Page 104 of By His Vow

She shakes her head, an amused smile playing on her lips before she focuses back on her food.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before Kingston groans and pulls his cell from his pocket.

“Sorry,” he says. “I need to take this.”

I want to chastise him, but honestly, what’s the point? He’s going to do whatever he wants, no matter what I say.

I might like to fight with him, but I’m not sure now is the time or the place. Instead, I choose to glare at him, silently letting him know how irritating I find him.

“Okay, that’s fantastic. Yeah. Yeah. No.” He smirks, and it spikes my curiosity. “No, she won’t be requiring the contents of the top drawer of her nightstand.”

My chin drops as realization hits.

“Oh, her passport is in there. Yeah, she’ll need that. The Rampant Rabbit can stay, though.”

“Kingston,” I hiss, fury bubbling up inside me.

“Sorry, hang on a minute,” he says before lowering his cell a little and focusing on me. “Are you going to need lube, baby?”

Lori loses the fight with her amusement and barks out a laugh while I pray the floor will open up and swallow me whole.

“You’re a fucking asshole. I can’t believe I’m stuck with you of all freaking people.”

Reaching out, I snatch his cell from his hand, moving faster than he anticipates.

“No, don’t pack the lube. Kingston much prefers it when I fuck him dry. Make sure the extra-large strap-on is in the box, though. He loves that bad boy.”

Lori loses control over her laughter and all but falls off her chair as I throw Kingston’s cell onto the table and jump to my feet.

Without looking back, I march straight into the ladies’ bathroom with my chest heaving and fury coursing through my veins.

“Asshole. Fucking asshole,” I mutter to myself as I pace back and forth, attempting to calm the fuck down.

All of this…the agreement, moving, becoming a wife…it’s all just too much to take.

Shaking my arms out at my sides, I try to talk myself down.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

You’re just marrying him.

A year.

It’s nothing.

Twelve little months.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

It’ll fly by.

Before I know it, it’ll be this time next year and I’ll nearly be free.

I could be planning my new life in England.

I could?—