Page 95 of Shattered Crown
I kissed her again. And again. I couldn't seem to stop. Every time I pulled back, I found myself leaning in once more, drawn to her like gravity, like breathing, like something I couldn't control and didn't want to.
"Oh, and Sebastian?" she murmured against my mouth.
"Yeah?"
She pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes. The candlelight caught the tears still clinging to her lashes, turning them to gold.
"I love you, too."
The words landed somewhere deep in my chest and took root there, permanent and unshakeable.
I pulled her close and held on tight, surrounded by string lights and candle flames and the scent of plumeria, and let myself believe that this was real.
That she was real.
That we were going to be okay.
EPILOGUE
XAVIER
I was in trouble.
Not the usual kind. I knew how to handle those. A sheepish grin, a promise to do better, a check from Sebastian, and life went on.
This was different.
This was the kind of trouble that made a man sit alone in his apartment at two in the morning, staring at a glass of whiskey like it held the answers to the universe.
Spoiler: it didn't.
I needed to find a wife.
A wife. Me. The guy who once faked a family emergency to escape a breakfast date. The guy whose longest relationship lasted six weeks, and three of those weeks she was in Paris. The guy who had"commitment issues"printed on a t-shirt somewhere, probably worn ironically to a party I couldn't remember.
That guy needed to find a wife.
I drained the whiskey. Poured another.
The thing was, I liked my life. I liked waking up whenever I wanted, with whomever I wanted, and answering to absolutely no one. I liked last-minute trips to Vegas and spontaneousweekends in the Hamptons. I liked flirting with beautiful women who expected nothing from me except a good time.
Simple. Easy. Uncomplicated.
Now I was supposed to find someone willing to stand next to me in a church and promise forever? Someone who'd want to wake up to this face every morning, deal with my habits, and tolerate my family?
I almost felt sorry for her already. Whoever she was.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Name after name after name. A greatest hits album of my romantic disasters. There was the model who threw a shoe at my head. The actress who sold a story about me to a tabloid. The heiress who was lovely until she started naming our future children on the second date.
Somewhere in this city, there had to be a woman crazy enough to marry me.
Or desperate enough.
Or maybe just drunk enough. I wasn't picky at this point.
I tossed the phone aside and laughed. The sound bounced off the walls of my empty apartment, and for a second, the silence that followed felt heavier than it should.
Three months. That's all I had. Three months to find a bride, or everything I'd built my life around would disappear.
Well. "Built" was generous. "Coasted through" was more accurate.
I raised my glass to the New York skyline glittering beyond my window.
Watch out, ladies. Xavier Dubois was officially on the hunt for a wife.
This was going to be a disaster.
Xavier’s story continues in Shattered Throne
