she said brightly. “Besides, I like seeing you sweaty and your,” she waved her hand my arms, “pirate rope veiny arms.”
“Goddamn you,” I muttered.
“God bless me,” she corrected, standing on her toes to kiss the underside of my jaw. “You’re so pretty when you suffer. And prettiest when you’re broody.”
I groaned again, louder this time.
“I hate how much I love you,” I muttered.
“No, you don’t.”
I didn’t. Not even a little bit.
“Now be a good little husband,” she said, stepping out of my embrace and patting my chest, “and grab my bag.”
And just like that, I was the one thrown off balance.
I had expected the teasing. But it was the certain way she said it. Like she wasn’t afraid of the next step. Like she knew it was inevitable. Like she was perfectly okay with it.
I stared at her, heart hammering against my ribs. Then I leaned in, pressing a slow, deep kiss against her lips, because fuck, I loved this woman.
She smiled against my mouth. "Good boys will be rewarded." All the blood in me rushed south. I was already suffering withdrawals from not being inside her at this very moment, so how I planned to survive the night was beyond me. How does one just snap out of the honeymoon haze?
“You have permission to use me however you want, mon mari.” She sashayed away, down the hallway and out of sight.
I sighed, shaking my head as I reached for her duffel.
That was a dangerous thing for her to offer. And I would make damn sure she’d suffer in return.
After I dropped our bags into the backseat of her car—she insisted we take her beautiful vintage Porsche—I sauntered back inside.
I should have been preparing myself. I should have been running through possible dinner conversation topics, how to address étienne’s crash, how to win her parents over. Overall just mentally arming myself for whatever this was about to be.
But then she emerged from the bedroom, and I stopped in my fucking tracks. My brain went completely blank, ceased to function. I just stood there ogling her like I wasn’t literally fucking married to her, mouth slightly open.
She wore a fucking sundress. I didn’t even know I had a thing for sundresses until Greece, and whenever she wore one I died a little inside.
And now here she was, emerging from the bedroom in a pink sundress that barely clung to her body, sun catching in the golden strands of her hair. No bra. No shame. And she definitely knew what she was doing to me.
My mouth went dry. Would I ever get used to feeling so captivated by her?
Her brows pulled together. “What?”
“What the hell are you wearing?”
She looked down at herself, then back up at me. “A dress?”
“No shit it’s a dress. But it’s a sundress, Auri.” I gestured at her like that would explain the sheer level of destruction happening inside my brain.
Her head tilted, but the mirth in her eyes told me she was aware of how I felt about those damn things. “Do I look okay? Should I change?”
Okay? She looked like my every fantasy, like the climax of a wet dream. As always.
“You look…” I shook my head. “You’re torturing me, is what you’re doing.”
Her lips quirked. “Torture? That’s a bit dramatic.”
“Is it?”
She giggled. “Is it working?”
My gaze dragged down her legs, slow, hungry. Then I stalked toward her. "Tonight’s going to be hell for me, and you know it."
I felt her inhale sharply. Then she smiled. "Good."
My restraint snapped. I grabbed her waist, pinning her against the wall with my body, one hand pressing into the small of her back to keep her hips against mine. "You’re lucky we have dinner plans,” I growled. “Otherwise I’d bend you over the island right now for pretending this is okay.”
She laughed. The wicked, belly-deep kind of laugh that drove me mad. “Plus tard, mon amour.”
“Later? You mean when we’re sleeping under the same roof as your parents?”
“You’ll just have to be quiet.”
“But—”
“Et s'il te pla?t, behave,” she hissed before she shrugged out of my hold once more to waltz to the front door. I dropped my head back and took a deep breath.
Christ. Yeah, I was so fucked.
Still, I followed her to the car. And of course she made me drive.
To be fair, she looked like she belonged in that passenger seat. Like she’d been born for the role of smirking passenger princess.
Her pink dress shifted as she crossed her legs, revealing more skin than my blood pressure could handle.
I almost died right there.
I shifted gears, struggling with being turned on and half a second from freaking the fuck out over this.
Auri scrolled on her phone, completely unfazed by the fact that we were about to walk into a lion’s den of marital reveals, no-prenup discussions, and unresolved family tension.
“You’re way too calm,” I said.
She shrugged. “They’re not my in-laws.”
My eyes widened and I groaned. “Jesus fuck. I just realized I have in-laws.”
“Ouais, you also have a sister and brother-in-law.”
It should’ve been funny. But all it did was make my pulse spike harder.
I’d only ever known my parents as family. Just the three of us. No big family dinners, no uncles or cousins or family friends who lingered too long and hugged too hard. It was us or nothing. And I’d learned to live with that. Thrived in the solitude of it. Until her.
And now I had her. And with her came them.
Her family. Her legacy. Her last name with roots deep in this countryside, deeper than their grapevines. Her father. Her brother. Her goddamn world.
It wasn’t just that I’d married her. It was that I was legally, emotionally, cosmically tied to everything she came from. Which was the complete opposite of my upbringing.
And would they even want me? Would I be worthy of their daughter?
Would they see me as part of the family, or just a man with too much money and too many headlines?
Would there ever be a time when her father sat across from me, shop-talking over a whiskey, asking about lap times or tire pressure or anything other than the status I brought to their name?
Or would it always feel like some performance—like I was putting on a suit and praying they didn’t see the cracks underneath that showed where I came from?
Because her family came from old, generational wealth. They carried prestige and placed value in class-status.