He makes it sound ridiculous, and maybe I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, but there’s no need to be rash about deciding right now, today. But Dad’s already settled . . .
“This whole lie is always a bomb waiting to explode in the middle of the relationship you’re trying to build with Elena. I won’t have our reputation sullied. It’s not how we operate. Can I trust you to fix your fuck up? Or do I need to do it for you?”
I shoot to my feet, facing him angrily. He’s tying my hands. And however this plays out, I’ve changed his opinion of me for the worse, exactly the opposite of what I was desperately trying to do.
Tightly, I bite out, “I’ll handle it.”
I don’t know why I go to Luna’s. She doesn’t want to see me, but there’s no one else who’ll understand, and she did tell me good luck with everything, so maybe she will want to know what’s happened. It’s an excuse and I know it, but it doesn’t stop me from knocking on her door.
“Carter?” She opens the door with her brow already furrowed in confusion at seeing me. “What are you doing here?”
She’s wearing baggy purple sweats with a smattering of stars along the left leg. A quick glance and I see the wording says Rewrite The Stars. Her cropped T-shirt hangs off one shoulder, and I’m reminded of the first time I came to her door for simple tutoring. It seems so long ago.
“Greatest Showman?” I say, pointing at her leg.
She smooths her hand over the print before adjusting the waistband, pulling it up. I think she’s trying to hide, but it only serves to accentuate the swooping curve of her hip beneath her smaller waist.
“Yeah.”
I walk past her without waiting for an invitation, knowing she won’t stop me. “We should talk.”
“Carter . . . I don’t think . . .” she stammers.
I sit down on her couch, her words—or attempt at them—not swaying me in the slightest. “At least listen, please.”
“Fine.” She closes the door and comes over to the couch, but she sits as far away from me as possible. “What?”
“I talked to my dad today.” That gets her attention, though she doesn’t ask questions. “He’s angry, of course, and worried about what happens moving forward. If we’re found out, what the consequences will be, or if we don’t say anything and Elena chooses Blue Lake, there's a perpetual risk of her finding out.”
“That makes sense.” She shrugs, not seeming particularly concerned either way.
“Which would also affect whether she’d be interested in showcasing Thomas’s collection at the museum,” I remind her.
“Oh,” she says woodenly. “So, what are you going to do?”
I move across the sofa, sitting sideways so our knees touch. “He basically ordered me to tell the truth. He said it’s the only way.”
She searches my eyes, and I hold her gaze, not wanting to hide anything from her. “Are you going to?” she whispers.
“I have another idea.”
I left and came straight to Luna’s, but the time in the car was spent playing the whole scenario out in my mind with dozens of different outcomes.
Luna raises her brows questioningly.
“The truth. That’s what it’s all about. So what if we made it . . . true?” I take Luna’s hands in mine, holding them between us. “Marry me. For real.”
She laughs in my face, wild and boisterous laughter bubbling up at the absurdity of my idea, which hurts deeply for a reason I can’t pinpoint.
I drop her hands in favor of running my fingers through my hair. “It’s the only way.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard. “Your father’s right and you should tell Elena the truth.”
I thought she’d agree with me, or at least consider my idea. But she’s dismissing it outright. “No!” I shout. Luna flinches at the volume, and I gather myself. “I can’t do that.”
“Carter . . .” Luna starts, her voice a calming tone as though she’s trying to soothe me. “This is crazy. Things keep getting more and more out of hand. We’ve gone from a little bit of art tutoring to your asking me to marry you for real? What’s next?”
I don’t know, but I can’t tell her that. I need to have a plan, one we can stick to. People get married for various reasons all the time, so this isn’t that crazy. I tell myself to stick to the facts . . .
“We get married. We ride it out and see it through. After, well, we’ll figure it out. I’m desperate here, Luna. Whatever you want.”
“You’d have to be desperate to want to marry me.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Don’t put words in my mouth,” I snap back.
“I’m gonna put my foot in your mouth,” she replies, equally snippy.
“Some people happen to like that.”
I grab her foot from beneath her leg, pulling it into the air, and Luna falls back to the arm of the couch. “Wha—”
I shut her up by sucking her big toe into my mouth. I’ve never done this before, but I have to admit . . . it’s sexy as fuck.
“Think about it. Think about us. Think about the deal and the art exhibition.” I nibble the flesh of her toe and remind her, “Think about how good we were together.”
I’m not talking about at dinner or with Elena, and we both know it. I’ve also been thinking non-stop about what happened between Luna and me—how amazing it was and then how it ended. I was shocked and didn’t handle it well, and I would love a chance to improve on the experience. Not that I’m complaining, but Luna deserves more.
And fuck, I want to be the one to give it to her. I’ve been feeling a bit Neanderthal about it being me. I’m not proud of it, but there’s something about being the one who she let see her in that most vulnerable moment that’s special. I’m fucking hard just thinking about it.
“Have you used those toys you told me about since?” I ask as I push her sweats up and kiss her calf, keeping my eyes on hers.
She bites her bottom lip, not answering, but it’s answer enough.
“Where are they?”
“My nightstand,” she says quietly as I lick behind her knee. That’s as far as I can go with her in these pants, and I want more.
I stand and pull her into my arms, carrying her bridal style to the bedroom down the hall.
She is my bride. Or she’s going to be.
I gently lay her down on her bed and follow, arranging myself beside her so I can keep my hands on her . . . all over her as I caress and knead her calves, her thighs, her hips, and up to her breasts.
“Carter, we should be talking about how to come clean, not . . . this.” She’s arguing, but the words are moaned and her eyes have fluttered shut.
“We should fuck now and talk later,” I suggest against the sensitive skin of her neck. “You want this, Luna. You want me. No sense in arguing, your body’s giving you away.” With my hands under her shirt, I pluck her breasts through her bra and she arches into my touch.
“It’s a biological reaction,” she says. “It’d happen for anyone.”