Chapter 33
Chapter 33
LUCAS
The words hit harder than they should have. Because I did care. God, I cared so much it terrified me. Somewhere between contract signings and staged photos and honeymoon sex that had stopped feeling like an act, I'd fallen completely in love with this woman.
And I had no idea if she felt even a fraction of the same.
"Of course I care," I said, keeping my tone light even though everything inside me was screaming to tell her the truth. "You're my wife."
She looked away. "Your contract wife."
The correction stung. "Is that what you think this is? Still?"
"Isn't it?" She pulled back slightly, wrapping her arms around herself. "Lucas, I know we've... things have been good between us. Great, even. But we both know what this really is. I married you for money to save my brother. You married me to give your mother peace. The rest of it—" She gestured vaguely between us. "—is just... chemistry. Physical attraction. It doesn't change the fundamental arrangement."
I stared at her, my jaw tight, trying to read what was behind her words. Did she really believe that? Or was she protecting herself, building walls before I could hurt her?
"And when Adam wakes up?" I asked quietly. "When he's recovered and doesn't need the medical intervention anymore? What happens to us then?"
She bit her lip, and I watched her struggle with the answer. "I don't know," she finally whispered. "I guess... I guess that depends on whether you still need a wife. Whether your mother still needs—"
"This isn't about my mother anymore." The words came out more harshly than I'd intended. "Sophia, do you really think I'm sleeping with you, taking you all over Europe, buying you things, introducing you to my family—do you really think I'm doing all of that just to maintain an illusion for my mother?"
"I don't know!" Her voice rose, frustration and confusion bleeding through. "Lucas, I don't know what this is! One minute you're disappearing on our wedding night to handle mysterious business, and the next you're making love to me like I'm the only woman in the world. You're hot and cold, and I can't figure out what's real and what's performance, and I—" She stopped, pressing her hands to her face. "I can't do this right now. Not when I just found out my brother's waking up. Please."
Guilt crashed over me. She was right—this wasn't the time. Not when she was emotional and overwhelmed and probably in shock from the good news.
But I couldn't leave it alone completely.
"Sophia." I waited until she lowered her hands and looked at me. "I know our beginning was unconventional. I know this started as a contract, an arrangement. But things have changed. At least for me, they've changed. And I need you to know that what I feel for you, what we have together—it's real. It's not performance. It's not for show."
She stared at me with those dark, haunted eyes, and I watched her wrestle with whether to believe me.
"Okay," she finally said, but it didn't sound like she believed me at all.
We didn't talk about it again that evening. Instead, we got ready for dinner at the restaurant I'd booked weeks ago—a Michelin-starred place perched on a hillside with views of the entire city. Sophia wore the emerald dress I'd bought her, the one that made her eyes look almost black and clung to every curve like it had been painted on. I couldn't stop touching her—my hand at the small of her back, my fingers tangling with hers, my lips against her temple while we waited for our table.
The paparazzi got several shots of us. I didn't care. Let them publish every intimate moment. Let the whole world see how gone I was for this woman.
Maybe if enough people believed it was real, she'd start to believe it too.
Dinner was incredible—course after course of culinary artistry that Sophia kept exclaiming over. She tried to share everything with me, insisting I taste each dish, her enthusiasm infectious and adorable. By the third course, I'd stopped paying attention to the food entirely, too focused on watching her experience it. The little sounds of pleasure she made. The way her eyes closed when something was particularly good. The unconscious way she licked her lips between bites.
I was harder than granite by the time dessert arrived.
"You're not eating," Sophia observed, frowning at my barely touched plate.
"I'm enjoying watching you eat." I took a sip of wine, trying to will my body under control. "It's far more interesting."
She blushed, that pretty pink color I'd become obsessed with. "That's creepy, Lucas."
"Is it?" I leaned closer, my voice dropping. "Should I tell you what I'm actually thinking about? What watching your mouth has been doing to me for the past hour?"
Her pupils dilated, and I watched her pulse jump in her throat. "We're in public."
"We've done things in more public places." I let my hand slide under the table, finding her knee and slowly traveling up her thigh. "Remember yesterday? That beach cabana?"
"Lucas—" But her legs parted slightly, giving me access, and I took full advantage.
I stroked her through her panties, watching her face as she tried to maintain composure while I worked her slowly, methodically, building the tension until she was gripping her wine glass hard enough to shatter it.
"You're evil," she breathed.