Page 35 of Heart Breaker

My wife.

I turn to face him, offering a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. You two sure know how to make headlines,” he says.

“Wasn’t really the goal,” Wes says flatly. “But my brothers and I are not exactly known for subtlety.”

Mark nods, then steps back from the table. “Well, I just wanted to say hello. I’ll let you get back to your evening. It was nice seeing you all.” He disappears back into the restaurant before Wes leans into me. “My wife,” he repeats. “Have you gotten used to that yet?”

I pick up my glass, bringing it to my lips to steady myself.

Not even close.

Dinner goes better than I expected.

Somewhere over the two and a half hours, I stopped trying to keep track of how many courses there were and just let it happen. Everything was beautifully plated and absolutely delicious, over the top in a way that reminded me exactly what kind of world Wes lives in. And somehow, I didn’t feel out of place in it.

Conversation flowed easily, which surprised me more than anything. Jesse was funny and quick-witted while Ford was quieter and more reserved. But every time he looked at Landyn, it was like the rest of us disappeared. Noah fell somewhere in the middle. He has an easy confidence and cocky grin, but that’s softened by kind eyes that make him seem far more approachable than the rest of his brothers.

And then there was Wes. He was steady, observant, and only spoke when it mattered. Every once in a while, I would catch him watching me, like he was making sure I was okay. Like this—all of this—is something he feels responsible for.

It did something weird to my chest.

I like them. I like the way it felt to sit at that table, to be included, to be part of something that’s warm and easy and real. But I couldn’t quiet the uncomfortable reminder that settled in the back of my mind: This isn’t mine. It never will be.

I’m envious of Madeline, who gets to have this life for real. She gets to be a part of this family without an expiration date hanging over her head. But I’m just passing through. I hate how much that bothers me.

As we step outside after dinner, I’m more tense than I was when I stood at the altar with Wes. I’m not sure what to expect. Will there be cameras waiting for us? The night air is cool and sharp against my skin, grounding me, but that feeling doesn’t last for long.

I spot a photographer immediately, lingering at the restaurant entrance with his camera already up, ready to get a shot of Wes and me.

Wes’s hand finds mine almost automatically, like we do this everyday. “Just ignore him,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand in his. “Soon we’ll be in the car, and this part will all be over with.”

We move toward the valet together, unhurried, the low hum of the city around us mixing with the heavy beat of my pulse in my ears. I try not to think about it, but my mind keeps replaying the day—the kiss, the wedding, the way it felt to sit next to Wes as we ate dinner with his family. I’m extremely aware of his big, strong hand in mine. I imagine those same hands travelling my body.

But instead of heat, I feel a chill as it hits me all at once—the reality of what I’ve done, of what this actually means. Ever since we got to the courthouse, it’s like we’ve been following a script, playing our part. Say “I do,” sign the papers, meet Wes’s family, smile for the cameras. But very soon it will just be Wes and me in his big, beautiful home. Living together, sharing our lives for an entire year.

I glance up at Wes as we stop near the curb. He looks preoccupied, and I wonder if reality is setting in for him too. My mind stops spinning when the car pulls up and the valet steps out to hand Wes the keys. He lets go of my hand long enough to step forward, opening the passenger door for me.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

I suddenly become aware of how close we are standing. His body blocks the open car door, heat radiating off him, even through the layers of his suit. His lips part slightly like he’s about to say something, but instead his tongue runs over his bottom lip. This is the moment we talked about. One kiss for the cameras. A kiss convincing enough to sell the story, so they’d have what they need. They’d get their shot, and then hopefully, they’d leave us alone.

He’s so much taller than me that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. When I do, his charcoal-gray eyes lock on mine, steady and intent, and my heart stutters hard enough for me to feel it everywhere.

“Do you still think you’re the exception?” he murmurs, his voice low, meant just for me.

Is he serious? This doesn’t feel light or teasing, or like a performance for the cameras. There’s an intimacy to it. There’s an edge to it.

“I think you’re forgetting that none of this is real,” I say, rising up on my toes to whisper it in his ear.

I pull back to look at him, my eyes meeting his. There’s a softness to his expression that shouldn’t be there, paired with the faintest hint of a smirk. His eyes stay locked on mine, and it does something to me—it puts me off balance. My chest tightens, my pulse kicks up, and suddenly my hands move before I can think better of it. My fingers curl into the front of his suit jacket, needing to ground myself in something solid as the space between us disappears completely. A soft breath leaves me when I feel him, his chest pressing against mine, solid and warm.

Something in me unravels a little, my thoughts slipping, my body reacting faster than I can keep up with. I hold his gaze, trying to steady myself, but it’s useless. His hand lifts, fingers brushing along my jaw, tilting my face just slightly.

My eyes flutter closed, and then his lips are on mine. I melt into him as he deepens the kiss, tilting my head back as his tongue slides next to mine between parted lips. The kiss is electric. It’s reckless. It’s utterly addictive.

We pull apart slowly, like neither of us is ready for it to end. My eyes open, finding his instantly as our chests rise and fall against each other.