The CEO's Contractual Wife

“Are you planning to stare at that suitcase until it packs itself?” Alexander’s amused voice broke through my packing paralysis.

I glanced up from the empty luggage sitting accusingly on our bed. “I’ve never packed for Europe before. What does one wear in London during this season?”

“Anything you want,” Alexander replied, coming to stand behind me. His hands settled on my shoulders, kneading gently. “You’ll look beautiful regardless.”

“That’s not helpful,” I sighed, leaning into his touch. “I need practical advice. Is it going to rain the entire time? Do I need boots? Jackets? Will we be going somewhere fancy? How fancy?”

“Yes to rain in London, maybe in Paris, probably not in Milan. Pack layers. And as for fancy…” His fingers trailed down my arms. “Pack that red dress I like. The one that makes your breasts look spectacular.”

“Alexander!” I elbowed him playfully. “You’re still not helping.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “We have several business dinners scheduled, so three or four formal outfits.

Comfortable shoes for sightseeing. A coat for London, something lighter for Paris and Milan. The hotels have laundry service, so don’t overpack.”

I turned to face him. “Thank you. That’s actually useful information.”

“I have my moments.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “Now hurry up. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The jet. Not a commercial flight, but Alexander’s private jet.

“You know,” I called as he headed toward the bathroom, “normal people fly coach.”

“Normal is boring,” he replied without turning around. “And I don’t do boring.”

Two hours later, we arrived at a private airfield where the sleek white jet waited on the tarmac. CARTER was emblazoned on the side in elegant silver lettering. A uniformed attendant greeted us and took our luggage while Alexander guided me up the stairs.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Carter, Mrs. Carter,” the flight attendant said with a warm smile.

The interior exuded luxury with cream leather seats, polished wood tables, and plush carpeting, resembling a high–end living room more than an aircraft.

trailed off,

supplied with a knowing

couldn’t keep the awe from my voice. “Wonderfully, extravagantly

yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink

in the morning.”

“And? We’re on vacation.”

I’ll have coffee, please. Let’s save the champagne

I settled into one of the buttery–soft leather seats. The flight attendant returned quickly with our drinks and informed us we’d be taking off

Europe,” Alexander said, raising his

clinking my

watching movies on the large screen while stretched out on what was essentially a full–sized

the intercom. “Local time is 7:42 AM. Weather is

window at the patchwork of green fields and suburbs giving way to the sprawling city below. Morning sunlight filtered

a movie set,”

my window. “Wait until

a distinguished older gentleman

Hotel, sir?” Geoffrey

thank you, Geoffrey,” Alexander replied, then turned to me. “Ready

cabs, ancient buildings alongside modern skyscrapers, and crowds of people going about their morning commute. Everything familiar yet

the London Eye! And is that

“Elizabeth Tower, technically. Big

reading tourist

some research,” he admitted. “Since

approached a stunning building alongside the Thames

uniformed hotel staff appeared almost instantly to open our

blend of Edwardian and Art Deco design. Marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and

welcome to The Savoy,” the front desk manager greeted us. “We’re delighted to