Page 27 of Heart Breaker

I pick up my mug and head back to my bedroom, leaving Wes alone at the kitchen table. It’s a very bad idea to be spending time alone with my half-naked husband at three in the morning. I know that.

So why did part of me hope that he would ask me to stay a little bit longer?

TEN

Wes

It’s my wedding day.

That was my first thought when I woke up this morning before my alarm. My second thought was the same one that had kept me up for most of the night: the image of Lottie in my kitchen last night in those tiny shorts.

I got out of bed and headed straight to the gym. The workout felt necessary after a long night of sexual frustration. I pushed harder than necessary, added an extra set where I didn’t need one, extended my run a little longer than usual—all of it done with the hope of clearing my head and settling the restless energy that carried over from last night. Physically, it worked. Mentally, it didn’t make much of a difference.

By the time I finished and headed upstairs to shower, I had already mapped out the rest of the morning—including meeting with Lottie to walk through the contract my lawyers drafted and getting her signature on it.

Lottie was already in the kitchen when I came down. She was in joggers and a hoodie, everything covered up that hadn’t been the night before. I thought back to the glimpse I got of the scar that runs down the center of her chest. It stayed with me, along with the way she reacted when I noticed it. The shift in her posture, the immediate deflection, the way she redirected the conversation. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push. But to say I’m not curious would be a lie.

Breakfast was easy. Conversation with Lottie always is. She has a way of keeping things relaxed without even trying, everything around her settling like the surface of the water on a calm, clear day.

We talked about our childhoods, our siblings, the basics we’d need to know if anyone starts prying. Victoria made it clear this has to be believable, which means we need to know each other well enough to answer questions without thinking.

After a while, I shifted the conversation to the contract. My lawyers had sent it through first thing this morning. It was exactly what I expected—everything laid out in clear, specific terms. Lottie would live with me and in the meantime, I’d continue covering the expenses for her apartment. She’d have a monthly allowance, and I would fully cover her father’s medical bills. The arrangement would end one year from today, and at that point, her life would go back to the way it was before.

Lottie read it carefully. She asked a few direct questions where it mattered, but she didn’t focus on the parts that most people would, like the five thousand dollars I would deposit in her bank account every month for living expenses or the clause stating that the ring is hers to keep.

Instead, her focus was on the section that covered her father’s medical bills. Every question she asked circled back to it—coverage, duration, what exactly was included, whether there were any limits buried in the wording. That was the only part she cared about. She only signed it once she was satisfied with that.

With the paperwork out of the way, we’re free to get married.

I fasten the top button of my dress shirt, smoothing it over my chest before grabbing my suit jacket from the chair. One hour to go until the ceremony.

“Wes?”

I hear Lottie call my name from her room across the hall. Her door is closed when I reach it, so I knock.

“Come in,” she calls before I push open the door.

I stop in my tracks when I see her standing in front of the mirror, everything in me going still.

The dress falls straight to her knees, white silk that clings to her body in a way that’s understated and impossible to ignore at the same time. The back is completely open, dipping low enough to show the length of her spine, her skin bare. In the reflection, I can see it has a halter neckline, fabric sweeping up to cover her chest, leaving her shoulders bare. Her hair is down, swept over one shoulder, and the look in her soft green eyes is so vulnerable it makes it hard to look anywhere else.

Lottie is holding the top of the dress together behind her neck, gripping the fabric trying to keep it in place.

“Can you—” she starts, then shifts slightly, turning just enough to give me a better angle. “Can you do the buttons for me?”

I stand in the doorway staring at her for a beat like I’ve forgotten how to function, then force myself to move toward her. Up close is worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.

“Of course,” I say. “Although I’m not sure whoever made these buttons had my big hands in mind.”

She softly chuckles. “I have full confidence in you.”

I grin, moving to stand behind her until I’m an inch or so away from her back. She smells like peaches and sugar, and it hits me immediately.

“You look…” I start, and then stop, because whatever I was about to say isn’t enough.

“Like I’m about to get married?” she asks, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

My gaze doesn’t leave hers. “You look beautiful.”