How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(55)

We called in sick to work.

We made love all day and through the next night.

We ordered pizza. Lots of pizza. It was the best honeymoon a girl could ask for.

When the following morning arrived, we sadly said goodbye to our mini-vacation.

I lay on top of Dylan, drawing circles on his chest with my finger. “I still can’t believe we just decided to get hitched like a pair of whack jobs.”

“Not like pair of whack jobs, like a pair of geniuses,” he corrected.

My smile transformed into a grin. “Oh, is that what we are?”

“Yes,” he said and rolled me over. “Now go get dressed. We have rings to shop for.”

Less than an hour later, I stood in the middle of a jewellery shop on Fifth Avenue, an array of diamonds before me. It was surreal to say the least.

“This is weird. A lady shouldn’t have to shop for her own engagement ring. And certainly not after the fact of getting married,” I said, playful and trying to annoy Dylan.

The rings viewed so far had prices in the five-figure category. I was trying to finagle him down to four.

“I just wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around with over ten grand on my finger,” I said. “That’s the sort of thing that gets your hand chopped off in the supermarket.”

He gave me a funny look. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard the story of the woman whose hand was chopped off while she was shopping for groceries? The guy who did it was after her engagement ring.”

He stared at me, looking dubious. “And where exactly did this happen?”

“Germany, I think. Or was it South Africa?”

He arched a wry brow. “Smacks of an urban legend, Ev.”

“Either way, I don’t want any of these overpriced rings. They’re too ostentatious.”

He let out a sigh and slid his hand into mine, steering me to another glass cabinet. “Fine. What about one of these?”

I studied the collection. “Still expensive, but acceptable.”

“I like this one,” Dylan said, pointing out a white gold ring with a teardrop shaped diamond.

“It’s very pretty,” I commented. And it was. It was beautiful, all sparkly under the fluorescent lights.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll buy it,” he said and waved the sales clerk over.

I grabbed his arm. “Hold up. We can’t buy it just like that. We should wait a few days. Shop around to see if there’s a better deal somewhere else—”

“Ev, I’m buying it, so build a bridge.”

I poked him in the side. “You build a bridge.”

The sales clerk arrived. “How may I help you, sir?”

“I’d like to buy this ring.”

“Very well, sir.”

And that was how I found myself walking around with a brand-new diamond on my finger. It felt bizarre. When Dylan left to go to work, I decided it was time I went to the apartment to pack. During our ‘honeymoon’, Dylan convinced me to move in with him. Albeit, it didn’t take too much convincing. Now that we were married, why would I have even considered spending a single night alone?

I walked into the apartment, making plans for how I was going to pack and move all my stuff, and came face to face with Conor stepping out of the bathroom.

I repeat, Conor Abrahams just stepped out of my bathroom. Steam billowed behind him. He wore a towel and nothing else, stopping short as soon as he saw me.

And it suddenly dawned on me. I hadn’t seen him since his family left.

He’d been here.

With Yvonne.

Oh. My. God.

A sense of pure delight filled me. My aunt was going to get some serious ribbing for this. And I had so many questions. Like, how had this come about? Did it happen on the night of the wedding, or afterwards, while Dylan and I were wrapped in our own little sex bubble?

“Conor, what time are you—” Yvonne’s voice trailed off when she saw me standing there.

“Ev,” she exclaimed. It was almost a shriek. “I thought you’d be with Dylan.”

“He had to go to work.”

“As do I,” Conor cut in. “I’ll just, uh, go get dressed.”

He disappeared inside Yvonne’s bedroom, while I folded my arms and shot my aunt a smug look. “Well,” I chirped.

She pursed her lips. “Well, what?”

I shook my head. “Just, well.”

Walking past her, I went to hang my things. I could practically feel her embarrassment and anxiety simmering to a high heat. “Listen, Ev—”

“No need to explain, Yvonne. If I were you, I’d have hit that on the first night.”

“Evelyn.”

I smirked. “What? It’s true. You go, girlfriend.”

“Ugh. You’re so pleased with yourself right now,” she huffed.

I cocked a brow. “Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. If my mother were alive, I shudder to think what she’d say.”

“If Gran were alive, she’d say exactly the same thing as I just did.”

That got a small smile out of her and then she laughed. “Do you know what, you’re probably right.”