8.Chapter 8
“That soup Marco gave me… it wasn’t takeout, was it? You cooked it, Bowen?” Laura asked.
She looked up, tears streaking her face, her voice breaking with fresh hurt. “And I didn’t even taste it before Brielle knocked it to the floor. God, I’m such an idiot. I should’ve
listened to Marco and drank it first.”
“Laura, sweet.” Bowen’s tone warmed, a rare softness creeping in.
Her opening up and quietly agreeing to marry him had changed something. He’d started using pet names, a subtle but clear sign they were getting closer.
He gripped her shoulders gently, leaning down to meet her gaze. She looked so small, so fragile. “First rule of being Mrs. Weaver: quit beating yourself up over crap that’s not your fault.”
“I don’t do that!” Laura sniffled; shaking her head.
“Bullshit,” Bowen said, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “That soup mess? Be mad at the asshole who spilled it, not yourself for not chugging it first. It’s not on you. Next time, raise hell if you want–I’ll back you up.”
Laura nodded, half–understanding, her eyes still glassy. Bowen swallowed the emotions swirling inside, keeping his expression steady. He straightened, gave her shoulder a quick pat, and guided her to a nearby table.
He ordered a few dishes, and when the food arrived, he didn’t let the waitstaff linger.
Instead, he served Laura himself, piling her plate with care. She squirmed, clearly thrown by the attention.
“Bowen, you don’t have to do all this. I can handle it,” she mumbled, fidgeting.
“Why not?” He smirked, adding another scoop of her favorite dish. “This is my gig now, Mrs. Weaver.”
Bowen was stupidly handsome–glasses or not, they only amped up his refined, sexy
vibe.
But his high–flying career had always wrapped him in this untouchable aura, like he was too big for the room.
So, seeing him flash this playful, almost boyish grin? It was like he’d stepped off his pedestal, picking up a bit of human grit. Laura stared, totally blindsided.
“Mrs. Weaver?” Bowen’s voice pulled her back his eyebrow quirked as he caught her
Successfully unlocked! gawking.
Mrs. Weaver. The words hit her hard, her cheeks burning.
“Uh… Bowen, I’m stuffed,” she stammered, trying to dodge her embarrassment.
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“Yeah, I bet.” He could see right through her, but he’d watched her eat–she was done. No need to push. “Luara, since you’re on board with marrying me, we gotta get a few things straight.”
“Alright, lay it on me!” Laura dropped her spoon, hands on her knees, sitting up like a kid waiting for a teacher’s spiel.
Seeing her so prim, Bowen’s eyes darkened, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Marrying you’s something I’ve mulled over, trust me. But this ain’t no act. We’re doing this for real.”
“What, like a fake marriage is a thing?” Laura tilted her head, puzzled. “You saying we need a prenup or something? So I don’t swipe your stuff if things go to hell?”
Laura caught his look–like she’d just said something dumb as hell–and nervously scratched her palm. “Did I… screw up?”
“Hell yeah, you did.“Bowen sighed, rubbing his temples. “We ain’t even married, and you’re already thinking divorce?”
“That’s not what I meant!” Laura blurted, panic creeping in.
Her nervous fidgeting made Bowen’s contempt for the Wilson family and Cameron burn hotter. She was meant to be a vibrant, stunning rose.
‘How the hell did they turn her into such a jumpy mess?‘ he thought, his jaw tight.
“Laura.” He tapped the table, voice firm. “You marry me, you’re Mrs. Weaver. First off: nobody gets to make you feel small. Not me, not anyone. You own that title, got it?
“Second, I’m not walking into this planning to bail.
“And third, as my wife, it’s the whole package. Including… you know, the bedroom stuff.”
He loosened his tie with a grin. “Like last night. That’s not a one–time deal. I’m a guy with needs, babe.”
Bowen’s sharp, confident hands made that tie move look hot as hell. Laura’s eyes flicked to the red mark by his throat, and her face burned.
It was her doing–proof of last night’s heat.
When he mentioned “bedroom stuff,” her mind flashed to those steamy moments, her cheeks hot enough to fry an egg.
“Okay,” she mumbled, head down, voice barely a whisper.
Bowen’s eyes twinkled, but he didn’t push her further. “Go nap. I’ll fill you in on what’s next when you’re up.”
“Ugh… Sure.”
Laura let out a shaky breath. She wasn’t even sleepy, but if “napping” meant dodging more of these mortifying talks, she’d crash in a heartbeat.
After walking Laura to her suite, Bowen stormed back to the private room, his earlier
8 Chapter 8
softness replaced by a face like stone. He lit a cigarette, his vibe colder than a freezer.
“Sir,” Marco stepped out from the shadows where he’d been chilling while Bowen dealt. with Laura. “We’ve got the dirt on last night.”
He tossed a file on the table. “Mr. Cameron Weaver dragged Ms. Wilson to that hotel for some girl, Julieta.
“The drugging? Harvey Spencer’s screw–up, not Cameron’s. He thought Ms. Wilson was just wasted on strong booze.”
Marco clocked Bowen’s darkening glare but kept his poker face, hiding the churn in his gut. “Also, Julieta’s been sneaking around with the Weavers‘ eldest daughter.”
“Brielle Wilson?” Bowen snapped, voice sharp as a knife.
“Yep,” Marco nodded. “I’m betting this whole ‘Laura drugging Cameron and tanking Julieta’s pregnancy‘
Deal stinks of a setup.
Bowen crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, smirking coldly. “Marco, you’re getting soft,
man.
“No need to guess–she’d never do that shit. Someone’s screwing her over.”
Marco opened his mouth, then shut it, staying quiet.
“Her neck–Cameron’s work?” Bowen’s voice was low, lethal.
“Yeah,” Marco said, wiping sweat off his brow.
He spilled what he’d dug up from hospital security footage, voice steady despite the guilt clawing at him.
He’d been grabbing meds for Luara, so he missed stopping Cameron’s outburst. But Bowen trusted him to protect her, and her injuries were his fuck–up.
Bowen’s face turned to ice, eyes blazing. “Keep tabs on Brielle and Julieta. I wanna know every damn trick they pull on my girl.”
He shot a cold grin at the file. “And Cameron? Any idiot can see the truth, but that
dumbass buys the lies. Hurting Laura for another woman? That’s it–he’s never getting near her again. Fuck that guy.”
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