CHAPTER 9

​ALEX'S POV

The heavy oak front door of the villa clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing through the grand marble foyer. I stood there for a fraction of a second, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored shirt, before tossing my car keys onto the gold console table. The meeting with the European shipping executives had been a grueling exercise in corporate bureaucracy, but the moment I stepped back onto the estate, the tension in my shoulders began to ease.

"Welcome back, Monsieur Ray," Monique's formal voice broke the silence. She stepped out from the corridor leading to the kitchens, a silver tray tucked under her arm. Her expression was a fraction tighter than usual.

"Monique," I acknowledged, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt. "Is Ruby upstairs?"

"Madame Ray is currently in her chambers, sir. She changed a short while ago," Monique replied, her voice dropping into a low, guarded tone. She glanced toward the grand staircase before leaning in slightly. "I believe you should know, sir... you had a visitor while you were away. A Miss Victoria Davenport."

My hand froze against my collar. My eyes narrowed, a cold, sharp flash of irritation slicing through my chest. "Victoria? What the hell is she doing in France?"

"She claimed she was in the Riviera for the holiday weekend with friends, sir. She stayed for a glass of wine with Madame Ray. They spoke in the grand sitting room for some time before Miss Davenport departed." Monique kept her face perfectly blank, but the underlying warning in her tone was clear. Victoria hadn't come to deliver warm wishes.

"Did she say anything to my wife?" I demanded, my voice dropping into a deadly low growl.

"I was not present for the entirety of the conversation, sir, but Miss Davenport was... her usual self," Monique stated carefully.

A dark surge of possessive anger flared in my gut. Victoria was a shark from the upper crust of Manhattan society—a girl who thrived on social warfare.

"Thank you, Monique. That will be all."

I turned toward the grand staircase, my jaw clenched, ready to head up to the east wing. But before my foot could even touch the first marble step, the soft, rhythmic clicking of slides caught my attention.

I looked up, and the breath was instantly knocked clean out of my lungs.

Ruby was descending the stairs, and she didn't look like a girl who had just been cornered by a high-society bully. She looked like an absolute goddess. She had changed into that ribbed, knit midi dress in a rich, warm burnt-orange hue that made her vibrant ginger hair look like literal fire. The fabric clung to every soft, elegant curve of her body flawlessly, the halter neckline leaving her smooth, creamy shoulders completely bare to the warm afternoon air. Her copper hair cascaded down past her shoulders in loose, damp waves, the front pieces pinned back elegantly with two tortoise-shell claw clips. Her face was completely bare, her lips slicked with a hint of balm, and her gaze was sharp, bright, and completely unbothered.

She wasn't hiding behind a mask of fake confidence. She was a diva through and through. If Victoria had tried to shake her, she had failed miserably; Ruby carried herself with the regal grace of a woman who owned the entire world.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Ruby purred, a flawless, knowing smirk playing on her lips as she hit the bottom landing. "Two hours on the dot. I was almost convinced a billionaire's time ran on a completely different clock."

I forced my jaw to relax, my eyes sweeping over her, searching for any sign of distress. There was none. She was perfectly composed. Since she was choosing to keep Victoria's little ambush to herself, I decided to play along. If my wife wanted to act like nothing had happened, I would follow her lead and keep my cards close to my chest.

"I told you I'd be back," I murmured, my voice a little lower, thicker than I intended. I stepped into her personal space, the scent of her—sweet vanilla mixed with the fresh ocean air—instantly wiping out the last remnants of my corporate stress. "And as we agreed before I left, we have a coastal path to walk. Are you ready, Mrs. Ray?"

Ruby tilted her head, her green eyes flashing with that witty, competitive spark I was quickly becoming addicted to. "Always ready, Alexander. Try to keep up."

We stepped through the heavy glass doors of the terrace, leaving the grand stone walls of the villa behind. The golden hour was in full swing, painting the sky in breathtaking shades of deep orange, pink, and bruised purple. The path was a narrow, hidden gem—a winding trail of weathered, uneven cobblestones that cut through sprawling bushes of wild rosemary and hugged the very lip of the high cliffs. Below us, the Mediterranean Sea was a massive expanse of shimmering liquid gold.

I walked right beside her, having ditched my formal jacket for a heavy, tailored charcoal cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up to my forearms.

Ruby was looking out at the water, her posture regal, the sea breeze catching a few loose strands of her copper hair and blowing them across her cheek. She was entirely in her element, navigating the path with an effortless air, until her flat leather slide suddenly caught on a sharp, jagged piece of uneven cobblestone.

"Ah—" a sharp gasp escaped her lips as her balance shifted dangerously toward the steep incline of the cliff side.

My instincts took over before my brain could even register the movement. My hand shot out with lightning speed, my large palm wrapping firmly around her soft, bare waist. With a single, fluid pull, I anchored her flush against my hard chest, steadying her easily against my frame.

Her hands instantly planted against my broad shoulders for balance. She looked up, her green eyes wide and breathless, her lips parted slightly as she stared at me. We were standing so close I could feel the rapid, frantic flutter of her pulse directly against my palm. The sheer, unadulterated heat between our bodies turned the air completely suffocating.

Slowly, ensuring she completely had her footing, I didn't let go. Instead, my hand slid down the soft, ribbed fabric of her dress, tracing the curve of her hip with a deliberate, agonizing slowness that sent a visible shiver through her shoulders. My fingers found hers, sliding between them, lacing our hands together tightly. My palm was burning hot against her cool skin.

Ruby looked down at our joined fingers, her cheeks flushing a beautiful, brilliant shade of crimson, though her witty diva charm didn't waver for a second.

"Alexander..." she whispered, her voice laced with a sweet, dangerous hesitation. "What exactly are you doing?"

"The path is uneven," I replied smoothly, my voice thicker, dropping into a low register as my thumb unconsciously brushed a slow, intoxicating circle against the back of her hand. I forced my gaze forward, steering us back along the trail, but my grip on her hand was unyielding, locking her securely to my side. "It's just so you don't fall, Ruby. It would look terrible for my reputation if my wife bruised her knee on week 1 of our honeymoon."

A soft, breathless laugh escaped her lips, but she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she squeezed back, her small fingers locking tighter around mine. "Right. Your reputation. Heaven forbid the great Alexander Ray looks unprotective of his asset."

We walked in a comfortable, charged silence until we reached the very edge of the cliff—a secluded, ancient stone overlook that projected out over the crashing waves below. By the time we stopped, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a deep, twilight blue sky. The temperature plummeted instantly, and a sharp, chilly sea breeze swept over the stone, making Ruby's bare shoulders tense as she instinctively rubbed her arms with her free hand.

Without a word, I let go of her hand—the sudden loss of her touch making my skin instantly ache. I reached up and smoothly pulled my heavy cashmere sweater over my head, leaving myself in just a dark grey fitted t-shirt that clung to my chest.

Before she could even utter a word of protest, I stepped directly behind her, enveloping her in my shadow. I draped the large, warm sweater over her bare shoulders.

Ruby froze. The sweater completely swallowed her frame, the sleeves dangling past her manicured hands, but the residual heat from my body instantly transferred to her. She buried her chin into the high collar, inhaling deeply. I knew exactly what she was smelling—my cologne, cedarwood, and the distinct scent of my skin.

I stepped even closer, my chest nearly brushing against her back, shielding her completely from the harsh wind. I rested my hands on the cold stone railing on either side of her, effectively trapping her within my personal space.

"Alex," she murmured, turning her head slightly to look up at me over her shoulder, her green eyes dark and intensely focused in the dim twilight. "You're going to freeze."

"I don't freeze, Ruby," I whispered, leaning down so my breath brushed the shell of her ear. "Better?"

"Much better," she breathed, a small, breathless smirk playing on her lips as she tilted her face up just a fraction more, completely unphased by how close we were. "Careful, billionaire. If you look at me like that for any longer, I might start thinking you actually like me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Mrs. Ray," I murmured, a slow, fond smile tugging at my lips as we both turned to look out at the twinkling lights of Nice across the water. "So, since we're playing the part of the perfect couple, we should probably learn some basic facts about each other. For instance, what's something I absolutely need to know to survive eating dinner with you?"

Ruby laughed, the sound bright and musical against the wind. "Okay, fine. First rule of survival: I absolutely hate fish. If it swims in the ocean, keep it completely away from my plate. I can't stand the texture."

I arched an eyebrow, genuinely amused. "You hate fish? We are currently on the French Riviera, surrounded by the Mediterranean, and my wife hates seafood. Brilliant."

"Hey, don't judge me!" she shot back, nudging her shoulder playfully against my chest. "What about you? What's your deep, dark secret, Mr. High-and-Mighty?"

"I don't like swimming," I admitted dryly.

Ruby completely stopped, turning her body within the loop of my arms to stare at me in absolute disbelief. "Wait... shut up. You own a multi-million dollar luxury villa on the coast of France, with a private infinity pool, and you don't like swimming?!"

"I can swim," I corrected, a bit defensive. "I just don't like it. It's inefficient. I prefer the gym."

"Inefficient!" she gasped dramatically, throwing her hands up inside the oversized sleeves of my sweater. "You are such an uptight corporate robot! Swimming is therapeutic, Alex! It's peaceful."

"I find peace in other things," I said, my gaze softening as I looked down at her, the playful bantering pulling us closer than we had ever been. "Like reading. I already know you're a bookworm, Ruby."

Ruby's eyes lit up instantly, her inner literary critic emerging. "Oh, so the billionaire remembers? Please don't tell me your reading list is just boring finance textbooks and business biographies."

"Actually," I leaned in a fraction of an inch, a teasing glint in my eyes, "I prefer classic literature. Russian realism, psychological thrillers. Dostoyevsky, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I like substance."

"Substance?!" Ruby mocked, completely offended. "Are you implying my romance novels don't have substance? Excuse you, but enemies-to-lovers tropes require intense psychological maneuvering! The angst! The tension! It's art, Alexander. Your little Russian thrillers have nothing on a slow-burn romance."

"Angst and tension?" I stepped even closer, my voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made her breath hitch. I looked down at her, our chests almost touching, the heavy, magnetic pull between us making it impossible to look away. "Why read about tension when you can just experience it?"

Ruby's breath caught, her green eyes widening as she felt the absolute shift in the air. For a second, neither of us spoke. The teasing was gone, replaced by a thick, heavy silence where the boundary of our contract seemed to blur entirely.

To save herself from completely melting right there on the cliffside, Ruby let out a loud, dramatic sigh and turned back toward the path, wrapping my warm sweater tighter around her body as she started walking back toward the villa with a playful swing in her step.

"Okay, okay, you win the tension award," she laughed, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "But seriously, we need a break from all this high-society seriousness. Tomorrow is Sunday, which means we have absolutely nothing official to do tonight."

I walked beside her, my hands shoved into my pockets, thoroughly amused by her sudden burst of energy. "And what exactly do you propose we do with our free Saturday night, Mrs. Ray?"

She spun around backward on the path, smiling brightly at me. "We are going to go inside, get comfortable, and binge-watch Prison Break all night."

I blinked, a genuine look of confusion crossing my features. "Prison... what?"

Ruby froze dead in her tracks. The wind practically stopped blowing. She stared at me in absolute, unadulterated horror, her hands flying to her cheeks in pure, dramatic agony.

"Alexander Ray," she gasped, her voice dripping with theatrical shock. "Please tell me you did not just ask me what Prison Break is."

"It sounds like a documentary about correctional facilities," I replied evenly, completely serious.

"A documentary?!" she shrieked playfully, running up to me and grabbing my arm with an infectious laugh. "Oh my god, you poor, deprived corporate soul! Michael Scofield? Lincoln Burrows? The tattoos? The genius jailbreak plans?! It is literally one of the most iconic, suspenseful shows in television history! How have you lived thirty years on this earth and never watched it?!"

I looked down at her hand on my arm, a soft, incredibly warm smile spreading across my lips—a smile I had never worn in front of anyone else. It was entirely real.

"I take it you want me to watch it with you," I murmured softly.

"Want you to? It is now my civic duty as your contractual wife to educate you," she declared, pulling me along the path toward the bright, welcoming lights of the villa. "We are ordering junk food—even if your private chef hates me for it—and we are sitting on that couch until Michael Scofield breaks out of Fox River. No excuses, billionaire!"

I let out a low, genuine chuckle, allowing her to drag me along. "Fine. Lead the way, Ruby. Let's see if your television taste has as much 'substance' as your books."