Page 114 of Marry Lies
He tugs my back into his body, wrapping his arms around me. “You did so well,” he adds, a contented hum working through his chest. I shiver when I feel it against my back. “We can stay here for a few minutes if you’d like, but we should also clean up.”
I grimace when I realize the duvet underneath me is completely soaked. I try to twist out of his grip, but he tugs me tightly against his chest.
“In a few minutes,” he says against the back of my neck. “Just a few more minutes.”
I relax my body, letting my husband pull me tightly against his body, shivering every time his finger brushes my hip and completely unable to wipe the smile from my face.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
THE CONFESSION
Miles
After cleaning Estelle up in the shower—and taking her against the marble wall one more time—she falls asleep in the fresh bedding I procured for us. I unwrap myself and watch her sleeping, feeling like my chest might very well crack in half with each soft, satisfied breath coming from her.
Just…be honest with me. Communicate with me. This is never going to work if we don’ttalklike an actual, married couple.
No more secrets.
Sighing, I climb out of bed and grab some boxers. I step into them before pulling on sweatpants and a T-shirt. I hardly ever wear anything but a suit, however, right now I can’t find it in me to give a fuck. Grabbing my phone, I exit the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me.
I have to fix this.
Peering into Estelle’s bedroom, an open sketchbook on her desk catches my eye. I walk inside and glance over the sketches. I don’t know what I expected, but as I flip through Estelle’s drawings, the aching feeling in my chest begins to worsen. She’s good.Reallyfucking good. She’s also drafted a mission statement, and I read through it as pride swells within me.
VeRue is a high-quality, stylish, adaptive clothing line started by Estelle Ravage (née Deveraux). We will work to find clothes that fityou,whether that be inclusive sizing, clothing for those with restricted movement, or those with disabilities who want to look their best. Why adaptive clothing? Because Estelle’s grandmother spent most of her adult life in a wheelchair. She loved fashion, but she was never able to find the kinds of clothes that she wanted to wear. The kinds of clothes that made her feelgood.This clothing line is for her, and it’s why we named it VeRue.
I flip through the whole sketchbook, from the specially designed jeans without buttons or zippers, to shirts that open at the sides with magnetic closures. There are shoes, sweaters for those who may have medical equipment to work around, sensory-friendly clothing, and in the margins of each design, the sizes: 00-32. I don’t know a lot about women’s fashion, I’ll admit, but just the fact that Estelle is doing this for her grandmother, the fact thatthisis her passion…
How the fuck did I get so lucky?
I’m both so fucking proud of her, but also so fucking furious at my father for betraying her and Prescott.
I’m dialing my father’s number before I realize what I’m doing. It’s early morning in Paris, so he’s likely awake. He answers on the third ring.
“Miles, how are y—”
“Pay her,” I growl, walking out of the living quarters. “Pay her all of the money now, in full.”
My father sighs. “We still have a ways to go with Prescott’s portfolio before the investment accrues enough to—”
“I don’t fucking care. You have the money. Pay her now.”
My father laughs on the other end. “And why would I do that when I promised her the money at the end of the year? Who’s to say she won’t run off before your year is up?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean against the wall and take a couple of steadying breaths.
“Please. I will pay you back instantly. But the money has to come from you. She doesn’t want my money. I promise you, she won’t be going anywhere.”
The eerie silence on the other end is disheartening. Finally, he speaks.
“You fucked her,” he says crassly. “Or worse, you’re in love with her.”
My lips tremble as I run my hand over my lips. “She can’t know the money is mine.”
“Oh, Miles. What did you do?”
“No, father. What didyoudo?” I growl.
