There is a knock on my door. My nose is buried in a photo album, lost to the past and what my world used to consist of. A painful reminder of childhood. The past isn’t something I typically dwell on.
Childhood wasn’t pleasant, not for me and not for Axton. The only way I survived was because of my brother. He sacrificed somuch to ensure that I wasn’t just safe, but that I had moments of happiness, too.
And now it’s my turn to sacrifice for him.
For his happiness.
Placing the photo album into the box, I stand as another knock raps against my door. Making my way toward the sound, I pinch one eye closed and look into the peephole to see who is here. I know it’s not Gunnar because, without a doubt, that man would just waltz in here as if he owned it, because he’s done it time and time again.
Maybe it’s one of the girls, though. They usually text me if they’re going to stop by, but maybe my brother told Millie that he dropped all those boxes off. They’re really awesome about helping out with stuff like that.
The person on the other side of the door isn’t Gunnar, and it’s nobody else from the club, and it certainly isn’t one of the girls.
It’s Paul.
I think about pretending to be gone. But then he speaks; his lips twitching into a smirk when he does. I take him in for a moment. He’s still handsome. I’d almost forgotten in the past weeks just how good-looking he is.
But as handsome as he is, he’s not Gunnar. And that’s the real tragedy. At that thought, sadness washes through my entire body. What a cluster. Reaching for the handle, I tug the door open, then step back slightly.
I plaster on my fake smile. It’s all I have right now. I didn’t expect him to show up, and he’s here. Panic sets in as my heart begins to slam against my chest, because what are the odds that he just showed up here almost the moment Gunnar walked away?
“Paul, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I state in an attempt to be bright, cheerful, and unbothered, all three things which are a complete freaking lie.
Alielie, the likes of which I’ve never told before.
He doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he slowly spins around the living room before he faces me. His lips curve up into a smirk as his gaze lifts to meet mine. “Noticed your guard left. I thought maybe we’d grab lunch or something, get to know one another a little bit.”
Weird.
“We’re going to have our entire lives to get to know one another in just a few days. Why are you really here?”
He chuckles and runs his hand over the side of his hair, smoothing it down. But it didn’t need smoothing. It was already perfect. There is no doubt that there is some kind of balm or gel on it to keep it all in place.
“Smart girl,” he murmurs. “Though I already knew that, didn’t I?”
I shrug a shoulder, unsure of what is happening here and also not in a position to piss him off, at least not too much. He takes a step toward me, and for the first time in years, I feel uncomfortable in my own skin standing here.
Paul makes me feel that way, and not in a sexy way, in an unsure way. I don’t know if he’s judging me, if he’s disgusted by my clothes, by my small home. It’s not modern or fancy; it’s lived in, and right now, it’s a mess because I’ve been packing.
Then, before I realize it, he’s closed the distance between us. He’s so close to me that I can feel his body heat. Tilting my head back, I lift my gaze to meet his. His chin is dipped, his lips are curved up, and at the sight of them, I’m reminded of his mouth between my legs, and I clench them together at the thought.
I should not be thinking about that. I love Gunnar. But here I am. Maybe it’s because I know this man is going to be my husband in a few days, and I’m never going to have that with Gunnar, so maybe my body is helping me out a little.
Maybe I’m just a hot-ass mess.
Which is, I think, more the case than anything else right now.
CHAPTER THIRTY
LAINEY
I waitfor whatever Paul is going to do, whatever he’s about to say. Is he going to kiss me? Is he going to touch me? Is he going to get pissed at me because he knows what Gunnar and I have been up to?
I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I hold my breath as his gaze searches mine in silence. He doesn’t touch me, though. He doesn’t reach out at all. Instead, he takes a step backward, his eyes sparkling as he does, still in silence.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he mutters.
“Why?” I ask breathlessly.