“Do not contact my aunt again,” she orders. “Or I will be forced to take further measures.” She lets the threat hang, and then with a steely glare, she whirls and walks out.

  As soon as the door closes, Dad collapses into the chair and scrubs his hands over his face. “Carter . . . what the hell have you gotten us into?”

  “Yeah, this is all about you,” I snarl, done with his shit at least for a moment. “I’ve been working on this deal for weeks and it just blew up in a blaze of glory, but yeah, let’s talk about you.”

  His eyes clear as they land on me. “Me? Try the company. That’s what I’m worried about, what I’m always worried about. And then you go and do something stupid like this and put everything at risk?”

  I’m quiet, knowing he’s right but unwilling to admit it.

  “We’ll have to get the marriage annulled,” he declares, as if it’s his decision to make. “Because I’m sure you didn’t bother getting Luna to sign a prenup, right?”

  “Luna’s not like that. She’s not after my money,” I tell him coldly. I can’t believe he’d even suggest such a thing. “And I don’t want an annulment. I want . . .”

  What do I want?

  I’m not sure I even know. Or maybe I just don’t want to admit it, because if I do . . . I can get hurt.

  I’m angry at Luna, that’s for sure, but I don’t want to pretend this never happened. Because it did. I looked into Luna’s eyes as we said our vows, I held her in my arms as she shattered in ecstasy, I listened to her dreams about how Alphena can change young women’s lives, and more. Yeah, I’m mad, but I can’t imagine life without her.

  I want her.

  I want Luna.

  The insight hits me hard. When did that happen? I’m not sure I can pinpoint an exact moment, but somewhere in this crazy mess, I think I fell in love with Luna Starr. No, Luna Harrington. My wife.

  And I want the Cartwright deal. I like Elena and her way of looking at the world. She doesn’t take herself too seriously and wants to have a positive impact. I’ve enjoyed researching her portfolio and analyzing ways to maximize her investments so she can leave a legacy she’s proud of. It’s made me reconsider what I’m doing day-to-day and the legacy I want to have.

  Is it living in Cameron’s shadow at Blue Lake? Is it fighting to get Dad to see me as a professional peer? Or something else entirely? I do know I’ve had more fun with this deal than any I’ve ever worked on, and I don’t feel remotely done with it. I want to keep going, keep working with Elena and the full scope of her estate.

  Dad takes the opportunity of my quiet realization to jump in. “We don’t always get what we want, Carter.” He says it as though it’s a divine, important lesson. “Let’s just hope she’ll sign the annulment so you don’t lose half of everything.” Thinking that’s a valid threat or an actual possibility, he looks to the ceiling with a sigh. I don’t know if he’s praying Luna signs or praying for the patience to restrain from killing me. “I’ll call our attorney and have the paperwork prepared. And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell your mother that you got married without her.”

  Like that’s that, he begins typing on his computer. Probably sending an email to legal.

  It’s a clear dismissal. He’s given the final word, and I’m expected to follow along like a good dog.

  But not this time.

  “No,” I state firmly. “No annulment, and I’m not done with this Cartwright deal. And I’m certainly not done with Luna.”

  Before he can reply, I stride out of the room, feeling free in a way I haven’t in a long time. Maybe ever. I have a mission—two of them.

  Luna.

  Elena.

  In that order.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  LUNA

  I haven’t called in sick a single day in the years I’ve worked at the museum . . . until today. I simply didn’t have it in me to ‘people’ this morning. Instead, before she left for school, Samantha got us coffee and bagels, made sure I showered and put on fresh clothes so I ‘felt cute’, and then she set me up with my tablet to work. Okay, she called it ‘drowning my emotions in a fantasy world’ but it’s the same difference.

  After working on it for hours, I realized that my tablet had been at Carter’s. I have no idea how it got here, but I’m glad to have it because I’m almost finished with this edition of Alphena. Writing has been going great, this edition nearly writing itself.

  In this part, Alphena’s showing a podcast dude the error of his misogynistic ways, and miraculously, he’s coming around. Even more extraordinary, it’s not because of her breasts but because of her brains.

  “See . . . people can change,” Alphena proclaims triumphantly on the page.

  “Blah, blah, blah,” I tell my alter-ego character, irritated that she’s ‘pro people’ at a time I’d rather shut myself off from everyone and become a hermit. I stepped way out of my comfort zone and onto an unstable raft in a storming sea of lies and emotions. Those are two things I suck at the most, but I tried my best. I really did. It still ended up with me a confused and broken mess.

  I know better. That’s why I stick with scripts at the museum, close friends who know my strengths and respect my boundaries, and a fantasy world of my own design. It’s easier that way.

  Looking at Alphena’s joy in her accomplishment, I consider scratching the last two chapters of happy resolution and instead, have Alphena throw Podcast Dude into a pit of snakes and let them go bitey-bitey on his balls and peen. That’d be more likely.

  “Change that! Ugh!” I scribble on the tablet with my pen, and with a rumble of frustration, I toss it on the couch next to me. Flopping back, I curl up with a couch pillow in my arms. One-handed, I braid the strings of the pillow’s tassels and consider what to do with my story. And my life.

  It was fine . . . until Carter.

  I’m furious with him but also disappointed in myself, which only makes me angrier for what we did. Last night, I reached my threshold and simply couldn’t contain the truth anymore. It bubbled out of me, relieving a heavy pressure I didn’t realize I was fighting.

  I take a sip of the coffee that’s been sitting on the table too long, annoyed that it’s gone cold but still willing to drink it since it’s sweeter than candy thanks to Samantha’s care-taking efforts. The knock at the door annoys me too, as does the blanket that tries to strangle my feet as I get up.

  “Let go,” I tell the cuddly soft fabric that I usually love to cozy up with, dragging it halfway across the room. Finally, it does just before I throw open the door, annoyed with it too. “What?”

  I figured it was Samantha or Zack coming over to check on me. What I don’t expect is to see Carter standing there, grinning like a fool with a black eye. “Luna,” he sighs right before he scoops me up into his arms.

  My feet dangle toward the floor as he hugs me tightly. It feels so good to sink into him for a moment that my mind turns into fluffy fuzz and my whole body relaxes. Then I remember that I’m mad and I flail, kicking my feet and pushing at his shoulders. “Put me down.”

  My feet touch the floor gently, but Carter doesn’t let me go. He cups my face in his hands as his smile grows by the second, and I swear he’s a breath away from kissing me like nothing happened. “I missed you.”

  I shove him off. “No. Don’t do that.”

  I stomp away, picking up the blanket and folding it carelessly. I lay it on the couch and then pick up my tablet, setting it on the table. That takes me to the coffee mug, and I carry it to the kitchen, pouring it out in the sink. Anything that’ll get me away from Carter. Except he follows me into the kitchen, trapping me and making me wish I’d chosen an apartment with a more open floor plan.

  “Luna, we need to talk.” He sounds so sure that I’ll do what he wants, but those days are over.

  I’ve done too much for Carter already, and the end result is that I’m mad at myself and mad at him. “You should go.” I put the mug into the dishwasher. “I have nothing to say.”

  “That’s not true. You have so much to say, I can see the words jumbling together behind your eyes.”

  Carter’s right, but telling him what I think won’t do either of us any good. I want to walk away and pretend this never happened so I can go back to my comfortable, predictable life. “It doesn’t matter. Just go.”

  I try to squeeze past him, but Carter grips my upper arms in his hands. “It matters to me, Luna.”

  Laughing bitterly, I jerk out of his grasp. “No, it doesn’t. If it did, you wouldn’t have dragged me into all this.”

  His eyes go wide. “Dragged you? As soon as I mentioned Thomas’s collection, you were all aboard. Remember that?” I cross my arms over my chest, screaming at him with my eyes and hoping the lenses in my glasses amplify it like sunlight through a magnifying glass and he fries like an ant. He looks back at me, frustrated. “It’s easier to fully blame me, though, isn’t it? Guess you’ve decided I’m your all-too-convenient scapegoat.”

  I put some space between us, but there’s nothing else I can do to keep my hands busy. I resort to fidgeting, wringing them together as I clarify, “I’m not blaming you. Or not only you. I was wrong too. I shouldn’t have gone along with your stupid plan so I could see the art collection. No matter how amazing it is, it was wrong.”

  I’ve already given myself a hard time for that and don’t need Carter to repeat the conversation or talk me out of the self-flagellation.

  He takes a deep breath, his blue eyes locked on me. I feel like he sees everything—my nerves, my anger, and even the desire I’m shoving down so deep I can deny it exists. “That’s not even why I’m here. I think we’re well beyond that, and we both know it. I want to talk about us.”

  I laugh. “Us? There is no ‘us’.”

  He jumps in immediately, stating, “But there is. We’re married . . . for real. My dad’s talking about annulments and prenups—”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” I bark. “Fine. Show me where to sign and I’ll put your mind at ease. I just want this whole thing to be over.” I wave my hands around, wishing I could wipe this whole thing away with just a signature. If only it were that easy. But I’ll never get Carter out of my heart, no matter how many times I sign us away.

  “No!” Carter shouts.

  The neighbor knocks on the wall and I yell, “Sorry!” Glaring at Carter, I snap, “This is done. Send me the paperwork and we can pretend this never happened. Should be easy for you. You’re good at pretending.” I know it’s a low blow, but I’m too mad to care.

  I don’t blink, but I don’t see him move. Regardless, I’m suddenly pressed against the counter, immoveable in Carter’s grip, with him in my face. “This is not done. It’ll never be done.”

  “What?”

  I don’t get to finish my question because Carter kisses me. His touch is powerful, his lips firm and his tongue demanding entry. I squirm, trying to get away, but he moans, and I’d swear it sounds like my name, but that doesn’t make sense. This whole thing makes no sense.

  He determinedly dances me down the hall, his unyielding mouth on mine the whole way. “It’s real,” he murmurs, laying a line of kisses along my jaw to my ear. “I don’t know when, and I don’t fucking care. But this. Is. Real.”

  “No, it’s not,” I argue, but unconsciously, I tilt my head to give him better access.

  He bites the tendon in my neck sharply, not enough to hurt but to get my attention, and I gasp. “You like that, don’t you?”

  I shake my head despite the heat pooling at my center. I feel Carter’s chuckle more than hear it, the vibration making my heart race.

  “Yes, you do. If I touch you right now, you’ll be soaked for me, won’t you?”

  My body’s response to him is nothing more than a biological response. How many times have I told myself that to keep my heart protected? But I know . . . it’s not true. But just because my heart and my body are stupid doesn’t mean I have to be, and their betrayal only makes me angrier. “Let me go, Carter,” I command.

  He smirks and releases me, except I didn’t realize that he’d stepped me into my room, right up to the edge of my bed, and when he lets go, I fall back to the soft surface. I make a noise of surprise and scowl at him accusingly.

  He steps between my legs and leans over me, his fingertips denting the mattress. At first, I lean back, trying to stay away from him, but when I see a teasing glint in his eyes, I freeze, stubbornly holding my ground. I expect him to stop too, but he doesn’t. He covers my mouth with his again.

  I stay still, but after a moment, I can’t fight it. I kiss him back, demanding more. “I hate you,” I growl into the kiss and then nip his lip with my teeth, knowing it’s too hard but wanting to hurt him. “I hate you.”

  Unfazed, he shrugs. “I love you,” Carter says as his hands cup my breasts. I laugh at the absurdity of that, and he pinches my nipples as punishment. Even through my shirt, the pain is sharp and . . . wonderful. I arch into his hands and he does it again. “I love you.”

  “You don’t.” I don’t know why he’s saying he loves me when there’s no way it’s true. Has he forgotten the truth of this whole situation? It’s all for his deal.

  We don’t even like each other.

  Well, I do like what he does to my body. The way he’s sucking my nipples. He’s pushed me back to the bed, pulled my shirt off, and is licking a long line along my cleavage as he holds my breasts together, and I definitely like that.

  But I hate him . . . why was that again?

  Oh, yeah, the lies. And when I told the truth . . .

  “You left me.”

  “You left me first. Blew up my whole fucking world with that mouth of yours and then called Zack to come get you.” He looms over me, pinning me in my place with his hand twisted up in my hair and a stony stare that reaches into my soul. “You left me first.”

  I try to shake my head, but it pulls my hair and I wince. Carter doesn’t let go. Instead, he places his other hand around my neck and gets nose to nose with me as he squeezes. “I might’ve gotten us into this, but you made me fall in love with you, and now there’s no going back, Luna. You’re my wife, and that’s fucking real.”

  “No, I . . .”

  I’m so confused. I mean, I know Carter and I are married for real, as in we said vows, but it was all for the Cartwright deal, not so that we’d actually be married. We’re too different and make no sense together. He’s too old, I’m too young. He’s too money-hungry, I’m too artsy. He’s my brother’s gorgeous best friend, I’m . . . me.

  All arguments I’ve told myself a dozen times, but none of that seems to matter to Carter as he’s ripping my sweats off, panties and all, and thrusting two fingers deep inside me. “Ahh!” I cry out, not in pain but in pleasure. “Carter!”

  “Told you. Fucking soaked for me. Your husband.”

  “I hate you,” I say again, but this time, there’s no venom.

  Carter knows exactly why I say it too. “I’ll tell you as many times as you want. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  Every time he says it, he pets that spot inside me that drives me to the edge near-instantly. I buck, not fighting him off but driving myself deeper onto his fingers, and touch my clit with my own fingers.

  “God damn, that’s so sexy. Rub that clit, hard and fast.” That’s already what I’m doing, but he praises me anyway. “Good girl.”

  A shudder rushes through me, and I feel my nipples pearl up into hard nubs. I’m burning up, but the cold of the room hurts the sensitive peaks. Carter notices and grips my breast firmly, kneading the flesh in his warm palm. “I shouldn’t let you come for what you did. I should edge you over and over until you’re sorry for leaving me.”

  I cry out at the idea, so close to coming already.

  “But I won’t.” His fingers slam into me deep and hard. “This is my fault, and I’m sorry.” Another stroke, adding a third finger and stretching me deliciously.

  I’m going to be bruised and sore tomorrow, but right now, I want him to do it again, so I say the one thing I know for certain will make that happen.

  I peer at him through half-glazed eyes and force out, “I hate you.”

  I see the half-smirk that lifts the right side of his mouth. And then he licks his lips and rapid-fire plunges his fingers into me, over and over. “I love you, Luna Harrington. My wife. Now come for your husband.”

  For him . . . for Carter freaking Harrington. I fly. Sparkles rush through me, or maybe I am sparkles? I don’t know. I just feel like champagne as I soar through the blackness behind my eyes.

  I hear a roaring in my ears and think it’s my own heartbeat, but as I float back to consciousness, I realize that it’s Carter. He’s still fingering me so roughly that his knuckles are starting to hurt against my tender parts, but he’s yanked his own pants open and he’s mindlessly coming all over me as he jacks himself furiously.

  His head is thrown back, the tendons at the sides of his neck standing out sharply, and his face is contorted with pleasure. The heat of his cum is hot on my skin, and instead of rubbing my clit now, I swipe my fingers through the fluid, spreading it over my bare pussy and up to my lower belly. “Cover me. Mark me . . . husband.”

  His head drops, his eyes open and clear as he finds me. I can see what he needs, but I’m still scared to believe him.

  “Say it. Tell me the truth. I want your truth,” he grits out.

  I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to. Much like before, the words I’ve been fighting down spill out. “I love you.”

  He grunts approvingly as one last spurt leaks over his hand, and then he climbs on the bed with me. “Turn over,” he orders.

  I don’t hesitate. I rip my shirt the rest of the way off as I lie on my belly, my glasses thrown aside as I press my cheek into the pillow I cried into last night. Carter has quickly stripped his clothes too, and I feel him kneeling behind me. He lifts my hips into the air and then slaps my ass hard enough to leave a handprint.