Page 61 of Our Broken Pieces
“Are you surprised that I can boil potatoes, Mr. Holt?”
“Cooking is an important skill.”
“For a wife?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
Marcus places his hand on my thigh and squeezes. I’m sure he’s trying to tell me to pipe down, but fuck this guy.
“Do you need to see my sewing skills, too? I can sew a button on a shirt like a professional.”
“Gigi—” Marcus warns.
“Claire, pass me the wine, please.” She grabs the bottle from the center of the table and pours him a glass. “Sewing doesn’t really matter, but cooking will keep a man happy.”
My leg shakes under Marcus’ hand.
“Should I sit and be quiet, too?” If I could throw flames with my eyes, I would right now.
He leans on the table. “No need to be quiet if you have something of value to say.”
Marcus’s hand squeezes around my thigh again, this time harder. Before I can respond, Dominic interrupts. “Dad, men and women share responsibilities now. You’re acting like it’s nineteen-fifty.”
“I think more marriages would survive if men and women stuck to what they are good at.”
Oh. My. God. I hope Marcus is ready to hold me back because I’m two seconds from diving across this table.
“Mr. Holt—”
“Dad, all due respect, but that’s not what I’m looking for in a partner. I can cook and can sew my own buttons. And it’s a bit archaic of you to think gender roles are the issue with marriages that end in divorce.” He maintains eye contact with his father as his hand slowly moves up my thigh, just under my dress, and I feel his hand grasp the skin on the inside of my thigh, just inches from my underwear. Holy fuck. I feel goosebumps cover me, and I’m suddenly distracted by the sensation.
He turns his head to look at me, smile on his face, eyes intense. “Gigi will make a perfect wife one day.”
He runs his finger up and down the delicate skin under my skirt, and I feel my breathing pick up. If he moved his fingers just an inch higher, he would brush against my wet panties.
“Thank you, prince.”
He nods, kissing my jaw, then gently slapping the skin of my thigh before removing his hand. I work hard to control my response, because fuck, I’m so turned on by my fake boyfriend right now.
Chapter Forty-One
Marcus
Dinner is over, thank fucking God. I throw my napkin on the table. “Mom, Gigi and I will be right back to help clear.”
“No rush,” she replies. “Dominic and I have it handled.”
I nod, taking Gigi’s hand and leaning into her ear. My voice drops to a whisper. “Bedroom, right now.”
Without waiting for a reply, I guide her down the hallway, my grip firm but not rough. Once we’re inside, I shut the door, locking it behind us. As I turn to face her, I catch a flicker of something in her eyes—fear? Uncertainty? Whatever it is, it sends a thrill through me, making me even harder than I already am.
“Are you okay?”
“You caused a scene at dinner, princess.”
She jabs a finger toward the door, voice low but furious. “That man was about to see what I’m capable of. I was fucking pissed, Marcus.”
I grab her outstretched wrist, her eyes shooting to where we’re connected. “I know you were,” I say, my voice steady but low. “But he’s not worth it, Gigi.”
