The CEO's Public Bride

Dominic

I was so glad to touch back down in New York City. My bed was calling my name, only made louder by a second night sharing the lumpy attic mattress with Viv. She was sprawled out across her seat, lightly snoring, when we finished descending into the city at 3AM.

Honestly, if I hadn’t been so tired myself, I might have just let her continue sleeping there until morning. It was my plane, after all. What would it matter if we slept in it while it was in the hangar? But I knew we’d be much happier come morning if we finished the night in real beds.

Dalton emerged from the cockpit with a big grin sitting below his red-rimmed and baggy eyes. “Well boss, we made it. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to just relax for a few days after all this travel.”

“You and me both. Have the crew unload our stuff and take it to my place. I’m taking Viv home.” I slipped my arms under her knees and neck, and lifted her up against my chest. She let out a cute little squeak and nuzzled in. My heart jumped as I looked down at her peaceful face.

Damn, I loved this woman.

I carried her out of the plane and across the tarmac into the airport proper. The place was practically dead at this hour, the only signs of life being the limp forms of people sleeping through overnight layovers, and the occasional employee. I tried to get through to the passenger pickup area as fast as possible, hoping Viv would continue sleeping so quietly in my arms.

And she did. Even as we stood in the brisk night air waiting for the valet to bring up my Mustang, her chest rose and fell peacefully. The only time she remotely stirred was when I placed her in the passenger seat.

“Dom?” she muttered, her voice heavy with sleep.

I finished buckling her seatbelt and pressed my lips to her forehead. “Shhh, go back to sleep. We’ll be home soon.” I reclined her seat and brushed her hair out of her eyes before stumbling to the driver’s seat.

Was I borderline too tired to drive? Probably. But that didn’t stop me from powering up the engine and speeding toward my place as fast as New York streets would let me go. Everything went by in a blur of streetlights and grungy puddles reflecting the windows above. A light sprinkle of rain started at some point, streaking my windshield with grey film.

But I made it to my complex safely. I pulled my car into the private parking garage and killed the engine. For a long moment I just relaxed in my seat and listened to the rhythmic sound of Viv’s breathing. A smile twitched at the corners of my lips and I couldn’t help reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers curled around mine.

This was bliss.

Eventually I got out and walked around to her door. “Viv, we’re home.” I gently shook her shoulder, but the only response I got was a tiny groan. “I’m going to have to carry you in, aren’t I?”

Apparently the answer was yes. But I wasn’t remotely upset by it. I pressed the release on the seat belt and extracted her from the car. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I cradled her and headed for the elevator. Luckily my keys were already in hand, so I easily scanned the keycard that granted access to the top three levels of the building.

My gaze alternated between the floor counter and Viv’s face. I’d carry her to bed every night if it always felt like this. The elevator dinged, the door opened, and I stepped out onto the plush carpet of the penthouse above my suite. As usual, the cream fibers had perfect vacuum lines and the maroon runner was spotless. I kicked off my shoes and carried Viv toward the bedroom at the end of the hallway.

I didn’t even bother flipping on any lights. Muscle memory guided me to the side of the bed, where I laid Viv on the extra fluffy mattress. I unbuckled and removed her shoes, tucked her in, and pressed one more kiss between her eyebrows. As much as I wanted to just climb in next to her, I backed out of the room and closed the door.

Sharing the single bed in Paris was one thing. Climbing in without permission when I had no shortage of beds? No, I wasn’t going to do that to her. We’d figure out our final living arrangements tomorrow when she woke up.

Every step away from that room toward my own bedroom felt wrong. I wanted her in my arms as I drifted off to sleep. But I stuffed that desire deep into a pocket in my heart and zipped it up. Bringing her here rather than waking her up and asking where her apartment was would likely have me in enough trouble come morning.

I stripped and crawled into bed, exhaustion crashing into me like the waves of a tsunami. My dreams were riddled with scenes of desire, followed by rejection and loneliness. Whether it was the cold, empty bed, or the knowledge I still had an end date on my marriage causing the dreams, I don’t know.

When I finally woke in the morning, my body was stiff and sore. I groaned as I rolled over and stretched. My head pounded, so I hauled myself up and stumbled to the kitchen in search of a glass of water and a painkiller.

I’d never realized how quiet my 3-story apartment was. I guess I’d gotten used to the sound of the ocean crashing beneath my feet, and Viv snoring softly in the next room. The sound of the busy New York streets below barely reached the penthouse at all.

Something about the silence was stifling this morning. To remedy it, I opened my music app on my phone and began playing 80’s rock at a low volume while I pulled eggs and bacon out to cook breakfast.

One glass of water, two pain pills, and fifteen minutes later, breakfast for two steamed lazily on the dining table. I glanced toward the spare bedroom, at war with myself. Should I wake up Viv? Or should I let her sleep and reheat her breakfast when she woke up on her own?

Luckily, she solved the problem for me. The bedroom door creaked open and she appeared, tousel-haired and barefoot. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Breakfast is ready.” I hopped up from my chair and met her in the hallway, wrapping her in my arms.

“Let go,” she grumbled, pushing me away.

Okay, grouchy morning Viv. Got it. I backpedaled all the way to the table and sat down. “Did you sleep well?”

She gave a noncommittal grunt and pulled out the chair next to me, then plopped down with squinty eyes. Her expression was glazed and zombie-like as she picked up the fork and slowly began scooping eggs into her mouth.

I chuckled and ate my own breakfast, watching as she slowly came to life. I give coffee all the credit for that, honestly. By the time the cup and her plate were empty, she finally looked like she’d joined the land of the living. Her mood hadn’t seemed to improve, though. “What hotel are we in now?” she asked, glancing around at the minimalist decor. “I thought we were going all the way back to New York.”

“We did. This isn’t a hotel; it’s my home. You weren’t awake to give me your address, so I brought you here instead.”

She narrowed her eyebrows and her lips pressed into a pout. “How did I get off the plane and all the way here?”

“I carried you.” A laugh accompanied the statement, but Viv didn’t seem to find it as amusing as I did. Her scowl increased and she crossed her arms over her chest. She was so damn sexy when she was annoyed!

“Don’t expect me to act like you’re some kind of Prince Charming for it. I’m assuming my luggage is here, too? As soon as I’ve had a shower, I’ll take a taxi home. I’m sure you’ll be glad to have me out of your hair.”

My laughter faded away to a frown and I shook my head. “Viv, what are you talking about? I was planning on moving in together. I want to be able to see you when we wake up in the morning, and tuck you in at night. You’re far from being ‘in my hair.’”

Her annoyance instantly transformed into something entirely different. “Oh, hell no. That was never part of the deal. I said I’d pretend to be your wife. I even agreed to extend the deal to a year, for the benefit of the entire company. But I never agreed to move in with you. Nothing good comes from moving in together.” She shook her head with wide eyes. To my surprise, I didn’t see anger in them. No, they were full of fear and resignation.

But why would she be afraid to move in with me? She’d been fine sharing the bungalow and the room in Paris. She told me she loved me! So why was this a problem? “What do you mean, Viv? It wasn’t part of the deal, no, but things are different now. We love each other. Why wouldn’t we move in together?”

Rather than answer, she hopped up from the table and hurried back to her room. She emerged with her shoes on and her keys in hand. “You know what? I’ll just shower when I get home. Where’s my bag?”

“Woah, Viv, slow down! What’s the matter? Talk to me!”

The only response I got was a very angry pair of eyebrows. I sighed and rose from the table. “Our luggage should be downstairs. Do you want me to load it in the car and take you home? That would save you the cab fare.”

“No. Just show me where my bags are. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need your apartment or your car!”

I threw my hands in the air, growing increasingly confused as to why this conversation had gone so drastically wrong. “I never said you couldn’t. Or that I thought you needed to live here. I said I wanted you here.”

But she wasn’t listening. She was pacing back and forth, muttering under her breath. I’d never seen her like this, even during the most stressful business meetings. She was like an anxious, caged tiger, looking for a way out.

I blamed it on the jet lag, despite not really believing it. She was probably just so exhausted that she wasn’t thinking straight. We’d talk about this later, when we’d both had some time to rest. “Come on, Viv. I’ll at least help you get your bags down to the ground floor and make sure you get into the cab safely.”