Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You
Chapter 176: Lunch is Served

Chapter 176: Lunch is Served

Marcus

She pulls back just slightly, those stormy eyes of hers narrowing in suspicion. "Where?" she asks.

I hesitate—God, I hate that I’m hesitating. But this isn’t just a drive or a walk in the park. This is me. All of me. The part I’ve been too much of a coward to lay bare.

My hands stay on her, one resting at her waist, the other brushing softly at the small of her back—more for my own sanity than hers. I’m grounding myself with her.

"It’s not far," I finally say. "But it’s important."

Her expression shifts. I can see the war inside her—the instinct to run clashing against the part of her that still hasn’t let go of my hand. That’s the part I’m clinging to.

"What kind of place are we talking about?" she asks, suspicious, squinting at me like she expects me to pull out a ring or a death certificate.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. "I’ve been keeping secrets from you."

Her face falls.

"Oh, well that’s exactly the thing you should say to your crying girlfriend after she just walked in on you being human furniture for a lingerie model."

I almost smile. God, she’s still fire, even in tears. That’s my girl.

"I deserve that," I admit, because I do.

"Damn right you do."

I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. "I just... I want to...no, I need to show you my childhood home," I say, voice low. "Will you come with me?"

The words hang there, trembling in the air between us. I’ve never taken anyone there. Not even Megan. Not even when she begged to meet her grandparents, she had never seen.

That house is everything I hate and everything that made me. And for some reason, this girl—this storm with a soft heart is the one I want standing next to me when I face it again.

I search her face, waiting.

Please, Becca. Just say yes.

"Already letting me meet your parents? Why, Marcus! Whatever happened to taking things slow?" she says in a teasing tone.

I huff a soft laugh, more breath than sound. "Trust me, this isn’t that kind of visit."

Her brows lift a little, curiosity edging in, but she doesn’t joke again.

"I haven’t been there in years," I say, the words coming slowly now, like I’m peeling off armor one buckle at a time. "Not since...not since I turned eighteen. It’s not pretty. The place. The memories."

Rebecca doesn’t interrupt. She just watches me, quiet but alert, like she knows this is one of those moments where everything either breaks open or slams shut.

"I didn’t leave on good terms," I go on, my voice a little rougher. "And I sure as hell didn’t plan on going back." My thumb brushes absentmindedly along her waist. "But now, I need to. And I want you there when I do."

She studies me for a moment. Long enough that my chest tightens and my stomach knots like a kid waiting to be picked for a team that might never call his name.

But then she does something that completely levels me.

She leans in, rests her forehead against mine, and whispers, "Okay. I’ll come."

Relief floods me so fast I almost forget how to breathe. My eyes flutter shut.

"Thank you," I murmur.

A small, unmistakable knock cuts through the quiet between us.

We both stiffen at the same time, and Rebecca leans back slightly, her eyes darting to the door.

"Dad?" Megan’s voice calls gently through the door.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Yeah, Meg. You can come in."

The door creaks open. "What’s taking you so long?" she says, narrowing her eyes at us. "The lunch is getting cold."

Rebecca lets out a shaky laugh, swiping a hand quickly under her eyes. "Sorry, Maggie."

Megan’s eyes turn wide. "Are you crying? Dad! Are you messing this up already?"

I blink, caught completely off guard. "What? No—I mean, yes, she’s crying, but not because of—okay, maybe partly because of me."

Rebecca gives a watery laugh beside me, and I can feel her trying not to dissolve into another emotional puddle. "Your dad’s a work in progress," she says, shooting me a half-hearted glare.

Megan steps into the room fully, arms crossed like a mini judge. "So what happened? Do I need to talk to someone?"

Rebecca snorts again, and this time, it’s a real laugh. "No. But next time, I will call you if I need to fight someone, tough girl."

Megan gives a small, smug grin, but then turns those sharp eyes back on me. "So, are you coming?"

I blink. "Where are we going?"

"To eat, gosh, Dad! Try to keep up," Megan groans.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Right. Food."

Rebecca nudges me with her shoulder, her smile a little more solid now. "Come on, Marcus. Before Megan calls in a hunger strike."

Megan’s already halfway out the door.

Rebecca grins. "She is so sassy. No wonder we are best friends now."

"She gets it from her dad, you know," I say as we step into the hallway together.

Rebecca quirks a brow. "Oh, so that sarcasm streak is your fault?"

"Guilty." I grin. "But I make it look good."

Her fingers brush mine, and without thinking, I reach for her hand again.

We walk toward the break room like that, quiet but not tense anymore.

Tammy sees us holding hands and gives me a look as if to tell me I am acting weird. But I don’t care. I tighten my fingers around her, feeling her warmth spreading through me.

Rebecca squeezes back. That one simple gesture settles something restless in my chest.

I am a lost cause, I know that now.

We step into the break room and the scent of toasted bread, cheese, and something that might be tomato soup hits us.

Megan’s standing proudly at the counter, her hair pulled back in a crooked ponytail, a mismatched apron tied haphazardly around her waist. "Ta-da!" she announces, gesturing grandly to the table. "Lunch is served. Gourmet style."

"Wow," I say. "Is that... grilled cheese shaped like dinosaurs?"

Megan beams. "Rebecca helped me make these."

I bite back a laugh as I look at the plates. Of course she did.