Chapter 66
Aria’s POV
I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted but strangely exhilarated after that awkward yet
somehow meaningful moment with Aiden. My phone buzzed insistently, and I groaned, fishing it out from under my pillow. Lillian had bombarded me with
messages.
[Lillian]: GIRL WHAT IS HAPPENING
[Lillian]: Are you wearing that sexy nightgown I got you for your birthday?
[Lillian]: Please tell me you’re finally comforting your hot fake husband
[Lillian]: Making baby Carters yet?
My face instantly heated to approximately the temperature of the sun. I typed back furiously:
[Me]: Seriously?! No! I just fed him some noodles and gave him candy to suck on!
The moment I hit send, I realized the catastrophic double entendre. My phone immediately exploded with laughing emojis.
[Lillian]: OH. MY. GOD.
[Lillian]: YOU DID WHAT NOW p>
[Lillian]: I didn’t think you had it in you p>
“No, no, no!” I groaned aloud, typing so fast my fingers slipped on the screen.
[Me]: INSTANT NOODLES! I COOKED HIM INSTANT NOODLES! And gave him A MANGO CANDY! An ACTUAL candy in a WRAPPER! From a STORE!
It took me a full five minutes of frantic explanations before Lillian finally stopped cackling at my expense.
[Lillian]: Fine, fine. I believe you. But why are you cooking for him and sharing your precious candy stash at midnight? Something happened.
I bit my lip, hesitating before responding:
[Me]: I saw the woman his family wants him to be with tonight. Claire Bennett. She’s like a supermodel with a PhD. Perfect for him.
[Lillian]: And this bothers you because p>
[Me]: I don’t know. Maybe I’m just… it’s complicated.
[Lillian]: It’s really not. You’re falling for him. Hard.
I stared at her message, my heart doing strange little flips in my chest.
[Me]: That wasn’t the deal. We agreed this was temporary.
[Lillian]: Honey, your heart doesn’t care about your deals and contracts.
I pressed my face into my pillow and let out a muffled scream. This wasn’t supposed
to happen. Aiden Carter was supposed to be my revenge strategy, not someone who made my pulse race when he touched my forehead.
[Me]: Fine. Let’s say hypothetically I might have some… feelings. How would one hypothetically make him see me as more than a convenient business arrangement?
[Lillian]: Easy. Sleep with him. Men are simple creatures.
[Me]: I’m ending this conversation now. Goodnight.
I tossed my phone aside and headed for the shower, rolling my eyes. As if I would ever attempt to seduce Aiden. As if I even could. The very idea was laughable.
But as the hot water cascaded over me, Lillian’s words kept replaying in my mind. Images formed unbidden – Aiden’s intense gaze when he’d examined my forehead, his fingers lingering on my skin, the way his eyes had dropped to my lips p>
I slammed the shower off and practically leapt out, wrapping a towel around myself like armor. This was ridiculous. I needed sleep. That’s all.
The dream started innocently enough. I was in the kitchen again, making noodles. But this time when I turned around, Aiden was much closer, his dark eyes burning with an intensity I’d never seen before.
“Is it good?” I asked, my voice coming out breathier than intended.
“Not yet,” he replied, taking the bowl and setting it aside. “But it will be p>
His hands found my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter.
“Aria,” he murmured against my lips, his voice a rough caress. “I want you p>
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my nightgown higher. I gasped as his fingers traced patterns on my bare skin, each touch sending electric pulses through my body.
“Tell me you want this too,” he demanded, his lips trailing fire down my neck.
“Yes,” I breathed, arching against him. “Yes, Aiden, please p>
He lifted me again, carrying me to his bedroom. The rest blurred into fragments of sensation – his weight pressing me into the mattress, the feeling of skin against skin, his mouth exploring every inch of me until I was writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
When he finally pushed inside me, I cried out his name, clinging to his broad shoulders as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak—
I jerked awake, my heart hammering against my ribs, my body flushed and uncomfortably aroused. For several disoriented seconds, I couldn’t separate dream from reality. Then, mortification crashed over me in waves.
I’d just had an explicit sex dream about Aiden. My fake husband. The man sleeping just down the hall.
Oh god.
I buried my face in my pillow, wanting to scream. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t falling for him. I couldn’t be. Our marriage was a business arrangement, nothing more.
But as dawn crept through my curtains, I knew I was lying to myself. Something had changed. Perhaps it had been changing gradually all along, and I’d been too stubborn to notice.
This marriage of convenience had become inconveniently complicated.
I needed to talk to him, to reestablish boundaries before I got in too deep.
“I’ll be away for a week,” Aiden announced over breakfast the next morning, not looking up from his tablet. “Business in Chicago p>
I nearly choked on my coffee, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. After my dream, facing him across the breakfast table was excruciating. Every time I looked at him, flashes from my dream resurfaced with vivid clarity.
“When do you leave?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice neutral.
“This afternoon p>
I nodded, pushing my scrambled eggs around my plate. “Aiden p>
He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Yes p>
“When you get back… I think we need to talk. About us. About this arrangement p>
Something flickered across his face – surprise, perhaps, or concern – before his expression settled back into its usual impassivity. “Is everything alright p>
No. Nothing was alright. I was developing genuine feelings for a man who’d agreed to marry me for a business deal.
“Yes! I mean, yes, everything’s fine. It’s just I trailed off, suddenly losing my nerve. “It can wait until you’re back p>
He studied me for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll call Lucas if you need anything while I’m gone p>
The week of Aiden’s absence passed in a blur of rehearsals. The charity concert was approaching, and I threw myself into practicing with almost desperate intensity, grateful for the distraction.
On the sixth day, I was lost in Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, my fingers flowing across the keys in the empty practice room.
The piece had always moved me – its haunting melody speaking of longing, of yearning for something just out of reach.
I was nearing the most emotional passage when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Some sixth sense told me someone watching me.
My fingers faltered, hitting a jarring wrong note as I whipped around. Aiden stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He looked travel-worn but somehow even more devastatingly handsome than when he’d left, his crisp white shirt open at the collar, suit jacket discarded somewhere. “You’re back early,” I blurted out, my heart racing like I’d been caught doing something illicit instead of just playing piano.
“The meetings concluded sooner than expected.” His eyes never left mine. “You wanted to talk p>
Suddenly, all my carefully planned words evaporated.
How exactly was I supposed to tell Aiden Carter that I might be breaking the most fundamental rule of our arrangement by falling in love with him?