Page 72 of Stolen Vows

He tastes like coffee and something darker, something distinctly him.

He tastes like he might be mine.

A breathy moan that escapes me, and he swallows the sound, his tongue delving into my mouth to stroke along mine. It’s hot and slick and so good that my toes curl in my sneakers. I grip his shoulders, the firm muscle flexing beneath my fingers as he takes control of the kiss.

And god, does he take control.

Romeo lets out a low whine, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor. The sound cuts through the haze of desire, pulling me back to reality.

I break the kiss with a gasp, my chest heaving as I blink up at Graham. His pupils are blown wide, his lips slightly swollen and glistening. He looks as affected as I feel, and a shiver of deep satisfaction races down my spine.

“We should—we should probably talk more,” I manage, my voice breathy and thin.

He nods, his hand flexing on my hip before he slowly releases it.

“Show me the proposal, Graham.”

He nods again, flipping a few pages over in the forgotten red folder on the desk. He clears his throat a couple times, shifting me on his lap a little. “I know this is a lot to take in. And you should take time to think about it. But I want you to know this isn’t just about my brother. Or your bookstore.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for what he’s about to say next. “It’s about us. I won’t ever ask you to do anything you don’t want, including making this an official marriage. It can be a paper marriage. Or a friendship one. Fuck, it can be whatever you want. You have control, okay?” His voice drops to a low rumble, his eyes searching mine.

I swallow hard, my heart thundering against my ribs. His words wash over me, sinking deep into my bones and igniting a fire low in my belly.

There’s something between us, an inexplicable pull. It’s been there from the start. Growing steadily with each shared latte, each brush of hands, each lingering gaze.

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise and possibility. I stare into his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or reservation in their hazel haze. But all I see is unwavering certainty, a steadfast determination that both thrills and terrifies me.

My mind races as I try to process everything he’s saying. A paper marriage. A friendship marriage.

A real marriage?

Giving me control, letting me set the terms and boundaries. It’s overwhelming in its generosity, in the sheer level of trust he’s placing in me. Part of me wants to run, but I’d be a fool to turn away a helping hand. And that’s exactly what Graham’s doing: he’s throwing me a life raft.

“Show me.”

He nods once, the skin around his eyes tight as he hands me a few sheets of paper. “Take your time.”

I take the papers from Graham with shaking hands, my heart pounding as I begin to read. It's a prenuptial agreement, outlining the terms of our proposed marriage in clear, concise language.

The agreement states that we will marry and remain so for one year in order to fulfill the requirements of both the Ashburn clause and Graham’s inheritance stipulations. During that year, we will live together and present ourselves publicly as a married couple, a formality to serve our mutual goals. But privately, the marriage can be whatever we decide it to be. At the end of the twelve months, we will amicably split, with Graham retaining his full inheritance and transferring half of it to his brother Beau. I will retain sole ownership of Fiction & Folklore, free from any further claims or interference from my parents.

There are provisions for privacy, with neither of us disclosing the true nature of our arrangement to anyone outside of our immediate families and closest confidants. We agree to support each other’s professional and personal endeavors, to be partners and allies in every sense of the word, even if the romantic aspect is only for show.

My eyes blur as I read and reread the words, my mind struggling to wrap itself around the enormity of what Graham is proposing. It’s a business arrangement on the surface, but there’s an undercurrent of something more. A promise of partnership, of unwavering support and loyalty.

I stare at Graham's signature at the bottom of the prenuptial agreement, my heart racing. He's already signed it. He's fully committed to this plan, to helping me save my bookstore and helping his brother get his inheritance.

His fingertips graze my hip, pulling my focus back to him. I drag my gaze up from the paper to meet his eyes. They burn with a vulnerability that sends a shiver down my spine, but there’s also a vulnerability there, hiding in the tightness around his mouth, the slight furrow between his brows. He’s putting himself out there, laying all his cards on the table.

He’s giving me an out, a chance to walk away if this is too much. But there’s also hope in his eyes, a quiet longing that mirrors the ache inside of me.

“Okay.”

Graham’s eyes widen slightly, his fingers tightening on my hip. “Okay.” he repeats, his voice a low rumble.

I exhale slowly, my fingers tracing the edge of the paper. The words are there, black and white, ironclad.

One year. Partnership. Control.

My future, held in my own hands for the first time.

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