Falling in Love with my Husband

Sharing a bed

The soft glow of candlelight flickered over the elegantly set table, casting warm hues against the deep blue of the ocean beyond the glass doors. The scent of freshly grilled seafood and delicate spices filled the air, but Gemma barely noticed. She stood stiffly, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the extravagant display before her.

"This is a waste of time," she muttered, turning toward Luke, who was already easing into his chair with far too much comfort.

"You need to eat," he replied smoothly, pouring a glass of wine and sliding it toward her. "And you need to breathe."

Gemma ignored the glass. "I should be looking for Gabriella, not sitting here pretending everything is fine."

Luke sighed, setting the bottle down with a soft clink. "And what, exactly, were you planning to do? Storm every locked door on this ship? Question every guest until security throws you overboard?" He leaned forward, voice lowering.

She swallowed, biting back a retort, but he didn't wait for her to argue.

"I've got updates," he continued, unfolding his napkin. "There are several interested parties involved in the black-market deal. It's bigger than we thought. But the good news? We’re not stuck here much longer. We get off at the next port."

Gemma exhaled slowly, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. "And then what?"

"Then we follow the trail." He lifted his glass. "Until then, you should enjoy the rest of the cruise. Keep up appearances. Act like we belong here."

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. "And you really think sitting here, eating lobster, is the best way to do that?"

Luke smirked, raising his glass in a silent toast. "Absolutely."

She huffed, but after a long pause, she finally pulled out her chair and sat down. The fight in her eyes remained, but so did the hunger in her stomach.

"Fine," she muttered, picking up her fork. "But I'm not drinking the wine."

Luke simply chuckled, taking a slow sip of his own. "Suit yourself."

Luke had been hoping she’d drink at least a little wine, just enough to relax her shoulders, to soften the sharp edges of her distrust. But Gemma remained rigid through the entire meal, her focus never shifting from the weight of their situation.

After dinner, he walked her through the quiet, dimly lit corridors of the ship, his pace unhurried despite the tension rolling off her in waves.

"Where's my room?" she asked abruptly as they approached the suite.

Luke didn’t falter. "This is it."

She stopped short, her brows drawing together. "No. My room."

He exhaled as if she was being difficult for no reason. "All the rooms are filled."

Gemma crossed her arms. "That’s a lie."

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Maybe."

Her eyes darkened, but he didn’t give her space to argue. He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to draw her in.

"It makes sense for you to stay here," he murmured. "People are watching us. If you suddenly insist on sleeping alone, they’ll start asking questions about this marriage of ours."

Gemma stiffened. "You expect me to believe this is just about keeping up appearances?"

Luke’s smirk deepened. "You can believe whatever you want, sweetheart."

Her pulse quickened—she hated that he could do that with just a look, with the low rumble of his voice.

"Let’s be honest, Gemma," he continued, stepping just close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. "You don’t actually want to sleep in another room."

Her breath hitched before she could stop it. She wanted to deny it, to argue, to push him away, but the truth sat between them like a dangerous promise.

Luke wasn’t just keeping up the ruse.

He wanted to make this fake marriage a real one.

Gemma exhaled slowly, arms still crossed as she glanced toward the en-suite bathroom. "Who’s showering first?"

Luke leaned against the dresser, arms folded across his broad chest. "You go ahead."

She narrowed her eyes. "And why do I feel like you have an ulterior motive?"

He smirked. "Because you’re suspicious by nature. Now go. I’ll wait."

With a sigh, she grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The hot water helped ease some of the tension in her shoulders, but her mind never stopped racing. Even as she lathered shampoo into her hair, she replayed every detail of their conversation, every hint of deception in Luke’s voice.

Once she stepped out, freshly showered and wrapped in a towel, a new problem surfaced. She had nothing to wear.

"Great," she muttered, rummaging through the few belongings she had. No sleepwear, no comfortable clothes—just clean underwear, thanks to the overly prepared saleswoman from earlier.

Before she could panic, a soft knock came from the other side of the door.

"Problem?" Luke’s voice was thick with amusement.

Gemma hesitated before admitting, "I don’t have anything to sleep in."

The door cracked open just enough for his hand to slip through, holding out a plain white T-shirt. "Here. It’ll do."

She snatched it from his grasp, ignoring the way his fingers brushed hers. "Thanks," she muttered, shutting the door again.

Slipping the oversized shirt over her head, she frowned when it barely covered her upper thighs. "Seriously?" she grumbled under her breath, tugging at the hem. The damn thing was way too short.

"Everything okay in there?" Luke called.

Gemma scowled at the door. "Fine," she bit out, taking one last glance at her reflection.

Uncomfortable, she stepped out of the bathroom and beelined straight for the bed, diving under the covers in an attempt to hide her bare legs.

A deep chuckle rumbled from Luke. "Cute."

"Shut up."

Still smirking, he grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom. Gemma relaxed for exactly two seconds before she heard the sound of running water—and realized he hadn’t shut the door all the way.

She rolled her eyes. "You’re doing that on purpose."

Luke’s voice carried over the sound of the shower. "What? Leaving the door open? Maybe."

Gemma groaned and pulled the covers higher, determined not to look. She might not trust him, but what scared her more was that she didn’t trust herself either.

After his shower, Luke stepped out of the bathroom, running a towel through his damp hair. Gemma was already curled under the blankets, facing away from him, determined to ignore him.

That resolve shattered the moment he climbed into bed wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs.

Gemma bolted upright. "What do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Luke paused mid-motion, one knee on the mattress, as if confused by the question. "Getting into bed," he said matter-of-factly.

"You can sleep on that daybed," she pointed toward the cushioned lounge chair in the corner, her face heating.

"There is no way," Luke refused, pulling the covers over his broad chest, which—much to her frustration—she couldn’t help but notice.

"Fine. I'll sleep on the daybed," she huffed, throwing off the covers and grabbing a pillow and one of the blankets.

Luke sighed. "Ugh. Fine." He got out of bed, taking the pillow and blanket from her hands before she could protest.

She blinked at him in surprise.

He smirked. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," she muttered, watching him settle onto the daybed.

But Luke had no intention of actually spending the night there. He figured he'd just wait for her to fall asleep before slipping back into the bed.

However, as the night stretched on, a soft sound reached his ears.

Crying.

His body tensed. He turned his head slightly, listening.

Gemma was curled up, her back to him, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. She was trying to be quiet, trying not to let him hear.

For a long moment, he hesitated. Should he get up and comfort her? Or should he let her be?

His jaw clenched. He didn’t like seeing her like this.

Damn it.

Without a word, he swung his legs over the side of the daybed.