Chapter 241 Paris Break
What do normal couples do once they get engaged?
Kiss, cuddle, book a dinner somewhere fancy, then blast the news to everyone they know,
For Ashton and me, it was just the two of us, rattling around that enormous house, no families to phone, too early even for lunch, with a whole holiday stretching ahead of us.
“That still doesn’t justify what you did,‘ I grumbled as Iolled out of bed, every muscle in my body aching
from overuse.
Ashton swung his long legs off the bed, then stood and swept me into his arms. ‘Engaged couples are supposed to have sex.‘
‘Not as much as we just did.‘
‘We had to make up for lost time.‘
He carried me to the wardrobe.
If I’d had the energy, I’d have rolled my eyes.
He dressed me–because apparently I’d temporarily lost the use of my limbs–then whisked me off to the shower, his hands not exactly staying where they should.
‘Seriously,‘ I moaned, somewhere between exhausted and exasperated. ‘You need to get a grip. Maybe see a doctor, check if you’re a sex addict or something.‘
Ashton kissed the nape of my neck, only pulling away to pump soap into his hand and start washing my
back.
He was hyper–buzzing with an energy I’d never seen before.
Ashton was always switched on; you had to be to run a multinational company.
But this was next–level, the sort of excitement you get from a kid on a sugar rush, doused in Fanta and promised a trip to Disneyland.
Eventually, he dressed me again, then kissed my cheek.
‘I love you,‘ he murmured.
My lips parted.
My throat worked.
The words just… wouldn’t come.
I saw the hope flicker in his eyes, knew exactly what he wanted.
But nothing came out.
I kissed him instead.
He straightened, putting on his CEO face. ‘Let’s go down for lunch.‘
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To anyone watching, he didn’t look wounded.
But I felt guilty all the same, like I’d let him down somehow.
Which was probably why I didn’t argue when he wanted to set the wedding for sixth June–barely three months away.
Before all that, though, I was off to France.
Fabrizio’s invitation was too tempting to turn down.
Ashton said he supported me, and technically, he did, at least out loud.
But he watched me like I was about to sprout wings, terrified I’d fly out of reach and he’d have no way to pull me back.
If it wasn’t for the endless to–do list the wedding threw at us, he’d have probably dragged me to the registry office before dinner.
Three days later, I left for France.
Ashton was meant to come too, but work buried him alive.
He promised to join me as soon as he dug himself out, whenever that might be.
On the morning of my flight, he insisted on driving me to the airport.
We pulled up at the kerb and I reached for the door, but he caught my wrist. ‘What’s the rush? You’ve got time.‘
He was stalling. Plain as day.
If Ashton had his way, I’d have missed the flight, spent another two days lost between his sheets, and he’d have feigned surprise at my ‘accidentally‘ extended stay!
He leaned in and kissed me again.
Then again.
Stockpiling hellos and goodbyes for the next ten days.
By the time he relented, I could hardly breathe.
I shoved his chest away, gasping. ‘Stop, Christ. Let me go or I’ll miss the bloody flight.‘
‘It’s still early.‘
‘No, it isn’t.‘ I waved my phone in his face. ‘Look. Boarding starts in less than half an hour.‘
He wasn’t moved. “The gate’s only a few minutes from here.‘
“There’s still security,‘
Ashton had turned curiously clingy lately.
He’d never sulked or whined; that wasn’t his style.
But these days, he lingered at breakfast, clung to me at might even after all the condoms were gone, watched
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me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I could see now, clear as day, what a real proposal meant to him.
A fake marriage was a business transaction, a contract.
But this was the real deal, the kind where you trusted someone with your life, the one who’d hold the pen on your DNR if it ever came to that.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the pressure of that responsibility was what pushed me to book the Paris flight in the first place.
I peeled him off me, ducked out of the car, and went to get my suitcase from the boot.
Ashton snatched it from me, holding my hand all the way through the sliding doors.
‘You could’ve taken my jet. No need to leave so early.‘
‘We’ve been through this. I can’t stroll into the new office off a private flight, car and all. I haven’t even met the team yet. What would they think?‘
‘How long will you be gone?‘
‘No set date,‘ I said. ‘Fabrizio’s been back and forth on the phone and over email. He wants me to visit their HQ. When I come home depends on what we sort out, and how fast I can finish the new work.‘
‘Stay away from him once you’re there. I’ll come find you when I get a chance.‘
I glanced at him, amused. ‘Scared I’ll run off with some handsome Frenchman?‘
‘Terrified,‘ Ashton replied, not even trying to pass it off as a joke. ‘I need to keep a close eye on you.‘
‘Relax,‘ I snorted. ‘Fabrizio’s only interested in business. We’re just colleagues.‘
He squeezed my hand tighter. ‘He’s single and a man. Of course, I’m worried.‘
‘Don’t you trust me?‘ I shot back.
‘I do, but seriously, watch yourself in France. Don’t overdo it. Call me every day…‘
‘I know, I know,‘ I cut him off, rolling my eyes. ‘You sound like a dad sending his kid off on their first day at school.‘
‘I’m just worried about you. You should have let me hire you an assistant.‘
‘I’m working with jewellery designers, not staging a hostile takeover.‘
‘Now that you mention it…‘ Ashton’s brow furrowed thoughtfully.
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