The Wrong Bride (The Windsors, #1)(90)

I sigh as I stare at the clock in the living room. The only thing that’s missing tonight is Raven. She’s been working late every night this week. If she isn’t shooting some campaign, she’s working on her fashion designs or accompanying Grandma and Sierra to their countless charity functions. She’s the hardest working woman I’ve ever met, and fuck, I’m proud of her… but I miss her too.

I grab my phone and scroll through her Instagram pictures, just to catch another glimpse of her, and it only takes me three seconds to get pissed off at all the comments men are leaving under her photos. Fucking assholes. Don’t they know she’s married?

I grit my teeth and navigate to my own account. I don’t manage it myself, and my team mostly posts about movie productions we’re funding, with the odd Windsor family event thrown in to give me a more human touch. I’ve never had any interest in it. Even though I work in the media industry, I’ve always found social media toxic. Lately, though… I’ve definitely taken more of an interest in my social media accounts since I married Raven.

I smirk and pull up my favorite photo of my wife. It’s one of the first ones I took of her, the one where she’s sleeping, her shoulders exposed. It’s an obvious postsex photo, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s my intention to lay my claim, after all.

I smirk as I upload the photo and caption it with two words: my wife. ?

I’m still chuckling when I hear the front door open. Raven smiles the moment she sees me, and I meet her halfway, kissing her far rougher than I probably should have. I love how she always instantly wraps her arms around me, no matter where we are or who’s watching. The way she responds to me is never dictated by the people that surround us.

“Hey... why are you smiling like that?”

“Check your Instagram. I tagged you in a post.” Her eyes roam over my face, and she tilts her head suspiciously.

Raven frowns as she reaches into her bag, and for a moment, I wonder if perhaps I overstepped by posting what I did. But then she smiles and blushes a deep crimson.

“Ares,” she says, her voice husky. Fuck. She’s so fucking sexy. Even the way she says my name is fucking perfection.

“You’re crazy, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Maybe a little.”

Her smile fades, the way it does whenever she thinks of Hannah. Rave has been carrying a lot more guilt than I have, and her last argument with Hannah broke her heart. It was easier for me to draw a line with Hannah than it’ll ever be for Raven.

“You’ve been working far too hard lately, and you know it’s serious when it’s coming from me.”

She nods and rubs her shoulder. “I know,” she murmurs.

I cup her cheek gently and sigh. She’s overworking herself in an effort to forget about the pain Hannah has caused. It’s what I always used to do, so I get it, but it isn’t healthy. “I’ve got something for you,” I tell her. “Come to the kitchen with me.”

She nods. “I have to wash off all this stage makeup on my body,” she tells me. “Give me a minute, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen, okay?”

I press a kiss to her forehead and she walks away, her entire posture betraying the sorrow that weighs her down. I can’t help but feel guilty for the role I played in their fall-out. How do I take away her worries, her pain? Should I have tried harder to keep Hannah in our lives? Should we have hidden the fact that our marriage isn’t just one of convenience, to give Hannah some more time to work through our separation? Would that have been better?

I glance at my phone and open up my inbox, my eyes pausing on the dozens of unopened messages from Hannah. Should I have tried harder to stay friends with her? I don’t want to be the reason Raven loses her sister. She’s already given up so much for both Hannah and me, and I don’t understand how Hannah doesn’t see that. The fact that Raven found a hint of happiness despite the choice Hannah made doesn’t invalidate her sacrifice.

I grab the cupcake I had flown in from Paris and place it on the counter with a smile on my face. Raven walks in moments later, her hair wet and a silk robe loosely tied around her. I wonder if she’ll ever cease to mesmerize me. Will I ever be able to watch her walk into a room without my entire damn body reacting?

“Come here.” I hold my hand out, and she takes it, her fingers curling around mine.

“You didn’t eat today, did you?”

She shakes her head.

“How much did you work out today?”

“About three hours in total.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her on top of the kitchen counter. “Baby,” I whisper. “You can’t keep doing this. It isn’t healthy, and I can’t stand seeing you this way. You’re starving and overworking yourself. What for?”

She shakes her head and cups my cheek, her eyes on mine. “I know,” she murmurs. “I have contracts I don’t want to walk away from, Ares, because all of these companies are also my peers when it comes to running my own fashion line.”

I drop my forehead to her chest and sigh. If I beg her to stop, would she? Do I even have the right to ask something like that of her?

She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her chin on top of my head. “I’m going to quit modeling soon,” she says, and I look up sharply. She smiles at me and buries a hand in my hair. “I worked as hard as I did because it’s all I had. I used it as an escape, Ares, but I no longer need to. My life is no longer empty, and I no longer crave the validation my career used to give me. I’m going to shift my focus and go all-in with my fashion line. I think I might also want to take an interest in Windsor Media, if that’s okay?”