“Yes, better than that,” I agree.
I would’ve died.
I still might.
She walks to the bed and slides under the covers while I shift on the chair. Maren lets out a giggle.
“What?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“Thanks. Women often tell me that.”
“I’m sure they don’t.”
I move again, sitting up a little because my ass keeps sliding down. This chair was not made for sleeping.
“You should know this now,” I tell her. “You fake married a total loser when it comes to love.”
Maren starts to braid her hair as she shrugs. “Can’t be any worse than your fake wife, who got stood up before she made it to the altar and then literally begged you to pretend to marry her only to have you turn her down. Top that.”
“I have one failed engagement and then one almost engagement where I didn’t even get the ring on the second time. You . . .” I suck in a breath through my teeth. “You’re behind the curve, my friend.”
“Two? Wow. You really are a loser.”
“See, you’re welcome.”
Maren shakes her head. “Come over here, Oliver. You can’t sleep in that thing, and we are both adults. I’m sure we’ll be fine in the bed.”
I’m sure I will not, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to get any sleep in this chair. Plus, I don’t really want to look pathetic by refusing her.
“Fine, but you have to promise not to take advantage of me,” I say with a brow raised.
Maren smirks, tying off her braid. “I vow not to take your innocence this night.”
I toss the pillow at her, causing her to squeak, and then climb in.
We end up sitting side-by-side against the headboard, awkward and unsure of what to do next.
“Want to watch that movie?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I glance around the room again, wondering why the hell there is no television in here. “Is there a damn television?” I ask as I toss my legs over the side.
“Didn’t you design this place?”
“Stella had this room.”
“It is the honeymoon suite. I guess she figured they’d be doing other things?” Maren says as she searches. “Ha! I found it!”
I glance at her, finding her holding up a remote as if it were a prize. “Okay, now we just need to find the television.”
She climbs back into bed and pats the bed next to her. “Watch.” Pointing the remote toward the opposite wall, she presses a button, and what I thought was a beautiful piece of framed artwork becomes a television.
“That is impressive.” I move toward it, amazed because I never would have guessed it wasn’t art. It’s flush against the wall like a photograph and there is barely any backlight.
“I definitely need one of these,” Maren says as she turns on My Cousin Vinny, which is already halfway over. “I love this movie.”
“It’s a classic.”
She smiles. “Aunt Eileen can do her accent perfectly to match this movie. We used to watch it all the time and I would laugh as she’d recite it.”
Maren sits up on her knees and says the lines word-for-word.
We both laugh, and her cheeks turn red when her attempt at an accent fails. “That was pitiful.”
“I’d like to hear your New York accent.” Maren smirks.
“Forget about it!” I give it my best, which is just shy of truly pitiful, and she falls back on the bed, laughing hysterically.
Maren fluffs the pillow and grins. “Who would’ve thought this would be how either of us would spend a wedding night?”
“Sure as fuck not me.”
“Me either, but honestly, this is kind of perfect. It’s like college again.”
Except that I didn’t want to strip her naked when we were in college. “In a way. While the movie and being with you is perfect, we’re missing something.”
“What?”
“Food.” I grab the phone and call down to the staff to bring us up room service.
When I hang up, Maren is clutching her chest. “My hero.”
“I do try.” I puff out my chest.
“I am starving. It’s so sad that we barely had five minutes to shove some food into our mouths.”
I’d like to shove my tongue—or something else—in her mouth.
I mentally slap myself. “I agree. I know this was supposed to be a test run, and while I can say the staff was great, I have no idea about the food.”
She purses her lips. “Hmm, you know, no one complained about anything, really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just the whole weekend. My family was so happy the whole time, and we ate all our meals here, so you know the food was good. If it wasn’t, you guys would have heard about it, but no one bitched.”
That’s true. I was so caught up in all things wedding I didn’t pay attention to everything around me.
“I feel like an ass for not doing my job.”
Maren’s hand settles on my arm. “You did so much more than your job. You took care of everything. My point was a compliment, Oliver. Not only were you the most amazing fiancé but also you handled the resort smoothly.”
I try not to let her words sink in. “I think my siblings did that.”
“I think you had a much bigger role than you believe. This resort is going to be fantastic. I can feel it and see it.”
“And what makes you so sure?” I ask.
“Because I believe in you.”
Those words don’t bounce off. They seep into my soul like a balm that I didn’t know I needed. It covers the wounds, starting to heal the broken shit inside.
Damn her.
Before I can bristle about it, she’s scooting closer. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just relax,” Maren says softly.
Then she moves to her side so she’s pressed against the length of my body. Her leg hooks with mine, her arm drapes over my stomach, and her head settles on my chest. “Maren . . .”
“It’s cuddling, Ollie. I think we both deserve it after the day we’ve had.”
My official protest comes in the form of me wrapping my arms around her, holding her tighter, and watching the movie. Yeah, after the day we had, I guess we do deserve it.
Eighteen
MAREN
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I keep my eyes closed, wholly focused on the sensations that grip me. A hand that cups my breast, lips at my neck, and pleasure—so much pleasure everywhere.
My fingers slide into thick hair, holding his mouth against my skin.
A low groan fills my ears, and I grin.
This feels so good. His warm body against mine is perfect. I moan as his hot tongue glides down toward my chest.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, tightening my fingers in his hair.
This is incredible, and I never want Oliver to stop.
Oliver. My husband.
My God.
My eyes fly open as I realize what the hell is happening.
“Oliver?” I ask with a squeak.
He lifts his head, eyes drowsy from sleep and desire. “You were saying my name,” he says. “You were begging me.”