Page 54 of Bride on the Dotted Line

I like that. Ilovethat.

I wish I could go back in time and cuff the bastard that negotiated four weeks’ vacation down to only one.I can’t go to another country for a month. I’ve got things I’m working on.Please. Nothing could be as good as living these moments with Sienna.

Especially now that I get to tease her.

In the mornings, if I catch her looking at me, I make sure to stretch, slow and deliberate, just to watch her fingers twitch against her keyboard. When I get out of the shower after my evening run, I walk shirtless from the bathroom to my room, still wet, in case she catches a glimpse of me.

Yeah, it might be egotistical. But how can I help it when her pupils go so wide, when I can practically feel her heartbeat, when my dick stirs just passing her in the hallway?

On the third day, I wash my clothes in the villa’s laundry room. I fold a fresh shirt and place it at the bottom of the dryer—a little revenge for her leaving her panties on the staircase last week.

Sure enough, when I check the next day, my shirt is gone.

We play our roles for the public during the afternoons. Café visits, swims in the warm, clear water, shopping at the local market. I call our driver and have him bring us to a crowded beach, just so Sienna and I can stroll from end to end, hands entwined.

The sky is a deep, beautiful azure, clear and cloudless. A tourist points at us and whispers to his friends. I notice the way Sienna’s back straightens, the way she tightly holds her mouth.

Leaning toward her as we walk by, I murmur, “Don’t worry about selling it. Just enjoy yourself.”

“Iamenjoying myself,” she shoots back. “Have you seen this place? It’s like a screensaver. I love it here.” I could get used to the crisp, beautiful satisfaction her happiness sparks in me. “Oh—his phone is pointed at us. Can you put your arm around me?”

I do her one better, slipping my arm around her hip and pressing my lips to the crown of her head. Her hair is soft, fragrant with vanilla and coconut sunscreen. She’s wearing one of those strapless, frilly tops that ends just above the curve of her waist, accentuating her hips and belly. I’m pretty sure I have a fever.

“Like that?” I relish the way her breath falters at my touch. “That’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Sienna says. “Perfect.”

We walk for a while longer, sunlight gleaming off a calm ocean, lighting up the fronds of waving palm trees. When we reach the edge of the beach, she pulls out her phone, typing. My pocket buzzes.

Sienna, 2:41 PM

You’re good at this.

Her eyes slant in my direction, then flick away. I smirk at her, typing back as casually as I can manage.

Nick

Good at what?

Sienna

Being a husband.

It’s so at odds with what every girlfriend has ever told me that I almost laugh.

Nick

Really?

Sienna

Really. You’re a natural.

If the whole billion-dollar company thing doesn’t work out, maybe you should start a side hustle being a dream husband for hire.

Ha. You think?

Only until you open Ember & Hearth, of course.

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