Chapter 32

Chapter 32
Chapter 32
LUCAS
We'd been front-page news for three days straight. "Davenport's Steamy European Honeymoon." "Billionaire's Public Displays Leave Nothing to Imagination." The headlines were borderline pornographic.
My PR team was simultaneously thrilled and horrified.
"The honeymoon's fine," I said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
Jose laughed outright. "Fine. Sure. That's why you sound like a man who just discovered sex exists. Lucas, I've known you for fifteen years. I've never heard you like this about anyone. You're gone for this woman."
"It's complicated."
"It's really not. You married her. You clearly can't keep your hands off her. Your mother loves her. Even your brother called me asking when he could meet this miracle woman who's got you wrapped around her finger. What's complicated about that?"
Everything, I wanted to say. The fact that it started as a contract. The fact that Sophia only married me to save her brother. The fact that I've fallen completely, catastrophically in love with a woman who might walk away the second she doesn't need my money anymore.
But I couldn't say any of that. Not even to Jose.
"I need to go," I said instead. "Sophia's waiting."
"Always is, from what I can see. That girl looks at you like you hung the moon, you know. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
He hung up before I could tell him he was wrong. That Sophia looked at me with gratitude and growing affection, maybe, but not love. Not real love. How could she? This entire relationship was built on a transaction, a business arrangement that I'd dressed up with romance and grand gestures because I couldn't help myself.
I grabbed the pastries and headed for the elevator, my mind racing. I needed to tell Sophia about Adam's progress. It was good news—great news. The kind of news that should have her crying with relief and joy.
But all I could think about was that it brought us one step closer to the end. One step closer to the moment when she wouldn't need me anymore and could choose to walk away.
And I had no idea how to survive that.
The elevator opened directly into our suite—one of the benefits of booking the presidential floor. The late afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in shades of gold and honey. And there, curled up on the oversized sofa with a book, was Sophia.
She'd changed from the sundress she'd worn to the museum earlier. Now she wore one of my dress shirts—just my shirt—and nothing else that I could see. Her legs were tucked under her, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, and she looked so perfectly at home, so completely mine, that I had to stop and just stare.
She glanced up when she heard me enter, and her face lit up in a smile that made my chest ache.
"You're back," she said, setting the book aside. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."
"Just making a few stops." I crossed to her and leaned down for a kiss that started innocent and quickly deepened. She made that small sound in the back of her throat that I'd become addicted to, and I had to force myself to pull away before I forgot about the conversation we needed to have. "I got you something."
I handed her the pastry bag, and she opened it with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.
"The almond croissants!" She pulled one out, her eyes going wide. "Lucas, you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." I sank onto the sofa beside her, unable to resist pulling her legs across my lap. "I remember you mentioned them."
She looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her dark eyes. Then she leaned in and kissed me again, slow and sweet and tasting of almonds and butter.
"Thank you," she whispered against my lips.
We sat like that for a while, Sophia eating her croissant while I absently traced patterns on her bare legs, both of us content with the quiet. It was these moments I treasured most—when we weren't performing for cameras or maintaining the illusion for others. When it was just us, existing together, and I could almost pretend this was real.
That we were real.
"I got a call from Dr. Gray," I said finally, when she'd finished eating and curled into my side with a satisfied sigh.
She tensed immediately. "Adam? Is he—"
"He's good. Better than good, actually." I ran my fingers through her hair, trying to soothe the sudden anxiety I could feel radiating off her. "There's increased brain activity. He's responding to tactile stimulation. Dr. Gray is very optimistic."
Sophia sat up abruptly, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. "He's... he's waking up? Adam's actually waking up?"
"It looks that way. It could still take time—these things aren't linear—but all the signs are pointing toward a full recovery."
She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and threw her arms around my neck. I held her while she cried, her tears soaking my shirt, her body shaking with relief and joy and too many emotions to name. And I held her and tried to memorize exactly how this felt—her weight in my arms, the smell of her shampoo, the way she clung to me like I was her anchor.
Because I knew, with a certainty that made my stomach churn, that this might be the beginning of the end.
"I can't believe it," she finally managed, pulling back to look at me with red-rimmed eyes and a smile that could have powered the sun. "Lucas, he's really going to be okay. My baby brother is going to be okay."
"He is. And it's because of you." I cupped her face, brushing away tears with my thumbs. "You saved him, Sophia. Everything you did, everything you sacrificed—it was worth it."
Something flickered in her expression—guilt maybe, or sadness. But it was gone before I could identify it, replaced by that brilliant smile again.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For everything. For the money, obviously, but also for... for calling me with the news. For being here. For—" Her voice cracked. "For caring."