My heart had two settings: nothing at all or too much. Nothing in-between and the day I saw Juliette Monroe, her glare like that of a Roman army and her mind sharper than their blades, I knew I wanted all of her or nothing at all.
From a young age, my mother always praised my decisiveness. I never dabbled in things. I took everything in my hands—and either destroyed it into worthless pieces or conquered it until I won.
Being an only child, I spent most of my time with adults and learned the way people warred within their conversations. Delicate, sharpened words. So much unsaid below the surface. And once I decided I wanted her, there was no going back.
Her sable hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail, the strands thick and shiny. Hair I wanted to wrap around my fingers and see how hard I could tug.
She’d rolled her luscious lips between her teeth and bit down, the blood rushing to the surface making them turn a darker, sensual color.
She bent low in front of the bookshelves, her black skirt billowing around her thighs, flashing the delicate curve of her inner thighs—soft and strong all at once.
A thigh I wanted to kiss and suck and bite.
My cock had hardened at the sight of her, her fingers skimming the edge of the worn book binds, her other hand touching her bottom lip as she scanned the titles.
When her mouth mouthed each title, I fisted my hands beside me.
On my second day at Yale, I had found a beauty hidden between the aisles of its sacred books.
And then she stood, yanking a book out of the shelf and turned, her skirt dancing around those creamy thighs.
When I attended the first UN model debate on campus the next night, I was shocked to see the brunette standing right in front of me.
The way she spoke—lecturing me, challenging me—made my cock harden to an unbearable degree. I gripped the stand, my knuckles turning white, holding myself back from grabbing her.
Each time she spoke—I fought back and the spark in her eyes was a high that I became addicted to.
Tucked away in our dorm’s library, the secret society I joined along with James, Gabe, and Arsen, ruled the campus. The power shifted as we were let inside the society. How the three boys who already held so much wealth and political power from their boarding school days and being in the public eye thrust them beyond the upper years.
Soon, the four of us were the ones who led the lions.
As a pastime, the boys liked claiming the girls they were interested in.
I didn’t waste a moment. I claimed Juliette as my territory and I knew if she ever discovered that I had, she’d cut my balls off and mail them to me with a quote from one of her history books. The boys backed off after my claim and I continued to fight her through every single class, every single debate.
I wanted her anger, I wanted her frustration and respect.
And I had it.
All of it.
I loosened my tie as the driver pulled up to our townhouse. I had been overseas for the last five days on a business trip. I had offered for Juliette to come, but she wanted to focus on finishing her graduate program in Law.
My nails dug into my thighs at the thought of her, only talking over the phone since I had been gone. I needed her now. I needed to kiss her, worship her, and hold her. Five years had passed, we both had graduated from Yale and I had been managing my mother’s hotel business as well as talking to Gabe about running for mayor of Boston. Gabe, the man was always planning, always reaching farther out to secure all his players where he wanted them. The man who had asked me to be his future running mate when one day he would run for presidency.
“Have a good night, sir,” the driver said as he parked the car.
I nodded, grabbing my suitcase from the trunk and walking up the stone steps to our townhouse.
When I entered the front entrance, silence greeted me and the house was dark.
“Juliette?” I called, placing my suitcase down by the front door.
I shrugged out of my trench coat and laid it on the back of the white couch.
A sniffle filled the living room and I glanced to see Juliette standing in front of our granite countertop in the kitchen, a glass of red wine in front of her.
I didn’t speak as I approached her, taking her in.
She didn’t look up at me, her fingers smoothing along the shiny glass. The diamond ring on her left hand glimmered in the low lighting.
I pressed my hands onto the counter and stared at her, giving her the time to speak, the time she needed to open up to me.
She sniffled again. “We’re going to have to change everything.”
I cocked a brow. “Everything for what?”
Her eyes lifted to me—bloodshot and lashes laced with droplets. “The wedding.”
My chest tightened and I straightened, trying to understand what was going on. “We can postpone—if you’re not ready.”
I swallowed my pride, I swallowed my pain. If she needed more time, I would wait.
I would always wait for her.
I knew it had been tense between my mother and her as they talked about the wedding, but they were civil. Juliette still held anger toward my mother for lying and telling me Juliette took the money and I didn’t blame her. I doubted they would ever be close and I was completely fine with that.
Instead of relief washing over Juliette’s face, she burst into tears, a cry escaping her trembling lips.
I walked around the counter and pulled her into my arms, brushing her hair down her back. “Juliette, what’s wrong?”
She hiccupped, rubbing her face into my shirt, causing the fabric to dampen.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered and she gripped my sleeves.
My heart halted in my chest and I looked down at her. Pregnant?
“But you were on the pill,” I said back to her.
Her eyes sharpened. “Well, I guess it failed.” She shouldered her way out of my embrace and gripped the wine glass.
I glanced at her then at the glass of wine on the counter.
She glared. “I’m not drinking it. I’m just mourning.”
I smirked.
She pressed her hand to her forehead and shook her head. “I can’t be pregnant. Not now. We both have our careers and there are so many goals we have yet to achieve. We weren’t supposed to even start trying for a child for another seven years.”
“Seven years?” I asked, incredulous. “When did we discuss waiting that long?”
She threw up her hands and paced the length of the kitchen while I leaned against the counter, watching her quietly. “And the wedding—it’s in six months! I won’t be able to fit in my wedding dress. I’ll be massive and swollen and hormonal.”
“I’ll gladly carry you down the aisle if I have to,” I told her, not hiding my smile.
She paused, shooting me a glare of fury. “You’re not allowed to touch me for another seven months. You got me pregnant! On purpose!”
I laughed. “Well, I did always say I wanted to see you pregnant and barefoot in our kitchen.”
She slapped my arm. “That’s not funny!”
I caught her wrist before she went back to pacing and pulled her into my frame, wrapping my hands around her lower back.
Her hands automatically went to my chest, gripping my dress shirt in fistfuls.
My fingers trailed along the bottom of her spine and upward and she leaned into my touch, moaning.
“This is why I didn’t want you to touch me,” she gasped when my fingers reached the back of her neck, bending it so my mouth met hers. “I’m horny—because of you.”
“I’m a bastard, I know, sweetheart,” I whispered and kissed her softly, my fingers massaging her scalp delicately.
I stroked her tear-stained cheek chasing the touch with another kiss. “Don’t worry about the wedding. Don’t worry about whatever we had planned, Juliette.” My hand fell to her chest, palming just above her breast. “You’re my future. The only one that matters. You know that. And now this one,” I said, hand flat on her stomach. “Is part of that beautiful future, too and I couldn’t be happier.”
Redness filled her eyes and she broke out in a sob, kissing my face madly over and over and over and I smiled at her affection.
“I love you, I love you, I love you—you bastard,” she whispered between kisses.
“Then marry me tonight,” I muttered into her lips.
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, but I pressed a hand over.
“Listen, please.” Her mouth relaxed under my touch and I breathed out deeply. “We don’t need a big wedding, not what my mother and her socialite friends have been planning for us. We just need us. You and me.” My hand slid between us and stroked her flat stomach. “I love you now. I love you always. Marry me tonight. I’ll make an honest woman out of you before we scandalize my mother any more than we already have. Calling you Mrs. Radcliffe will make me one happy bastard.”
She laughed into my palm, tears rolling freely down her cheeks until they hit my hand.
When I let it fall, she jumped onto her tiptoes and kissed me, letting her actions speak the words between us.
Tonight, she’d become Juliette Radcliffe.
And no family name, political agenda or amount of money was worth being able to love Juliette every single day—until the day I died.