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.

off,

with a knowing

couldn’t keep the

comfortable. Would you like a drink

the morning.” I pointed

“And? We’re on vacation.”

elements,” I corrected. “And I’ll have coffee,

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

said, raising

I echoed, clinking

was essentially a full–sized bed. Alexander spent part of the flight on his laptop, earning pointed looks from me regarding our upcoming challenge, but he just winked and continued

our descent into London Heathrow,” the captain’s voice announced over the intercom. “Local time is 7:42 AM. Weather is

and suburbs giving way to the sprawling city below. Morning sunlight filtered weakly through heavy clouds, giving everything a

a movie set,”

leaned over to look out my window. “Wait

for us on the tarmac. The driver, a distinguished older gentleman named

Hotel,

then turned to me. “Ready to experience

Red double–decker buses, black cabs, ancient buildings alongside modern skyscrapers, and crowds of people going about their morning commute.

excitedly. “That’s the London Eye! And is that

my enthusiasm with amusement. “Elizabeth Tower, technically.

been reading tourist

may have done some research,” he admitted. “Since I’m apparently

a stunning building alongside

uniformed hotel staff appeared almost instantly to open

lobby was breathtaking, an elegant blend of Edwardian and Art Deco design. Marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and fresh flower arrangements created an atmosphere

to The Savoy,” the front desk manager greeted us.