All Chapters of My Ex-husband Wanted My Money, The Billionaire Wanted Me : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

CHLOE I'd spent most of my life being told I wasn't enough.Not thin enough. Not graceful enough. Not polished in the specific, exhausting way my mother meant whenever she used the word. She had a gift for finding the one thing wrong with a room, an outfit, a dinner....and an even sharper gift for finding it in me.When I was six, it was my freckles.I remember standing in front of the bathroom mirror, cataloguing the little brown constellations across my cheeks, while my mother stood behind me like a disappointed art critic."Why do you have so many of those?""I don't know.""No one else in this family has freckles."I touched one, carefully. "I like them."She frowned like I'd said something mildly offensive. "You shouldn't."That was the whole operation, basically, for the next twenty years. Eat too much, I was getting fat. Lose weight, the women in our family were supposed to be slim. Wear something she hadn't chosen, it didn't flatter me. Talk too loud, uncouth. Talk too little

ADRIAN"You like her?" Edward said it like he was restating a fact."I like having her around.""You said you like being near her. Different sentence, my friend. Different consequences." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, enjoying himself far too much."Elias is happy when she's here.""Mm-hm.""That's all it is.""Okay.""Edward.""I said okay. I'm not even arguing. Look at me, not arguing."Through the archway, Elena was laughing at something Chloe had said, head tipped back, one hand pressed flat against her collarbone like she needed to keep the laughter from spilling out. A strand of hair had come loose from her clip and was resting against her cheek.I wanted to tuck it behind her ear.The thought arrived so plainly that my fingers actually curled, like they'd already started the motion without me. I could picture it exactly: the slow slide of that strand between my fingertips, the warmth of her skin just beneath it, the way she'd go still and look up at me. I shoved

ELENAI stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring into complete nothingness, trying to work out how a perfectly good Saturday had ended with me agreeing to share a bed with my fake husband.One bed. Two people, one of whom I had almost kissed.I pressed both palms to my cheeks. Hot. Of course they were hot.The plan: be an adult. Adults shared beds all the time. Hotel rooms with just one bed. Camping trips. Very tired people did not mind. I'd lie there like a plank of wood, Carrie and Phil would be satisfied, and I would never think about it again.Then I remembered he slept without a shirt. I'd seen proof of this exactly once, by accident, in this very kitchen. My brain, helpful as ever, replayed the footage in high definition.I put my forehead on the table."Your room's ready, Grandma!" Adrian's voice carried down the stairs, and a moment later Carrie rose from the sofa like a queen summoned to her carriage."My darling boy." She kissed his cheek, then pivoted. "Phil, come along.

ELENAThe first thing I noticed was the warmth. The second was the arm clamped around my waist like a seatbelt.I blinked at the ceiling, working out why I couldn't move. Adrian's hand lay spread across my stomach, heavy and entirely unapologetic. My back was flush against his chest, my head tucked under his chin, and one of his legs was thrown over mine as if he'd claimed me as property.Oh.I tried to lift his arm. It tightened. A low, displeased rumble vibrated against my back, sending chills down my spine."Adrian," I whispered. "I need to get up."His face pressed into the back of my neck. "Where are you going?"His voice was rough with sleep and slurred at the edges."The bathroom.""Why?""Because I have a bladder, duh."A grunt of deep dissatisfaction. "Come back soon."I bit the inside of my cheek. "Okay.""Promise?""You're not five.""Didn't ask."I lost the fight with my smile. "Fine. I promise."He loosened his arm just enough for me to slip out. The moment I stood, his h

ELENAThe first thing I noticed was the beeping, steady and patient, like a metronome counting out a song I'd slept through.The second was the ache low in my abdomen, dull now, the sulking aftermath of a tantrum.The third was Adrian Blackwood, asleep in a vinyl visitor's chair with his neck bent at an angle that would cost him a week of chiropractor appointments, and his son curled against his chest like a comma.I lay still and just looked at them.His hair, which I'd never once seen out of place, was a catastrophe. His shirt had given up somewhere around midnight, and two buttons at the collar were undone. Stubble shadowed his jaw. One big hand cupped the back of Elias's head even in sleep, as if the job didn't clock out. On the tray table beside him sat a paper cup of coffee, untouched and long gone cold, and next to it, folded into a tidy square, was the crayon drawing from his nightstand. He'd brought it here. At some point in the middle of what looked like the worst night of h