“What?”
“Why don’t you get a bigger place?”
I pulled in a breath. “I don’t need a bigger place. It’s only me.” I didn’t want anything to draw attention to my family’s money. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t who I was.
“It feels like it means more than that.”
I shrugged as I watched his body shift. I’d never had an excuse just to sit and stare at Tristan before. Obviously I’d seen him and been around him, been closer to him than this, but I’d never had the chance to stare—to notice how flawless his skin was, the two freckles on his jaw, how his eyes narrowed when he was frustrated. “My flat doesn’t define me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. But like it or not, the things that surround us reflect who we are. Do you not like being Arthur Frazer’s daughter?”
“I adore my father,” I said. “I’m proud to be his daughter.”
“Too proud to accept your parents’ help?”
I rolled onto my back to stop myself from staring at Tristan. It wasn’t doing anything good for my heart rate. “It’s not about being proud. I moved into this place because it’s just the right size for one person.” My flat was cramped, there was no doubt about that. But it suited me. “I don’t need a bigger place. A big flat or a fancy car aren’t important to me. You were right. I’m not into flash.”
Tristan didn’t say anything, but there was something in his silence that told me we weren’t through with this conversation. So I added, “Money can be a magnet for the wrong type of people.”
“What does that mean?”
I rolled back to face him. The gap between us seemed to have closed ever so slightly. His hand was placed in front of him, just as mine was, and our fingertips were just centimeters away from each other. “I don’t want people in my life who like me because my father’s rich.”
“Surely people like that are easy to spot.”
I shrugged. Maybe for some people. Looking back, there were clearly signs I missed.
“I don’t think moving to a slightly bigger flat would make much difference. A two-bed place would mean you had somewhere to store your chocolate-covered raisins.”
I grinned. “Turns out my husband has a wine cellar with lots of extra storage space.”
“So taking help from your husband is fine. But not from your father?”
He splayed his hand and the tip of his little finger touched mine. A crackle of electricity sizzled between us.
“Being Mrs. Tristan Dubrow changes things a little.”
One corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Believe me. It changes things a lot.”
Twenty-Two
Tristan
As I drifted back into consciousness, I was vaguely aware of the warmth of a body in front of me. I pulled her tighter toward me, filling my lungs with her sweet scent. Was I dreaming? Who was I holding?
Oh yes, that would be my wife.
I opened one eye and realized we were spooning in the middle of the enormous bed. I chuckled to myself. I was pretty sure that was the most chaste first night this suite had ever seen. Parker moved in my arms as she woke.
“Good morning,” I whispered.
She froze and when I tried to pull her closer to relax her, she placed her hands over mine and opened them to free herself, rolled over, and then sat upright. She looked at herself up and down, presumably to see if she was still dressed. “Is it morning?”
“The clock over there says eight fifteen and there’s light coming through the curtains, so I’m going to go with yes, it’s morning.”
She stared at me like I’d just told her we were about to embark on an ascent of Everest.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“You were spooning me,” she said.
“Apparently, I like to spoon my wife in my sleep. And given the way your arse was nestled in my crotch, I’m thinking you liked it too. Is that a problem?”
“We need to get some pillows for down the center of the bed,” she said, leaping to her feet. “I’ll call room service. Tonight should be better.” She was a little on edge for my liking. She’d woken up in my arms, not naked with my head between her legs.
I needed a shower. Preferably a cold one.
I groaned and rolled out of bed. “I’m going for a shower. There’s room in there for two if you’re up for it.”
She gave me an eye roll any seventeen-year-old girl would be proud of. I stripped off my t-shirt as I headed into the bathroom.
“You should probably wait to be in private before you change,” she called after me.
“Can’t handle it?” I asked her.
Parker had been stressed before the wedding. I wasn’t sure what was up with her. Sometimes I wondered if she just didn’t like to enjoy herself. But I was determined to enjoy myself this holiday. We were here for ten days. We might as well make the most of it.