Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 60711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
When Andie turned to Paul, and he saw the way her eyes had completely lit up—
“No.”
She laughed.
He scowled.
“I mean it,” her husband growled. “No fucking way.”
Ten minutes later, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Paul stood before her in full Renaissance regalia—doublet, fitted trousers, cape—his face so stoic he looked like a portrait of an annoyed nobleman.
“You look dashing,” she managed.
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look dashing.”
Then his gaze dropped to her neckline, and the glare transformed into something else entirely.
Uh-oh.
Renaissance gowns were notoriously low-cut, and in exchange for him saying yes to dressing up, she had agreed to wear whatever he chose. And of course her husband just had to choose the gown that had the lowest neckline, and it went so, so low that she was seriously worried her breasts would pop out—
“I can’t wait for dessert, koukla mou.”
She blinked.
How did he already—
Oh!
A blush stole over Andie’s cheeks when she realized where he was staring, and her husband smirked.
Argh!
It was pretty much the same for the rest of the evening, with her husband doing his very best to seduce, annoy, and make her squirm all at the same time.
And of course he succeeded.
So much so that by the time he swept her up in his arms—
Aaah.
All Andie could do was bite her lip to keep herself from whimpering.
She couldn’t remember being this wet.
Couldn’t remember her body aching this hard.
Couldn’t couldn’t keep herself from shuddering as they finally made it to the bedroom, and he gently lowered her to her feet.
The bedroom was even more extravagant than the rest of the castle. A four-poster bed draped in velvet curtains. A fire crackling in the hearth. Candles casting everything in flickering gold.
She wished she could savor the sight of it, really.
But right now, all she could look at...
All she cared about...
Paul.
Her husband circled behind her, and she felt his breath against her neck.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress?”
“I—”
“Since you put it on.”
“—would not have guessed that,” Andie squeaked out.
His fingers found the laces of her corset, and she could only gulp as the laces loosened.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” His voice was rough against her ear. “It terrifies me. You terrify me.”
Another lace pulled free.
His hands were shaking, she realized with wonder. Her composed, controlled husband—his hands were actually shaking.
“I’m scared too,” she whispered. “Of how much I feel.”
“What do you want?”
“You.” The word came out broken. “I just want you.”
He made a sound—low and desperate—and suddenly the laces were being torn, the corset falling away as he spun her to face him.
His mouth crashed into hers.
His hands gripped her waist, lifting her, and her legs wrapped around him as he carried her toward the bed.
The velvet gown pooled around them as they fell onto the mattress. His fingers found the neckline, pulling it down, exposing the swell of her breasts above the thin shift—
That’s when she felt it.
A familiar cramping low in her belly.
A sudden, unmistakable dampness.
Oh no.
Andie jumped back from her husband.
“C-can I have a second?”
Paul froze, his hands still on her neckline, his eyes dazed.
“Of course. Is everything—”
“Fine! I’m fine. Just—one second.”
She scrambled off the bed and fled to the en-suite.
No.
It can’t be.
But indeed it was.
On her wedding night...she had her period.
Chapter Eleven
IF SOMEONE HAD TOLD him he would spend his wedding night, much less his entire honeymoon weekend, without a single encounter of sex—
Whoever that was would’ve been incarcerated in an asylum.
For his own good, of course.
But as it was...
Paul gazed down at his wife of three days, sleeping next to him in bed, and his chest...it hadn’t stopped aching since the moment he slipped her wedding ring on her finger.
Early morning light filtered through the castle’s ancient windows, catching the dust motes that danced in the air like tiny golden spirits. Andie lay curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her dark hair fanned across the pillow in waves he wanted to bury his fingers in.
She looked peaceful.
She looked like she belonged here, in his bed, in his life.
She looked like everything he’d never known he wanted.
His jaw clenched as he thought about the last seventy-two hours, of how not a single second of it had been anything less than unforgettable.
Because of her.
Talking to her. Listening to her. Laughing with her. And more often than not, laughing at her as well—every time she would struggle to smile even when he kept beating her at every game.
Scrabble. Crazy Eights. Even Snakes and Ladders.
Who knew someone could be so damn bad at games?
Vocabulary-wise, they were a pretty even match when they played Scrabble. But it was the tiles that did her in, with Andromeda either getting mostly vowels or consonants, and rarely ever a good mix of both. Crazy Eights, they had played seven rounds, and she won...not once. By the time she asked which boardgame they should play next, his wife’s expression had been adorably grouchy. But when he had suggested they give it a rest, she had snarled at him for not giving her a chance to get even.