Chapter 121

Olivia

Alexander’s phone rang, interrupting whate

he

about to say next. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

“I need to take this,” he said, already walki

“Ward the door.

$59%

I turned back to the drawer and continued to sort through my underwear. Alexander’s voice drifted from the living room, his tone shifting from casual to commanding in an instant.

After a few minutes, he returned, looking agitated. “I have to go. There’s an emergency meeting with the board that I can’t miss.”

“Now? But we just started packing.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. Corporate bullshit waits for no man, not even on his honeymoon comedown.”

“It’s fine,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “I can handle this.”

Alexander checked his watch. “I’ll send

“I can call Emilia to help,” I sugg Ome movers tomorrow. Just focus on packing your personal items today.”

“Good idea.” He leaned down and kissed me quickly. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” I teased.

His eyes darkened. “Both. Definitely both.”

After Alexander left, I called Emilia, who arrived forty minutes later with wine and pizza.

With Emilia’s help, we did quick

on my bedroom. She was ruthless, creating a “donate” pile that grew alarmingly large.

furniture and books to my parents‘ house rather than try

Emilia said, eyeing my IKEA coffee table, “but this would look like trash next to

I laughed. “It practically

Alexander saying he was on his way home, Emilia waggled her

want to be a third

protested, my cheeks

him, I’m pretty sure you two fuck if he so much as brings

the rnove.”

a twinge of nostalgia. This had been my first

taping up the last box of

day?” he asked, loosening

to the stacks of boxes. “I’m sending some stuff to

1/3

Chapter 121

He nodded approvingly.

with the reality of my new life. By this time tomorrow,

husband.

us at the door

he said with a slight bow. “Chef has left dinner in the warming drawer

I replied, still uncomfortable with being

butler with

Packing works up

e looke

pulled out containers of what looked like gourmet pasta and some kind of

leftovers,” I

doesn’t do leftovers. He

course he does,” I rolled my eyes. “Silly

chicken and creamy pasta, our small talk about the move made time slip away, an hour passed unnoticed as the versation flowed

countertop and took my hand,

bath,” he said, his thumb tracing gentle circles across my knuckles. “You must be exhausted after all that packing and lifting boxes

eyebrow. “That’s

be thoughtful,” he said,

you want something,” I

eyes darkened. “And what if I do

the most luxurious bathtub

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