Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(42)

“But really, the hardest part of my marriage not working out was reconciling that I wasn’t like my father,” Christian adds, and I jerk my gaze back to him. This is the first time he’s mentioned his father.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been married and divorced three times. I think that’s another reason my grandfather was so specific about marriage in the details of his company handover. He didn’t want us to wind up like my dad, especially since Dad hurt my mum so much.”

The picture of him fills in, details and angles becoming crisper and clearer, and another pro reminds me of its existence—the way Christian cares for his mom. Hell, the woman herself is a pro in the list; she’s a doll, and I love her. “He was looking out for you, and for his daughter, in a way.”

Christian nods as the ride circles low then rises once more. “He didn’t like the way our dad treated our mum. He wanted to see us all happily together forever like he was. I think Erik got that from him.” He hums, a sad little sound. “And look at us, all split up, just like dad. But it’s for the best, for me at least. I’m completely content with my single life.”

There.

That’s it.

The big con.

He’s married to his lifestyle, and that’s exactly what I needed to know. And what I wanted to hear, in fact. It’s better this way. Knowing he’ll never fall in love makes it easier to enjoy the pure entertainment value of Christian Ellison. Who cares if he has so many pros? They won’t ever amount to anything that can hurt me, since we’ll never truly get close enough.

He grabs my hand. “And I’m pretty content with our arrangement so far. With one exception.”

Oh. Perhaps there’s an even bigger con. A girl can hope. “What’s that?”

When we reach the top once more, the ride slows as it begins letting people off below us. “It’s our wedding night and we’re not screwing right now. Instead, we’re talking about our previous marriages. That’s backward.”

I laugh. That is indeed a drawback, but it’s easily rectified. “In our defense, screwing is an inevitability.”

Sex with Christian sounds delicious, and a clear pro. In fact, it sounds so delicious, I’m pretty much done with the fun and games of Tivoli, especially since I know this marriage will be like this park—just fun and games, no matter how many times he’s thoughtful and asks how I am.

As the Ferris wheel chugs down, I tug him close, and whisper, “Want to get out of here?”

He lets out a dirty groan. “It’s all I want. To get you back to my house and show you exactly what a wedding night should be like.”

We exit the ride and practically race past the sparkling lights in the center of the park. This might not be the field of flowers I dreamed of as a little girl, and it’s not the vineyard where my family toasted with Eduardo and his friend. Instead, I’m at an amusement park, with a husband who hardly asks anything of me, but the glittery setting is a fairy-tale land in its own strange, unexpected way.

Do fairy-tale heroines have hot sex?

Of course they do.

Especially if they get married to save the hero’s brother’s company.

A fresh urgency powers us as Christian takes my hand and guides me through the park. We have to weave through the carnival games to reach the closest exit, marching past a group of rowdy teens playing basketball.

They’re having a blast, and I am too.

Until someone shouts duck and a basketball slams into the back of my head, knocking me down.





24





Christian





I open my palm. “Take these.”

She pops the two Tylenol in her mouth and chases them with a glass of orange juice I give her.

“I’m shocked.”

“By the horrific aim of drunk teens shooting basketballs?” Wincing, she rubs the back of her head, settling farther into my couch. I brought her back to my place seconds after she crash-landed on her knees.

“I’m shocked at you. I had you down as the worst patient ever.”

“See? I’m full of surprises. I love being doted on. Now, please cover my scrape with a Band-Aid,” she says in a deliberately dainty tone, pointing to the tear on her knee. “Since you like being a nurse.”

The funny thing is, I do like taking care of her. I like that I was the one to wrap an arm around her, shield her as we walked out of the park, and hail a cab faster than any man has ever hailed a cab in the history of men hailing cabs.

I head to the bathroom, grab a bandage, and return to her, so I can press it over the scraped-up bit of skin.

“Why did you think I’d be a terrible patient?”

“You’re so stubborn I figured you’d be completely pig-headed about letting me take care of you.”

“I guess you were wrong.”

“I guess I was.”

I smile to myself, but I don’t tell her how much I like being wrong on this count.

When I’m done, I sit next to her. “Okay, so the head still hurts?”

“Yes, but it’s getting better.”

“And the knee smarts?”

“Definitely, but I’ll live.”

“Living is good. I recommend it. Does anything else hurt?”