Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)
Undeniably Married: Chapter 20

I stayed in with Tinsley and Stone to watch the game and the post-game conference on TV. That part was fine. Fun even. We ordered pizza, which I haven’t been eating since Mason eats super healthy during the season and had margaritas with it. I’ve loved living next door to Tinsley and Stone. Stone and I have grown closer as cousins and Tinsley and I have become good friends even though she’s about ten years younger than I am. She leaves this week to go on location to film a movie and will be gone for about two months. I’ll miss her, but Stone is next level with it, so I didn’t linger.

I came back next door and got ready for bed. I was tempted to call Serena, but it was the middle of the night in Paris, and I didn’t want to wake her. Instead, I waited.

And waited.

I wanted to see Mason before I went to bed. I’ve been avoiding him all week, and it’s been weighing on me. The necklace, the jersey, and all those kisses, especially in public, threw me. I wasn’t sure about his motive for doing it other than it felt a bit like a dig at Brody, who Mason knew was going to see the pictures. It was a publicity stunt.

One I didn’t especially appreciate.

It didn’t feel like he did it for me or even for himself necessarily.

Except on that field, I found myself wishing it weren’t just for show. That he meant it, and it was real. With that, I needed distance. I still look forward to seeing him, and I make sure I at least get a hey, how was your day before I go to sleep.

Only he didn’t come home.

At first, I was worried and debated calling him, but I stopped myself. If there was an issue, I’d hear about it. I’d get a call or Stone would and he’d come and tell me. That’s how these things work when you’re a celebrity. Bad news travels fast. Obviously.

And the young, beautiful female reporter he was photographed with at that charity thing a couple of weeks back was at the post-game conference with him. I know because she asked him a question, to which he smiled and answered. He hadn’t smiled at any of the other reporters. Not the way he smiled at her.

I put on HGTV and sat there feeling sick and jealous and fucking mad.

He broke his rule by going home with her since I knew that must have been where he was. His rule. That one wasn’t even mine. Then I started to question if that photograph of the two of them together, the one the reporter mentioned to me when he snuck into the ER to talk to me, was showing something and Mason lied to me about it.

He could have fucked her in a random bathroom or in a limo for all I know and then come home to me. Hell, Brody did it all the time, and I had no clue. I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter. That our marriage isn’t real. That there is nothing more between us and that I should go to bed.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t force myself to get up and walk down the hall to my bedroom.

I wanted to leave. I hated being in his house with his ring on my finger. I had even slept in that damn jersey for half the week. Feeling stupid and ridiculous, I decided I no longer cared about the press or how things looked to the public. We were going to talk about annulments, and I was moving out at first light.

The worst part? My heart hurt. It was more than my pride or even my jealousy.

It shocked me how much I was hurting. I would have thought after Brody and Eloise, nothing could ever get to me again, but there I was, sitting on Mason’s couch, struggling to hold back tears and fighting pain with every breath.

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, there he was. Only it wasn’t midnight. It was six thirty in the morning, and he had a jaw lined in stubble and last night’s clothes on his back. It felt like someone had rooted into my chest, dug out my heart, and set it on fire. It was done. Cooked. Charred beyond recognition. It was the final straw because at that moment, I realized somewhere along the way, feelings for Mason hadn’t just crept up, they’d poured a foundation and built a home just for him.

I was shocked too because it hurt worse than finding out Brody was messing around on me with Eloise, and how on earth could that make sense? Brody was my fiancé. We had been in a relationship for over two years. Mason and I had a two-day Vegas fling. I mean, I realize we were friends before that, but still, it made no sense until I realized I broke my cardinal rule.

I trusted him. Or had before that. The pain I felt at him being out all night was more than just the cherry on top of a lot of emotional hell. I had feelings for him. Real feelings.

And I hated it.

It made me just as furious as Mason looking the way he did.

Until I stormed off, and he blew up my world.

Did he mean it? Or was he just saying that?

The fact that my trust is so shaky tells me I’m in no place to be with him or anyone else right now. I need to get out. I need to get away from him and this fake marriage and everything that comes with it. How can I even trust that the feelings I have for him are real and not a byproduct of everything else?

What I need is space, distance, and time.

That thought propels me through the day, coupled with waves of nausea and chest flutters. I have to talk to Mason. This all has to stop.

After my shift in the family medicine clinic, I take a shower and slip into the gown I brought with me. Hair, makeup, and heels after that, and by the time I walk out of the women’s locker room, I look like a Fritz ready for the ball.

Or gala in this case since we have about three or four of these a year, not including Stone’s charity. I have my check ready in my purse and slip into the limo that’s waiting out front. Keegan, Katy, Bennett, Katy’s husband, who works as a trauma surgeon along with her, my aunt Rina, my uncle Carter, and aunt Grace, who are Owen and Wren’s parents, are already here. Evidently, I’m the last to arrive.

It’s a car full of doctors and a nurse, so naturally we talk about our patients as we make our way across town to the Four Seasons, where tonight’s event is being held. I contribute to the conversation as best I can but quickly fall into a lot of smiles and head nods as my mind spirals through seeing Mason after our morning blowout and what I’m going to say to him.

The limo pulls up front, and we’re helped out. My gown is a soft pink chiffon with a sweetheart neck and a low-cut back. The dress rustles as I walk and feels cool against my skin, or perhaps that’s simply the cold sweat I’m breaking into. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just Mason. It was just a fight. It’s just a conversation.

Katy, Bennett, Keegan, and I head over to one of the bars in the event space, and I order myself a glass of champagne. I want something strong, but I also want to keep my wits about me. Just as I turn to head to one of the gaming tables since tonight’s theme is Vegas—I shit you not, and the irony isn’t lost on anyone, especially me—I spot Mason through the crowd. He’s facing me as if he saw me before I spotted him. His eyes drag down my gown and over every inch of visible skin.

I gulp and my pulse spikes.

He’s sinfully gorgeous in his black tuxedo, looking tall and formidable with his broad shoulders and simple, black bowtie twisted at his neck. He has a light pink handkerchief folded expertly and tucked into his breast pocket. Somehow, he must have known what color gown I was planning to wear because it matches almost perfectly. A sliver of an expensive watch peeks out as his hand comes up to brush back some of his styled reddish-brown hair.

Without hesitation, he walks toward me, and I swallow my nerves and meet him halfway. With a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, he leans in and kisses my cheek. The scent of his delicious cologne and the heat of his large body hits me just right—or wrong—and I hold my breath until it subsides.

“You look beautiful,” he says simply. And since he’s never one to miss an opportunity, he captures my wrist, pulls me in, and kisses my lips. He lingers for a moment, but when he pulls back, his gaze is sharp and intense on mine. Even when he casually asks, “How was your shift?”

“Mason, what are you⁠—”

He pivots right in front of me. “We need to talk.”

Only a man with silver hair, an expensive tuxedo, and an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth intercepts us. “Mason!” he exclaims. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Mr. Limpcock, how nice to see you.”

Limpcock? For real?

Mason turns to me with that glint in his eyes. “Have you met my wife, Dr. Sorel Fritz-Reyes? Sorel, this is Dick Limpcock, the new owner of the Rebels. He’s been with us for about three years now.”

My wife. I swear, he does that just to mess with me. He knows I both love and hate it. Thankfully I’m stuck on how Mason can call this man Dick Limpcock with a straight face when, like a child, I want to giggle.

The man appraises me. “I haven’t, but I did see the press on you two. It’s nice to see you together and to finally meet you, Dr. Fritz-Reyes.” He extends his hand, his sausage fingers gripping me firmly.

“It’s very nice to meet you as well.”

The two of them start talking football, and I try to extricate my arm from Mason’s grip so I can make an excuse and retreat. Only Mason isn’t having it. He’s holding on tight while keeping me close. It’s not for show. It’s his way of saying I’m not going anywhere until we’ve talked.

Finally, Dick Limpcock excuses himself, and Mason is once again all business. The hand on my wrist pulls me along, and I quickly glance back over my shoulder, though no one is paying much attention to us. That is until we practically slam right into my parents.

“There you are,” my mother says with a warm smile. I look a lot like my mother. Same hair and eyes, but she’s always had a lightness to her that I’ve never quite been able to master. “We were hoping we’d get to see you here.” She leans in and kisses my cheek, and my father follows.

“Dr. and Mrs. Fritz. It’s so nice to see you again.” Mason shakes both of their hands while still holding onto me. Something my father doesn’t miss as his gaze drops to where Mason’s hand is holding my wrist.

“I suppose you’re technically my son-in-law,” my mother teases, but with that, she gives him a hug and I can hear her whispering something directly into his ear, though I can’t make out what it is.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a charming smile when she pulls back. “I fully intend to.”

“Good!” She’s smiling too, but my always overprotective father isn’t having it.

“Yes, Mason. It’s nice to see you,” he says smoothly. “But you don’t mind if we have a moment alone with our daughter, do you?” It’s not exactly a question, but Mason handles it with tact.

“Of course not.” He releases me and steps away, though I can tell he’s not pleased about it. Only before he retreats completely, he comes back into my ear and whispers, “Later.” One word with a million possibilities and outcomes.

“Are you all right?” my dad asks once Mason walks away.

“I’m fine.” I smile, blowing it off with another sip of champagne. “We had a fight this morning is all.”

My mother searches my face. “But you’re not together. Are you?”

“No. We’re not. What did you say to him?”

“I told him that he better take good care of my daughter if he wanted to keep her.”

“Mom! You did not.”

She gives me a dismissive eye roll and tsk of her tongue. “Sorel, that man has been searching this ballroom for you since the moment he walked in, and when he saw you, well…” She fans her face. “All I can say is that boy has it bad for you.”

“That’s…” Only words suddenly fail me as what he said this morning rings loudly through my ears. Christ, when will you open your eyes and see what’s right in front of you? I didn’t fuck anyone last night. Truth be told, I haven’t fucked anyone else since you walked into my life. I want you, Sorel. I slept at Vander’s because it’s been killing me to come home night after night with you here and know that I can’t touch you or be with you. This last week since I put my number around your neck and kissed you on the field, you’ve erected a wall to keep yourself safe from me. When will you realize there is no one your heart is safer with than me because no one will ever take better care of it than I will?

I shake my head to clear it away.

“I hate to admit it, but it’s true,” my father agrees. “Just make sure he’s the right guy instead of just a guy jumping in at the right time.”

“I don’t want to talk about Mason or anything that’s happening in my life. How’s the start of the school year going?” I ask my mom, who is a middle school teacher, even though I’m not fooling her for a second. Thankfully, she indulges me. Once upon a time, she was my older sister Stella’s teacher and neighbor before she got together with my dad.

The night continues through the cocktail hour, and I spot Mason here and there, his gaze almost always on mine or quick to seek me out as if he were scanning the crowd for me. There’s a lot on his mind, and after my second glass of champagne, I not only need to use the restroom but could use a breather from his relentless stare.

Shortly before we’re about to sit for dinner, I walk out of the ballroom, through the foyer, and down the hallway toward the grand staircase that leads to the first floor. There are smaller event and conference rooms on my left, and right and just as I reach the edge of the foyer, a hand grabs my wrist and yanks me straight into one.

The room is dark and cool with the air conditioner blasting. There are three rows of tables and chairs, but my vision is obscured by the man breathing heavily in front of me.

“People will wonder where we are,” I tell him, but he crowds me, not giving me any room to move.

“I don’t give a shit. You and I have to talk.” His hand meets the bare skin of my back before it trails down to the space just above my ass and loops around to my hip, where he holds me close. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Mason…” I sigh. “This isn’t the time or place. Not now.”

“Yes, here, and yes now. I can’t…” He breathes out a torrent of air, his sweet breath tickling my lips as his forehead falls to mine. “I can’t take this anymore. I wasn’t with another woman last night. I haven’t been with another woman in so long I can’t even remember the last time.”

I try to push him back, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, his arms wrap around me, holding me against him, refusing to let me go and forcing me to hear him.

“Quit pushing me away,” he growls. “Both literally and figuratively. I’m fucking sick of it. I…” He pauses. Hesitates. And blurts out, “I am crazy about you, Sorel. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard to be the guy you need. I’ve tried to be your friend. I’ve tried to give you space. I’ve tried to build your trust. But no matter what I do, you push me away, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m drowning without you, and all I want is for you to throw me a life raft and tell me there’s a chance. I’m not looking for more than that, and I’ll take it as slow as you need, but please.” His lips sear down on mine. “Please,” he mumbles against them, drawing me in until our bodies are flush. “Please.” His teeth capture my lip.

My instinct is to flee, and I attempt to by planting my hands on his chest over his heart and push. Except I can feel the burning heat of him and how his heart is racing like I’ve never felt it before. I fight to get the words I had served up in my head out for him to volley with, but nothing comes, and he doesn’t give me the choice. He’s got me caged in with his lips crushing mine, punishing and unforgivingly fierce.

“Kiss me back,” he whispers urgently, and I shake my head, fighting this. “You’re scared. I know you’re scared. I understand why. But you’ve turned me inside out,” he rasps. “I’m in this. I’ve been in this from the start. I’ve been in this with you for a year. Christ, Sorel, how I’ve wanted you. All this time, I’ve wanted you. Since the moment I saw you, you are undeniable to me. It’s always been you.”

He slides down to the curve of my ass and with one hand, lifts me off the ground, swings us around, kicks two chairs out of the way, and sets me down on one of the conference tables. He pulls back, breathing hard. His face is barely visible in the dark room, but my eyes adjust quickly.

My chest caves as I stare at him, filled with things I can no longer say. Because I want him too. I do. It hit me last night and again this morning, but it’s hitting me like a wrecking ball now. His words fill me with more hope than I’d dared allow myself to believe.

“You mean that? No one else? It’s been me?”

He smiles, but it’s almost sad as his fingers glide across my cheek and his eyes search mine. “It’s been you. A year of you and a year of watching you with someone else. I was your friend because that’s all I had of you, but I can’t be just your friend anymore. Not with how I feel about you. Not with how I think about you constantly. I can’t take it anymore.”

My body racks with a violent shudder, and he rips off his jacket and throws it over my shoulders, immediately enveloping me in his scent and heat.

“Trust me,” he implores. “Please, Sorel. Please, baby. Trust me. I’ll never hurt you. Not ever. I’ll never betray you. You are safe with me. I swear it.”

My voice is embarrassingly unsteady as I whisper, “Okay.”

His eyes flutter before his head tilts as if the word isn’t computing. “Okay?”

It’s become our word. One of trust. One of understanding. It’s what he said to me on the plane when I told him I was going to my apartment to get my things and that I had this, and he said okay as his way of telling me he trusted me. His lips twitch and then bloom into a full smile as the memory hits him.

I nod, feeling lighter than I think I ever have. “Okay.”

Because I can keep fighting this. I can keep walking away and ignoring it. But at some point, when the dust of the last month settles, I’ll be back here with him. I know it in my heart. I’m scared. This feeling of giving in, of letting go is a tight fist around my neck squeezing the breath from me. Taking this leap is so far outside my comfort zone I’m practically having palpitations and an anxiety attack over it.

What if I get hurt again? What if he cheats? What if, despite his promises, he does betray me? How will I ever recover again if he does?

But I keep coming back to two universal truths. If not now, when? And if I don’t try, what am I potentially giving up?

In a flash, he’s on me, his hands capturing my face and his lips toppling over mine, and I’m doomed. This is it. There’s no going back now.