Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
I force myself to sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest. "We should probably get going. Check-out's at eleven."
Sebastian stretches beside me, all rippling muscle and tattoos. "Already handled it. Called the front desk while you were sleeping. We can stay until two if we want."
Of course he did. A man used to having everything arranged exactly as he wants it.
"Still, we should get started. My apartment isn't going to pack itself." I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, suddenly self-conscious about my nakedness in the harsh morning light.
Sebastian's hand circles my wrist. "You don't have to be shy. Not with me." The intensity in his eyes almost makes me look away. Almost.
"I'm not shy … just hungry." As if on cue, my stomach growls.
He grins. "Room service it is."
An hour later, we're dressed and finishing breakfast when my phone chimes with a text from Anya.
All good? Media's buying it. Backlash already shifting.
I show Sebastian the message. "See? Mission accomplished."
He takes the phone, reads it, then sets it down without commenting. "So the plan is to get your stuff today?"
I nod, pushing away my empty plate. "I don't have much. Should be quick."
"And then to my place." He says it casually, but there's nothing casual about the way he's looking at me.
I try to keep my tone light. "Right. For appearances."
Sebastian leans back in his chair. "For appearances," he says, though his expression says something entirely different. There's a cocky edge to that smirk.
"We could technically live separately," I tell him, testing waters I don't fully understand. "As long as we're seen together regularly."
He shakes his head. "Separate residences would look suspicious. Besides, I have three months of married leave before the new season. Plenty of time to sell the happy couple narrative."
"Three months?" I hadn't considered this part. "What am I supposed to do with you underfoot for three months?"
His grin turns wolfish. "Oh no. What am I to do with all this time? Follow you around? Cook you breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Drop you off and pick you up at work?"
"You're overselling it."
"Am I? Selling to whom? It's not for the media, baby. It's for you and for me."
I groan and roll my eyes. "No. I don't need a babysitter and housekeeper."
Sebastian gestures from his head to his chest. "No, you got someone better. A husband."
"Don't try my patience. I don't know how much more I can take, and it's only day one."
"But … but you took me so well last night. Every inch of me."
And that's how I end up tossing a pillow to his grinning face.
My apartment building looks even shabbier than usual next to Sebastian's gleaming black Range Rover. The contrast is jarring—his wealthy, polished world colliding with my modest reality.
"This is me," I say unnecessarily as I unlock the door to 2D. "It's not much, but it's home."
I hold my breath as Sebastian steps inside, suddenly seeing my space through his eyes: the secondhand furniture, the cramped kitchen, the books and magazines stacked everywhere because I can't afford proper shelving.
"You have a lot of mugs," he says, moving to the open shelving where my collection is displayed—over a hundred mugs in various sizes, colors, and designs.
"It's my thing." I shrug, oddly defensive. "Some people collect snow globes or shot glasses. I collect mugs."
He picks up one shaped like a fox. "Why mugs?"
No one's ever asked me that before. I move to stand beside him, taking the fox mug from his hands and returning it carefully to its spot.
"When I was in the orphanage, we all had identical white plastic cups. No personality, nothing to call your own." I trace the rim of a blue ceramic mug with gold stars. "I promised myself when I had my own place, I'd have pretty, unique things to drink from. Something that was just mine. So now, I drink from different mugs every day."
Sebastian's playful tone disappears, and he lowers his voice, almost like he's being respectful of that not-so-funny revelation. "Which one's your favorite?"
I point to a black and purple mug with a hand-painted face of a grinning Ursula from The Little Mermaid. The handle is shaped like one of her tentacles. "That one. Anya got it for me when I made Senior PR Manager."
He nods, studying it. "Pack that one in your purse. Don't trust the movers with it. Wait, on second thought, I'll pay them extra to hand-carry each mug if needed."
The care in his voice catches me off guard. I expected mockery of my tiny apartment, my humble possessions. Instead, he's treating my things—my life—with respect.
Huh. Sebastian has layers. Interesting.
We start to work efficiently, packing clothes, books, and essential items. Sebastian insists on hiring professional movers for furniture and the bulk of my belongings, but there are certain things I want to handle myself.