Page 33 of Bride on the Dotted Line

I speedwalk into the penthouse’s main space, which is an open plan dining room, living room, and kitchen. There’s a sprawling, gray sofa sitting near the windows to my right, flanking a black coffee table and a massive fireplace. Overhead, a mezzanine with a dining table and comfy-looking chairs hangs over the kitchen.

The kitchen.

Oh.

I take one look at it and know thisis where Nick actually lives. There’slifehere. Two long, marble islands are covered with an impressive range of ingredients, spices in labeled jars, fresh herbs, and cookware that is obviously well-loved. Cookbooks lay open with bookmarks next to them. And the smell—yes—that’s the smell I know. Rosemary, fresh bread, the mountains.

“I can make dinner for you,” Nick says, walking in behind me. “If you want.”

The lurch in my stomach has me almost airborne. I whirl to face him. He’s changed into sweats and a black, long-sleeved shirt that emphasizes his biceps. Better than just a towel, obviously, but now that I know what’s underneath, I’m not sure I can look at him without stuttering.

“It’s—it’s pretty late,” I manage. “You don’t have to cook me dinner. I just need a shower and …”

My voice fails me. One side of his mouth pulls up, a hand scraping at his five o’clock shadow.

“And?”

“Sorry.Sleep.I need a shower and sleep.”

A breathy laugh escapes him, matching mine. “Of course. Big day.” He moves past me into the kitchen and opens the fridge, taking out a shaker cup. “Wi-Fi password’s in the drawer over there if you need it. You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Oh, and your room is upstairs—the guest room to the left of the staircase.”

Down the hall from his room.

It takes a Herculean effort to keep my eyes level with his face. “And towels?”

“In the cupboard in your ensuite.”

“Great.”

I watch him take a drink from the cup, his wedding band winking in the light. Mine feels heavy enough to make my finger fall off. The silence is uncomfortable, and I can’t tell which one of us is making it that way.

He puts the cup back in the fridge, rummaging in a crisper.

“Do you …” he starts, but he trails off, as if thinking better of the question. I just stand there like a statue while he pulls a red bell pepper from a paper bag. “Today went well.”

“It did,” I say. “Lena has the pictures set to leak in a couple hours, so… That’ll be good.”

“Great.” Nick rinses the pepper in the sink, then positions it on a massive cutting board. The kitchen has those soft, yellow lights that hang from the ceiling on lines. They bring out a honey gold color in his drying hair. “Did the courthouse get the marriage certificate made up?”

“Yes.” I’m briefly mesmerized by the way he selects a knife from a block, then chops the pepper into ribbons almost faster than I can see. “They’ll send us both a copy, and one to each of our lawyers.”

“Perfect.” He finishes with the pepper, then goes still for a moment. He sets the knife down. “Hey, about the?—”

“I wanted to?—”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, wincing at me. “You go first.”

I shake my head. “No, uh … you go.”

Nick leans backward against the counter. His eyes are dark enough for any girl to trip and fall into. “About the kiss.”

I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, twisting the fabric inside. If I pray hard enough, will I get hit with a bolt of lightning right now?

“Oh, yes. I wanted to apologize about that. I should have cleared it with you first.”

“No, it’s all good. I just wanted to make sure it was okay. For you.”

“Yeah.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, catching the way Nick’s gaze is drawn to the tiny movement.God.I’m standing here in a multi-million-dollar penthouse, trying to convince the hottest, richest, most interesting man I’ve ever met that I only kissed him for the sake of a photo. The ridiculousness of the situation has me laughing. “It was okay.”

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