Page 15 of Sinfully Yours

So I let him believe I'm still just a workaholic with commitment issues.

"What's tragic is the fact that you're on your honeymoon and still finding time to worry about my social life," I say, reaching for the menu.

Dean shrugs. "Emily insisted that I get out of the house. Said I was hovering."

I chuckle. "Smart woman."

"She is," he says, eyes softening just slightly. "Not sure how I got lucky enough to convince her to marry me, but I'm not asking too many questions."

A strange pang settles in my chest. It's not jealousy, not exactly. More like recognition. Understanding.

Because that look in his eyes? I've seen it before. In wedding vows, in quiet moments when a man glances at the woman he loves and realizes he'd set fire to the whole world to keep her.

It's the same look I caught myself giving Ava last night.

I push the thought away and flag down the waitress. "Black coffee. And whatever he's having."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "You don't even know what I ordered."

"Doesn't matter. It's breakfast. I'll eat it."

Dean shakes his head but lets it go, taking another sip of his coffee. "You sure you don't have someone in your life? You seem distracted."

I clear my throat. "You're the one talking about my tragic love life before I've even had caffeine. Maybe you're the one who needs a hobby."

Dean barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "Fine, I'll drop it. But if you do find someone, I expect to be the first to know."

I nod, but I already know that's not happening. Because technically, I already have someone. And Dean will be the last person to find out.

A few hours later, I pull up to Ava's apartment, idling at the curb. I'm taking her to a charity event. There'll be photographers there. Not the tabloid bottom-feeders, but the kind whose shots end up in glossy magazines and high-profile blogs. The kind who can take a perfectly timed photo and turn a carefully crafted illusion into a headline.

She steps out a minute later, eyes narrowing the second she sees me. "You said this was casual."

I glance at her outfit—black heels, fitted dress, subtle makeup that still somehow makes her look like a knockout. I arch a brow. "And you listened to me?"

She scoffs, climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut. "I listened until I realized you are a scheming bastard with ulterior motives. Where are we going?"

I shift into drive, smirking. "Charity event."

Her eyes narrow. "What charity event?"

"The kind where your entire social circle and half your brothers' friends will be in attendance."

A beat of silence.

Then, "You threw me into the deep end?"

I glance at her, taking in the way she's already fuming, her fingers gripping the edge of her clutch like she's imagining throwing it at my face.

I grin. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right."

She exhales slowly, like she's debating murder.

I let the silence stretch for a moment before adding, "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't let you drown."

She turns to me, green eyes blazing.

"Oh, I will drown," she says. "And I'm taking you with me."

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