Not a week ago, Sabrina moved to the city too, and the siblings have never been closer.
Not in seven years.
As for Andrew and me…we’ve also never been closer. Much to my own delight.
Upon inheriting all of Fletcher Financial and stepping into his Ma’s shoes as CEO, he made our ‘fake’ engagement official…dropping down on one knee in front of his entire family at the Connecticut estate.
The way it should have been. The way we want to make sure it will always be.
Family—and that includes the best of friends—first.
The thought of these last two whirlwind weeks makes me smile as I call out to him, skipping back to the steamed bathroom, my steps light.
“By the way,” I yell over my shoulder in the huge loft, “did you call Sabrina and invite her?”
Andrew calls back. “Course I did! Though, I got the feeling that she was with someone when I called her.” He pauses suspiciously. “Did she tell you she was bringing anyone to the re-opening tonight?”
“Nah, she didn't mention it.”
I turn the water on, splash some on my face, and rinse it.
It's a distraction. And I use it well.
It's better than admitting I have suspicions that Andrew's little sister might be seeing Lachlan, his infamous playboy buddy from college, ever since she moved to Manhattan.
I tamp down a smile, turning to the mirror, determined to get back on track.
“I'm going to change now. Hopefully I can get this hair right,” I call out.
Andrew chuckles. “I know the feeling,” he yells back. “So does this mean I can't watch you get dressed?”
I smile. “Worry about your own dressing! I'll see you later after you're showered!” I pause. “And fully clothed, Mr. Fletcher!”
I can't wait.
Retrieving the blow dryer from below the sink, I start to tame the thick, cherry-blonde mass atop my head, moving slow.
I manage to make cute barrel curls in the soft strands, swirling the ends.
I smile, the mirror's reflection making me look like a lioness on the hunt, ready for a night I'm sure will start out hot and won't let up.
I can hear the door to our penthouse bathroom open. The sound sends chills up my spine, as I hear one singular footstep, and I call out, my voice sugary sweet since I know who the footfall belongs to.
I take a deep breath.
“Lincoln?”
I want to hear him say my name.
“Yes, Anne?” He sounds happy.
I turn to face him, and Andrew's smiling face greets me.
“It's finished!” I beam, smiling playfully at him.
He looks good. He looks incredibly good indeed. My heart pounds as I stare at Andrew. My fiancé. My love. My everything.
“I'm ready,” I announce, holding my hair up, and spinning around.
He stops in the doorway, my favorite tuxedo buttoned up snugly, his dark hair, shorter than it had been a few weeks ago, still is silky and clean.
He comes up behind me, and as I feel his arms close around my waist, I realize how long it's been since he has touched me like this.
It's only been two hours, but I miss it every second I don't have it…
I'm addicted to everything Andrew.
I can't help but lean my head back against his shoulder. Just a little, though. Just enough to enjoy the softness of his hand against my neck. The feel of his fingers in my hair.
When I look up at him, I can see his gaze linger on my mouth. He sees me watching him too.
He sets his chin on my shoulder. “You think that Lending-a-Hand will like the surprise we have lined up for them tonight at the re-opening?”
I grin. “I think any charity will appreciate a blank check being handed to them.”
“Good thing you held onto it. You listened to me. And here I thought you only did that in the bedroom.”
“Hardy-har-har.” I look at his reflection, cocking a brow. “You going to make jokes all night? Or you going to wait for me to put the final touches on my look?”
He frowns. “I thought you were finished.”
“With the hair, of course. I gotta do my make-up.” I motion towards the toilet. “You can take a seat if it will make you feel better.”
“Ah, I see…” He lets me go, sitting atop the expensive black porcelain, his eyes wide. “I appreciate you giving me the best seat in the house.”
I wink, opening a drawer and getting to work, grabbing a tube of mascara.
I don't want much on my face.
Just a touch of lipstick here. A dab of blush. A brush of liner there.
A little bit of foundation here. A touch of powder.
I don't have to look at Andrew to know he's watching me.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes drinking me in.
“You are absolutely beautiful,” he says, the words spilling from his lips in an awkward rush.
I blush, my heart racing. “Thank you.”
Andrew puts his hands on either side of my hips, his thumbs resting on my skin. “You're breathtaking,” he says, his voice becoming ragged.
I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. He smells so good. Like soap and shampoo and vanilla.
“Let me see you in that dress,” Andrew says, his voice full of husk. “The one I've been looking at the last few hours. Let’s move to the bedroom.”
I laugh. “You've been looking at it?”
“I couldn't stop. It's so you.”
“You liked the bridesmaid one I wore too,” I point out.
He shakes his head. “That was you wearing something for someone else's event because you had to fit in. You had to blend. This is different. This is you. All you. And you're beautiful.”
You're beautiful when you're wearing something for someone else,” he says, guiding my hips to sit in his lap and grind against him on the bed. “But you're even more stunning when you're not even trying.” His fingers dig into my skin. “I kept thinking about this all night. About how good you'd feel against me. How you'd look.” He pulls me closer. “I didn't stop thinking
