Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Marie
"Okay, so you're definitely doing that wrong."
Wade looked up from the dumpling in his hands, the one that was currently oozing filling from three different tears, and raised an eyebrow at me. "I'm following your instructions exactly, darling.”
"You're really not." I tried not to laugh as I watched him attempt to salvage the destroyed dumpling, his expensive linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, flour somehow smudged across his forearm. "You're using way too much filling, and you're pinching too hard."
"I run an empire,” he huffed, staring at the dumpling as if it had insulted him. "Surely I can master a simple dumpling."
“That's your problem." I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter, grinning at his frustrated expression. "Dumplings require finesse, gentle hands, a delicate touch."
His eyes slid to me, darkening instantly with that heavy heat I lived for. "I have quite a delicate touch when it matters. As I recall, you enjoy my hands very much.”
Warmth crept up my neck at the implication. "Not delicate enough for dumplings, apparently."
The estate’s kitchen was covered in our dumpling-making disaster. Flour dusted the countertops, bowls of filling were scattered around, and various stages of Wade's dumpling attempts littered the workspace.
I'd insisted on making dumplings for tonight's party, wanting to contribute something homemade and special for the girls.
For my girls. The ones who'd survived The Sanctuary with me.
We were saying goodbye tonight. Some of them were flying home with their families, back to lives they'd been stolen from. It was happy and bittersweet all at once, and I needed to do something special for it.
Plus, teasing Wade about his complete lack of dumpling skills was an excellent distraction.
"You know.” I watched him reach for another wrapper with determination, “This is because you don’t cook often. Since you're all rich and have a private chef.”
He shot me a look that was pure, spoiled billionaire arrogance, his eyes laughing. "Is this your way of calling me spoiled?"
"I would never." I widened my eyes innocently. "I'm just saying, you probably haven't spent a lot of time in kitchens, making things with your hands, getting all messy."
"I'm in a kitchen right now," he pointed out, stepping closer. "Making things with my hands and getting messy. The only reason I'm doing it is because you look so fucking cute bossing me around."
"You're attempting to make things." I gestured at his pile of dumplings, flushed. "The success rate is questionable."
"You're enjoying this.”
"So much." I grinned, tucking my curly hair behind my ear. It had grown out nicely in the weeks I'd been here, the short curls framing my face. "It's nice watching you struggle with something. You're usually so competent at everything."
"I am competent at everything," he muttered, his lips twitching in a smile as he carefully spooned filling onto a new wrapper. "This is just a learning curve."
"Uh-huh." I moved closer, positioning myself beside him to watch. “You need less filling, daddy. Like half of what you put there."
He scooped some back out, his movements precise even if the results weren't. I demonstrated the folding technique again, pinching the edges together with water.
"See? Not too much pressure. You have to feel it."
Wade leaned closer, ostensibly to watch my hands work, but his chest pressed against my back, crowding me against the counter in a way that had nothing to do with dumpling education. His breath ghosted across my neck, distracting me.
"Like this?" he purred, his voice dropping into a rumble. “Handle it how I handle you?”
"Are you actually watching," I asked, breathless, trying to tilt my head to look at him, "or are you just being a perverted old man?”
"I can do two things at once," he growled against my neck, making me shiver, pulling me back against his erection. He was hard already.
"We have dumplings to make, daddy." My voice came out breathy, betraying how his proximity was affecting me.
"Mmm." His lips brushed my ear. "We have time for both, and this is making me hungry.”
“Daddy!”
"Fine." He straightened up with an exaggerated sigh, his fingers trailing across the exposed skin between my shorts and tank top before he released me. "Show me again. I promise I'm paying attention this time."
I demonstrated once more, hyper-aware of him watching. This time, he actually focused, and his next attempt was significantly better—the wrapper stayed mostly intact, and the filling didn't explode everywhere.
"There!" I cheered encouragingly. "That's so much better."
"Don't sound so shocked," he chided, his expression pleased as he added the lumpy-but-intact dumpling to his small pile.
Two hours and approximately forty dumplings later, thirty-four being mine and six acceptably Wade's, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, adjusting the straps of my dress.
It was pink, obviously, and short enough that Wade would probably have opinions.
The fabric was light and flowy, perfect for dancing in the warm night air, with thin straps and a low back that left most of my spine exposed.
The skirt hit mid-thigh, and the whole ensemble made me feel feminine, pretty, and free.
"Marie," Wade called from the closet, sounding deeply offended. "What is this thing you laid out for me?"
“Your outfit!” I called back, applying lip gloss in the mirror.
“I refuse.”
“You can’t refuse!” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Put it on, daddy!”
“Darling, no.”
"It's perfect for a beach party!"
"It has flamingos on it."
"Pink flamingos," I corrected, turning back to face the closet door. "It's tropical and very fun.”
Wade stepped out in his dress pants, holding up the bright Hawaiian shirt, covered in pink flamingos and tropical flowers, like I'd asked him to wear a clown costume.
"I have a reputation.”
"You're at a beach party on my island," I countered, crossing my arms, loving how grumpy he looked. “My opinion is the only one that matters, and I think you’d look hot.”
One eyebrow quirked up. "Oh, you do?"
I pushed off the doorframe and crossed to him, running my hands up his chest. "Please? For your darling?”
His eyes narrowed, pure adoration in his gaze. "You're manipulating me, and you’re entirely too good at it.”
"Is it working?"
He stared at me, his gaze traveling down my body, making me feel simultaneously treasured and devoured. He sighed, defeated by my pout, and started to put on the shirt.
"You're lucky I'm obsessed with you.”
I watched him dress, biting my lip. The shirt actually looked good on him; the casual style made him look younger and more relaxed. Less like a billionaire and more like someone who actually lived on an island instead of just owning several.
“There.” He spread his arms, looking smug despite the print. "Satisfied? Do I look like the fun daddy now?"
"Very much.” I stepped closer, smoothing my hands down the front of the shirt, feeling the solid warmth of him underneath. "You look perfect. Handsome and fun."
His hands found my hips, pulling me flush against him, and his eyes darkened as they traveled down my body, taking in the short dress, the exposed skin, the bare legs.
"And you," he said, his voice dropping lower, "look absolutely fucking edible. You're trying to kill me with this dress, aren’t you?”
"You like it?"
"I love it." His hands slid down to my ass, squeezing possessively through the thin fabric. “Every man at this party is going to see your legs. This back—" One hand traced up my bare spine, leaving heat in its wake. “I'm going to spend the whole night fighting the urge to throw my coat over you."
"Good thing you'll be standing close then," I smiled innocently.
“I’ll be right behind you," he agreed, his hand sliding back down to squeeze my ass again. "Breathing down the neck of anyone who looks at you for too long. You look beautiful, darling. Dangerous, but beautiful."
"We should go," I managed breathlessly, even though I didn't want to move. "Before we don't make it there at all."
His thumb traced circles on my lower back, right at the edge of the dress. "We could be late. I could take this dress off you right now.”
“No,” I countered firmly, even though my body was very interested in not going anywhere. “Tonight matters, and I promised I'd be there."
Something in my voice must have conveyed how important this was, because his expression softened immediately. "You're right. I'm sorry, darling. I just get greedy with you. Let's go."
But he kissed me first, deep and greedy and full of promise for later, his hands never leaving my body. He sucked a mark onto my neck, right where everyone would see it.
"Just a little reminder," he murmured against my skin, sounding incredibly pleased with himself.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing harder.
"Okay," I said, slightly dizzy. "Now we can go."
The party was already in full swing when we arrived, the beach having been transformed into a magical and glowing paradise.
Tiki torches burned along the sand, their flames dancing and casting flickering light over everything. String lights hung between palm trees, creating a canopy of soft illumination.
A makeshift bar had been set up near the water's edge, and a small band played island beats and steel pan that made it impossible not to dance.
The dumplings I'd made earlier were arranged on a long table with the rest of the food—the chef had helped me steam them before we left, and they looked delicious among all the other dishes.
But it wasn’t the food that made my breath catch.
It was the girls. My girls. The ones who'd survived with me.
They were scattered around the beach, some dancing, some talking in small groups, some just sitting in the sand watching the ocean, being free.