39. Alice

ALICE

I squeeze Michael’s hand, and his dark eyes lower to meet mine.

He squeezes my hand back. “What is it, Baby Cakes?”

I roll my lips together and tip my head just the smallest bit to the side.

Michael’s mouth pulls up on one side. “I need more than that, Sweetie.”

Sweetie. Gah.

I can’t believe any of this.

Literally none of it.

The last few days have been a total dream. A whirlwind. A fairytale.

But today… reality is setting in, and I don’t quite know how to handle it.

I keep my voice low as I point out the obvious. “Everyone is staring.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I know. I can’t keep my eyes off you either.”

My cheeks heat at his insinuation that people are staring at me. But we both know that’s not true. They’re looking at him.

Michael is literally famous, and I’m nobody.

Well, not nobody. Not after the live-streamed episodes of Second Bite that played around the world three days in a row, ending yesterday.

Before that, no one had ever heard of me, but now I’m Alice Hatter, contestant from the Second Bite holiday special, who did fine on the first challenge, spectacularly screwed up the second challenge, got a Chef Mike Kesso Second Bite on the third challenge, and embarrassed herself more than once—stumbling over words and feet, for the world to see.

I didn’t win. Not with my ice cream atrocity.

So yeah, I’m just the girl from the show.

Not the winner. Just a girl.

Now, if the world had seen the rest of the stuff that happened after the cameras turned off... like Michael coming to my hotel room and shoving his face under my skirt…

If the public knew about that, the stares would probably be wider.

Michael squeezes my fingers, and my pulse flutters through my body.

I never expected that the Chef Mike Kesso would end up as in love with me as I am with him.

I never could have guessed that Michael would return my years-long obsession the moment he laid eyes on me.

I never dreamed my life would change because of a television show.

But it did.

And now here we are.

Together.

In public.

And not just public but the Minneapolis International Airport, holding hands, for everyone to see.

I dart my eyes around, confirming that, yes, many people are still staring at Chef Mike, TV personality and world-renowned baker.

A man who has been famous for years. Decades honestly. And at forty-five, fifteen years my senior, he’s only gotten better looking.

His masculine jawline, his salt-and-pepper features, his tattoos, his bad-boy attitude, his strong, skilled hands…

My cheeks start to heat for a whole other reason as I think of him naked, grunting and gripping me to him while his weight drives me into my mattress.

“What are you thinking of now?” His deep voice rumbles over me.

I blink up at him. “Nothing.”

His grip on my hand shifts so our fingers are entwined. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I huff. “Don’t change the subject.”

“And what exactly was the subject?”

“You know.” I widen my eyes. “The staring.”

“Ah, yes. That.”

“What do we do about it?” I ask.

Michael’s smile is soft. “Nothing.”

“But—”

“You’ll learn to ignore it,” he says like that will be easy. Like having a large percentage of the population looking at us isn’t a big deal. “Come on, let’s grab some breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” I’m hardly one to turn down food, but nerves are eating at my stomach.

Michael uses his grip on my hand to guide me toward a sign for a bakery in the main part of the terminal. “We’ll have a meal on the plane, but I’m hungry now.” He smirks at me. “You wore me out last night.”

I bump his hip with our joined hands. “Michael,” I admonish.

“What?” He feigns innocence.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone taking a photo.

I do my best to ignore it.

I really do.

But I’m not a huge fan of photos. And maybe that’s because candid photos of me always seem to be taken from the worst possible angles. Or maybe it’s because I’ve always felt a little too big, always felt like my body takes up too much space in an image.

Really, it’s probably because of a whole slew of things—society, childhood bullies, nineties movies…

But now, next to this tall, handsome man, I’m even more aware of my flaws. And even more stressed about my appearance than usual.

“Alice.” Michael’s tone is concerned, and I look up to see him frowning down at me.

“I’m okay.” I try to soothe him.

“You tensed up. That’s not okay.” He stops walking and turns to face me, putting his back to the people passing, blocking everyone but him from my view. “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.” He doesn’t let go of my hand but lifts his free one to grip my shoulder reassuringly. “And my fans aren’t like that, they won’t do anything to you. But they will want to take photos. And, for the record, I want them to.” He leans in a little closer. “So tell me the truth, Baby. What’s wrong.”

Take photos.

“You want them to take photos?”

He nods. “Of us together, yes. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…” I don’t know how to word this in a way that won’t sound like I’m just fishing for compliments. “I just don’t want to cause you problems,” I say quietly.

He moves even closer. “How could you possibly cause me problems?”

I shrug, trying to brush it off, but I know I need to say it. “I don’t want to ruin… your image.” I gesture at him. “You’re you. All handsome and fancy, and I’m…” I huff out a breath as my shoulders slump a bit. “I don’t look like your exes.” I swallow down the words that want to jump out, and gesture down my body at the gray scoop-neck dress my cousin gifted me because she didn’t wear it much. “I’m wearing a secondhand dress.”

I hate to bring up his exes, but I’ve seen them. He’s a celebrity; everyone’s seen them.

Michael has never been portrayed as a player, but he wasn’t a virgin when he crawled over me last night. And the women he’s been photographed with haven’t been plus-size girlies. They’ve been… not plus-size girlies.

His chest expands as he takes a deep breath, and I brace myself for his reply.

But instead of speaking, he walks forward. Into me. Forcing me backward.

My mouth opens, but Michael shakes his head. “Not another word out of that pretty little mouth.”

My jaw snaps shut.

After a few steps, Michael grips my shoulders and turns me around.

I don’t try to defy him, keeping the pace he’s set. But then I see that he’s walking us toward the bathrooms.

Correction, he’s walking us toward the single door for the private family bathroom, between the men’s and women’s restrooms.

A green light is illuminated next to the handle, letting us know it’s empty.

“Michael,” I hiss, trying to slow.

But he keeps a palm on my back, pushing me forward.

His large hand reaches past me and opens the door, then he applies more pressure on my back, urging me inside.

Since trying to resist him will cause more of a scene, I step into the small room.

Michael’s oversized presence pushes in behind me, and I swear I hear some snickers and gasps before the door clicks shut.

I spin around, my mind flashing to all the dirty things that could happen behind a locked door. “Michael, we cannot have sex in an airport!”

Michael’s angry expression doesn’t go anywhere. “We could, Sweet Cheeks, but that’s not the reason I brought you in here.”

“Then why?—”

He takes a step closer. “I need to say a few things to you, and as much as I appreciate my fans, I don’t need any of them recording this.”

I clutch my hands in front of my stomach. “Then you should probably keep your voice down.”

He nods once and steps farther into my space, lowering his voice. “Listen closely, then.” He reaches out with one big palm and cups my chin, keeping my eyes on him. “My past relationships mean nothing. Not a single woman I’ve ever dated or been with compares to you. You are my everything. My fucking world. My future. And you are fucking stunning.”

I swallow, and he rubs his thumb under my chin, feeling the movement.

I watch his own throat work on a swallow. “I don’t want to tell you anything about the women I’ve… been with because as far as I’m concerned, they have been erased from my memory. And if I could delete all records of them from the internet, I’d do it. But if you need to hear me say it, I’ll tell you the truth that the media didn’t always cover. I like women of all sizes.” He shakes his head. “I liked women of all sizes. Now…” He drags his eyes down my form. “Now I only like one size. Alice size. And if you need me to remind you just how fucking much I lust after your body, I’d be happy to demonstrate. Right now. And prove that we indeed can have sex in an airport.”

Since the moment we met in person, Michael has done nothing but prove his loyalty to me. And even though I shouldn’t need the reassurance, his words are everything I needed to hear. And with a sigh, I let the safety they bring wrap around me like the sparkly, happy garland on a tree.

A smile tugs at my mouth, and I reach up, placing my hands on his chest. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”

His intense gaze shifts from protection to affection. “Not yet.”

I take a deep inhale, letting his scent fill my lungs. “I love you, Chef Michael.”