Dumped My Cheating Husband, Married a s*x God

Chapter 11

"Yes!" I replied, still giddy. "Ana Lee is a genius," I continued, my voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. I set the gown down carefully on the couch, smoothing out the skirt with reverent hands as I folded it. "Her designs are unlike anything else in the industry right now. She's one of the few designers who truly understands restraint—how to make something luxurious without making it gaudy."

Adrian watched me, his dark eyes tracking my every movement, his expression unreadable but not dismissive.

"Most designers these days think more is better," I continued, warming to my subject. I gestured with my hands, the way I always did when I talked about design. "They pile on diamonds, make everything oversized, shout for attention. But Ana Lee? She whispers. She uses tiny pearls, microscopic diamonds, settings so delicate you can barely see the metal holding them together. And somehow, that makes the pieces even more breathtaking. More valuable."

"I saw her latest collection in Milan two years ago," I said, my voice softer now, almost reverent. "She had this one piece—a choker made of black pearls so small they looked like drops of ink on silk thread. I stood in front of that display case for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, Adrian, and I didn't move. I couldn't. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

I turned back to him, my eyes bright, my hands clasped together in front of me like a child talking about Christmas morning.

"And this new piece, the one being auctioned? The diamonds embedded in tiny holes around the chain, with pearls placed between each design? It's revolutionary. No one is doing work like this. No one. I have to have it. I have to."

Adrian nodded slowly, one hand resting on his thigh, his thumb tapping a slow rhythm against the fabric of his trousers. "When is the auction?"

"Three days," I said as I picked up the folded gown, carefully wrapping it back in its tissue paper with the same care I would have given to one of my own designs. "In Milan. I'll probably spend a few days there after, see more of their designs there, and hopefully have a discussion with Ana."

I secured the tissue around the gown and placed it gently back in its bag, then turned to Adrian with a genuine smile. "Thank you, by the way. For this. It's the most wonderful gift anyone's given me in a long time."

The words came out before I could stop them, and I felt a flicker of embarrassment. I wasn't supposed to be this open, this vulnerable. I was supposed to be guarded, careful, protecting myself from another man who could hurt me. But this whole thing isn't real either way, I just have to do my part and rake in the benefits. So, nothing to lose.

I nodded my head firmly. Yes. Just remember this is strictly business... with a touch of fun.

"We should make it our honeymoon," he said, breaking my internal monologue.

I blinked. "What?"

"The trip to Italy," he said, his voice calm, matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing a business merger and not a honeymoon. "We should make it our honeymoon."

I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "We?" I gestured between us.

He nodded

I laughed "Adrian, there's no need for that. Our marriage isn't even—"

"Isn't even what?" he asked, his tone still mild, but there was something sharp beneath it. Something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"It isn't..." I faltered, my mind scrambling. "I mean, we only got married for the cooperation. It's not a real marriage. There's no need to pretend it is."

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake.

Adrian leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving mine. "What exactly do you mean by 'real marriage,' Selena?"

My throat went dry. "I just meant—"

"Explain it to me," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a lower register, smooth and dangerous like velvet wrapped around steel. "Explain to me how exactly our marriage is fake. Because from where I'm sitting, we signed legal documents. We said vows. We're living together. We sleep together." His eyes darkened, and I felt heat pool in my stomach despite myself. "Very thoroughly, I might add. So tell me—which part of that is fake?

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

The cooperation. The ten-year deal. The investment that would save my company and catapult it into the top tier of the industry. That was why we were married. That was the only reason. Wasn't it?

But I couldn't say that. I couldn't remind him of the contract, of the business arrangement, because something in his gaze told me that would be the wrong answer. The very wrong answer.

"I..." I started, then stopped. My mind raced, searching for something safe to say, something that wouldn't make this situation worse. "I just meant that we didn't... we didn't plan it. We didn't date. We didn't fall in love. We just... happened."

"We just happened," he repeated, and for a moment I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or considering my words. Then he leaned back, the sharpness in his expression softening into something else—something I couldn't quite name. "Then we'll happen some more. In Italy. As husband and wife."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A decision already made.

I should have argued. I should have insisted that this was unnecessary, that we were complicating things, that a business arrangement didn't need romantic gestures and honeymoons. But the words died in my throat, because there's no way I'm going to risk offending this Buddha.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Italy. Honeymoon."

He smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes and transformed his face from intimidating to devastatingly handsome. "Good."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken promises and things I wasn't ready to examine. I busied myself with the shopping bags again, pulling out the remaining clothes to avoid looking at him. There were work outfits—tailored blazers in charcoal and navy, silk blouses in cream and ivory, pencil skirts that fit like a second skin. Everything was my size, perfectly chosen, impossibly expensive.

"Your assistant has good taste," I said, holding up a cream blouse with pearl buttons.

"She's been with me for five years," Adrian said. "She knows what I like."

The implication in his words made my cheeks flush, and I quickly moved on to the next bag. More shoes—heels in varying heights, all in neutral colors that would match everything. A clutch in soft gold leather. Undergarments that made the transparent camisoles look modest by comparison.

"Before we leave for Italy," Adrian said, his voice cutting through my inventory, "there's something we need to do."

I looked up, a pair of strappy heels dangling from my fingers. "What?"

"You need to meet my family."

I froze.