Chapter 53

Fifty-Three

SCOTTIE

He's going to shatter my heart.

For the first time in my life, it feels full. I feel complete and safe. I can't think of a time where I've ever felt like this, even with William near.

It's like I have the world in my hands when, in reality, I don't.

In fact, the only thing I have in my hand is my fake husband's with a ring on his finger that isn't permanent.

Emory whispers into my ear, "Do you want a drink?"

I shake my head. The last time I drank, I spiraled. I'm not doing that again.

"What about a biscotti?"

My mouth twitches. "They don't have biscotti here."

"Yes, they do." A sly grin falls to his mouth. "And she tastes extra sweet."

" Emory ," I whisper-warn.

He shrugs, and for some reason, I'm chock-full of butterflies. My feet shuffle against the glossy floor, and I smile at the familiar faces I see until we're standing beside Rhodes with his tense shoulders and broody stance.

"Where's my girl?" Malaki asks him when we step into the conversation.

Rhodes grunts. "At home with a new nanny."

"Another new nanny?"

Rhodes glares at Malaki. "If you say one word about fucking the nanny, I'll knock you clean on your ass."

Malaki appears to be appalled at the statement. "I would never."

"Yeah, you would," Emory adds.

I giggle, and Emory grins down at me.

Malaki scoffs before grabbing my hand and placing a kiss on it. "You look stunning, Scottie."

I smile. "Thank you."

Emory pulls my hand away and clasps it with his. "That's Mrs. Olson to you."

"Oh, stop it," I chide, squeezing his hand.

Everyone laughs, and even Rhodes snickers under his breath.

Emory doesn't budge, though, and I wonder what has gotten into him. He's laying it on thick tonight. In fact, he hasn't stopped touching me since I walked into the event, which I appreciate because, to a girl like me, this is intimidating.

I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, as if I have white trash stamped on my forehead, or there's a scent following me, telling all the wealthy people in this building that I'm not from this world and that I don't even belong.

The dress feels too expensive wrapped against my body, and Emory looks much too attractive to be mine.

"What are you thinking?" Emory whispers down into my ear, ignoring the conversation between Malaki, Kane, and Rhodes. Though, Rhodes is hardly speaking.

I swallow a lie and tell the truth. "Honestly?" I peek at him, and zero in on the little crevice between his eyebrows. "I'm thinking about how I don't belong in this world."

Something resembling anger flashes across his face. "How so?"

"Emory. Come on," I whisper, raising an eyebrow before nodding at the mingling crowd. "Look at them, and then look at me."

Even when I was getting ready with the girls, I couldn't help but feel out of sorts. They're used to this life and had no issues slipping into their elegant dresses, even more lavish than mine. The men are all well-groomed with their bow ties and amber liquor in crystal glasses. It's a wonderful event, raising money for childhood cancer, but let's face it, I don't belong. In fact, I'm a charity case myself, and Emory is the fucking donator.

"Oh, I am," he states. "In fact, I can't look anywhere else."

Emory pulls on my hand, and I follow after him, smiling at Hattie and Angela as they sip on fancy cocktails.

"Where are we going?"

Emory picks up the pace, nodding at a few of his teammates here and there. When we disappear into a quiet hall lined with elegant wallpaper, he gently pushes me against the wall and tips my chin backward.

"I don't want to hear you say that ever again."

"Say what?" I ask, scoffing. "The truth?"

"The truth?" Emory's eyebrows furrow, and he bounces his attention all over my face. "Scottie, you are probably the only person at this event that actually belongs."

I roll my eyes, feeling suddenly self-conscious yet angry at the same time. "Emory, I'm a fucking charity case. I do not belong here."

Both his hands cradle my cheeks. He speaks so low I can hardly hear him. "You are the most righteous person I have ever met." I try to look away, but he squeezes my face gently. "I want you to look at me while I praise you, because it's what you need." He pauses. "Especially from your husband."

"But you're not?—"

His eyes flare for a split second. "I'm not doing a very good job as a husband if you think anything but highly of yourself."

My heart beats hard.

It's hard to think straight when Emory is this close.

He makes everything he says so believable that I find myself staying quiet and listening.

"You're kind, giving, and empathetic. You appear unbothered by things that I know bother you—like when it's chilly outside and I catch you taking an extra blanket to Shutter and wrapping him up like a burrito as he purrs." My cheeks feel warm, but I still keep my eyes on Emory's. "You take care of the team's kids when no one asks you to, and you're happy to do it." Emory chuckles deeply, like he's in disbelief. "You're so god damn selfless that you married me for money, and I would bet my life that you don't need the money for yourself."

I gulp, but I don't deny it.

"You have a heart of gold."

My chin wobbles.

"You've been abandoned as a child and left to fend for yourself, yet you don't have an ounce of hate for your mother."

My eyes gloss over, and this time, I do look away.

Emory's thumbs rub gently against my cheekbones, pulling my focus back to his eyes. "And just so we're clear, no one is around right now. This isn't for show, Scottie. I mean every single word."

My hands begin to shake when Emory grabs my hips. Our eyes catch, and he looks right at my mouth. "When I touch you…" His words fade as he drags his hands lower, cupping me around the ass. "Whether it's in front of a crowd or inside our home…"

Our home.

God, I love the sound of that.

"It's because I want to."

Emory slowly pulls my leg out from the high slit of my dress and wraps it around him. I curve my body to get closer. Heat covers my flesh with the feel of his palm slipping closer. He's teasing me, and I'm not even sure he means to. "Thirty more minutes, and we're leaving."

He stares at me intently before slowly swiping the outside of my lace thong. "And then I'm going to strip you out of this dress and make sure you believe every last word I just said to you."

Can't wait.

My eyes shut when he pulls the lacy material to the side and feels how wet I am.

"You want me to touch you now?" he murmurs, kissing the side of my neck.

I'm desperate, and it's pathetic. I don't even mean to nod, but I do, and I pair it with a, "Mm-hm."

He clicks his tongue. "What kind of husband would I be if I denied my wife?"

His finger sinks inside, and I pant. Every time he calls me his wife , my heart tumbles.

"Such a good girl," he mutters, pulling on my earlobe with his teeth. He fingers me deeper, and I move against his hand faster, showing him how good of a girl I can be for him.

I grip onto his shoulders for stability. My knees shake, and I whimper. "I like being a good girl for you," I admit shyly.

I don't know what has come over me, but with the look of pure possession on his face, I know he liked hearing it.

"I'm not waiting until we get home."

"Wha—"

Emory drops my leg and pulls me with him toward the bathroom. He's a man on a mission, and who am I to stop him?

"The men's bathroom?" I ask, panicking.

He opens the door, and there's an older gentleman inside. He takes one look at us and smirks before leaving us alone.

As soon as the door shuts and Emory locks it, he turns with his blue eyes darker than normal and his jaw flexing with need. "You like to be my good girl?"

I nod timidly and lean against the sink.

"Good," he states, draping his suit jacket on the locked door handle.

My heart does a triple flip when he rolls his white dress shirt sleeves up his forearms. His veins pop, and I swear to god, he gets ten times hotter.

"Then you're going to be my good little wife and let me fuck you in this bathroom."