Chapter 157: Unsaid Hopes

Her chest tightened painfully.

God.

He had no idea what he was asking.

Naomi shook her head. She couldn’t allow that. She couldn’t let Dorian slowly dismantle everything she had spent years building to protect herself.

Because if she did, there would be nothing left to protect her. And then she would fall in love with him.

She already didn’t want to leave him, already hated thinking about the contract ending.

What would happen if she actually let herself love him? What would she demand then?

Forever?

He didn’t want forever.

All he wanted were six months. At least, that was what Naomi understood. Six months of getting through the media frenzy without Dorian becoming the man who divorced his fourth wife five minutes after marrying her.

Anything beyond that had never been part of the arrangement. So instead of answering him, Naomi pulled him closer and kissed him.

It was soft and heartbreaking. Simply a tangle of lips, nothing more.

Dorian felt the kiss carried an answer she hadn’t said aloud.

A boundary.

Don’t ask me for more.

When Naomi slowly pulled away, Dorian instinctively leaned after her.

His mouth almost found hers again before he stopped himself and drew back.

She was never going to let herself go.

The second anything started looking like permanence, her past stepped forward and tightened the leash.

There was no future for them because her past still held the reins. And Dorian couldn’t fight memories Naomi refused to release.

Besides, she had a whole life planned for after their divorce.

"I think we may have created a problem."

Dorian raised a brow. "What’s that?"

"Let me rephrase." Naomi grimaced. "I... may have created a problem with my presence at the forum."

"Why do you say so? Your speech changed my nickname overnight." He gave her a lazy wink. "Now I am the Husband of Service."

Naomi laughed.

The tension loosened slightly.

"Well, congratulations. You’ve been rebranded."

Naomi adjusted herself against the sofa. "The whole point of staying married was to shut the press up. When we get divorced, you’ll be under the radar again."

"It’s inevitable," he answered. "I didn’t want a divorce so soon after my third. It wasn’t a great time. Besides, my reputation also blew up because Camille made it trend."

"Oh..." Naomi said. "Oh, okay..."

I thought you would ask me to stay longer instead, but oh well.

That last part remained firmly inside her head, of course. There was absolutely no way she was going to look Dorian Heathcliffe in the face and confess that some deeply embarrassing part of her had been waiting for him to say, Maybe we don’t have to get divorced.

She had pride.

Not much where he was concerned lately, but some. And she definitely wasn’t about to throw herself at his mercy and ask whether he wanted to keep his accidental wife after the contractual expiration date.

So she smiled instead.

"Anyways, would it be alright if I ask for your help?"

"Yeah..."

"Would you get my phone from my bag, please?" She pointed toward the chair nearby where her handbag sat beside the flowers he had bought her. "I got all these messages about catering services," she said as he handed her the phone. "I don’t know if they’re jokes, or bots, or people who are going to disappear the second I respond. I don’t know anything."

She unlocked the screen. "It’s just not feeling like anything is real right now."

That part was true. Twenty-four hours ago, Naomi had been a chef with a normal amount of social media attention.

Now strangers knew her face.

Her speech was everywhere.

People were calling her Wife of the Year.

Her restaurant was suddenly packed.

And to top that, people wanted her to cater private events. Looks like all it took to grow a business was emotional vulnerability in front of cameras.

"On your Instagram?" Dorian asked.

"Yeah." She shifted closer and turned the phone toward him, scrolling through the messages.

Dorian leaned in, frowned thoughtfully as he read. "Hmmm... okay. Build a website. Direct serious clients there for a booking. Have them submit event details, number of guests, whatever you need."

"You’ve thought about this for all of twelve seconds."

"I bill by the hour babe. I learn to think fast. Anyways, schedule an appointment and go from there."

Naomi looked down at her phone again. "That would be an online appointment, right? Because I can’t have strangers walking in and out of the townhouse."

"An online appointment could work. Keep it structured so you’re not wasting time with people who aren’t serious. But if this works out," he said, "then you should think of a proper office, Naomi."

Her eyes lifted to his.

That sounded dangerously grown-up. A proper business.

"This could be great for you if you handle it wisely."

"You truly are perfect."

"Come on. You need to get into bed."

Before Naomi could argue, he stood, bent down and lifted her straight off the sofa then draped her over his shoulder.

Naomi gasped. "Ooooh nice ass!"

"You’ve officially lost your checking me out privileges for tonight, Trouble."

"Wait! My flowers! I have to—"

"I’ll do it." Dorian ignored her and headed toward the elevator while she continued ahing and sighing with every movement of his ass.

By the time they reached the master floor, Dorian had accepted his fate, even as she whined when he lowered her onto his bed.

Soon, he was pulling the covers over her.

"I shall go take care of the flowers," Dorian announced.

"Thank you."

He brushed his fingers over her cheek before leaving.

Back downstairs, Dorian put the flowers in water first before he went back into the garage. The gun was still lying where he had abandoned it after finding her unconscious.

Dorian picked it up and walked over to the Mercedes. He opened the passenger door, returned the weapon to the glove compartment and locked it.

But he didn’t get out of the car. Instead, he sat there staring through the windshield. This was one of those moments when Dorian knew, without question, that he sucked.

Because he knew.

He knew exactly why Naomi got those headaches whenever she held a gun.

A phobia would almost have been easier. But this wasn’t some random fear of firearms. The sensory activity was triggering something.

Her body remembered even if her mind didn’t. Naomi had held a gun once before. She had fired one and she had killed her father with it.

Dorian leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Honestly, Marianne’s plan sucked. Protect Naomi from the truth for as long as possible. Except the truth clearly wasn’t interested in cooperating.

Naomi would remember.

If holding a gun was already causing violent headaches strong enough to knock her unconscious, something was fighting its way back.

And when it did, Dorian had another problem. How would she feel when she found out he had known all this time?

That he knew her mother was alive and what really happened the night Raymond Bennett died. At some point, there would come a collision of truths.

Dorian had the uncomfortable feeling he would be the one standing in the middle when they did.

*****

A few days later, Dorian sat in the visiting room at Bedford Hills with Marianne across from him.

She had left a message for him at the office using her maiden name.

Very smart, actually. Fortunately for her, it had taken Dorian all of five seconds to figure it out. Maybe because he had learned everything there had to be known about the woman.

"You finally did it, huh?" Marianne started.