Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You
Chapter 182: Best Food

Chapter 182: Best Food

Rebecca

Marcus nearly swerves the car into the next lane. "What?!"

I dissolve into laughter, grabbing his arm. "I’m kidding! Oh my god, your face—"

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself, that stunned look still lingering. "You can’t just casually drop a proposal while I’m driving, Rebecca. That’s how accidents happen."

"Well," I say, teasing, "you did say you wanted someone who saw you. This is what happens when someone sees you too much."

He gives me a long sideways look, then turns his eyes back to the road. "Yeah, well... maybe I liked it."

I grin, leaning back in my seat. The air between us feels lighter now, even though we’re both carrying a thousand-pound past.

He glances at me again, eyes softer now. "You sure you’re ready for all my baggage, though? Because I come with several emotional suitcases and a carry-on of unresolved trauma."

I pretend to consider. "I mean... as long as you let me alphabetize the contents, we should be okay."

Marcus laughs. It is a real laugh this time.

"I wasn’t joking about Megan, though," he adds, smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. "She’s got opinions. And she really likes you."

"She’s smart. Clearly has good taste," I say.

"She also thinks we should get a dog."

I blink. "What?"

"Yeah. She said if we’re gonna play happy family, we need a dog to complete the aesthetic."

I laugh again, picturing it. "Can it be one of those ridiculous shaggy ones that looks like a mop?"

"As long as it doesn’t bark too much."

"Oh, Marcus," I say with a dramatic sigh. "You’re going to be one of those dog parents."

He shrugs. "Only if you help me pick out the name."

"Okay," I say. "But I’m vetoing any names from Greek mythology."

Marcus groans. "You take all the fun out of everything."

I smile. "You’ll live."

He reaches across the center console and takes my hand again, and this time, it’s warm. Solid.

Real.

At a red light he glances at me, then away fast, like he caught himself at something illicit. "You okay?" he asks, his thumb anxious on the leather wheel.

I nod, even though it’s a lie and he knows it.

"When we get home," he says, "I want to cook for you." He keeps his gaze forward, at the hornet-yellow traffic, at the scuffed hood of the rental two cars up. "Anything you want."

My lips twitch, and I almost smile. "You cook?"

"Only the best Italian food you can dream of," he says smugly.

"What if I want a seven-course tasting menu?" I ask, voice light but hands wringing a nervous energy in my lap.

He grins. "Challenge accepted."

By the time we’re halfway home, the light outside has softened, that late-afternoon hush falling over the world like a quilt. Marcus’s hand stays in mine, even as he drives. Every few minutes, his thumb sweeps slow across my knuckles.

I glance at him, wondering how someone can look so manly and boyish all at once. He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.

"What?" he says.

"Just thinking," I say.

"That sounds scary," he teases.

I smile. "I was wondering if you were always like this."

"Like what?"

"Funny. Gentle. A little tragic."

He gives a quiet laugh and looks back at the road. "No. I think I used to be meaner. Harder. Sarcastic in the way that hurts people."

I’m quiet, because I believe him. But I also believe in who he is now.

"What changed?"

"You, maybe," he says simply.

It stuns me for a second—how quickly and easily he says it. No build-up. No dramatics. Just the truth handed to me like a glass of water.

I swallow, and suddenly I can’t quite look at him either.

A few minutes later, we get out of the car and walk toward the house.

He unlocks the door and lets me in. I kick off my shoes with a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

Marcus locks the door behind us and stands there for a quiet beat.

I glance back. "You okay?"

He nods but doesn’t move. "Much better now that I am home." He looks at me. "Still want that seven-course tasting menu?" he asks, opening the fridge.

"Only if course one is wine," I say, leaning against the counter.

He chuckles.

Megan trots into the kitchen right then. "You are back! About time."

She says it like she’s been waiting years instead of hours, arms crossed, one brow cocked like a tiny detective who’s figured out more than she should.

Marcus ruffles her hair as she walks past him. "Miss us, squirt?"

She shrugs with mock indifference, but she sidles closer to me. "Becca, are you going to stay with us this weekend too?."

I shake my head and smile sadly. "No, sweetheart. I have to go back to work at my hometown."

Megan’s face falls. Just a flicker, like she’s trying not to show it, but I see it anyway.

"Oh," she says, voice small. "Okay."

I crouch beside her and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "Hey. I’ll come back soon."

She gives me a look that’s far too grown-up for someone her size. "You promise?" She asks skeptically.

I swallow hard, caught off guard by how attached I feel to her already. "I promise."

Marcus watches us from the stove, spatula in hand.

I stand, brushing off my knees. "Wine?" I ask, tilting my head toward the cabinets.

Marcus nods and gestures with the spatula. "Top shelf. Far left."

I find the bottle and pour while he sautés something that smells like garlic and heaven had a baby.

Megan sits at the counter, swinging her legs. "What’s for dinner?"

"Seven courses of chaos," Marcus mutters.

We laugh, and for a moment, everything feels stupidly, impossibly good. Like maybe life doesn’t have to be perfect to feel right. Maybe it just has to be real.

We watch a movie together. The three of us.

"She is out cold," Marcus says after a while, pointing at Megan under the big blanket.

Marcus stands and gently scoops Megan into his arms, careful not to wake her. Her small body melts against his chest, breathing slow and even.

I watch him carry her down the hallway, his steps quiet, his face soft with tenderness.

He kneels beside her bed and carefully lays her down, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

"Goodnight, princess," he whispers, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.

I feel something warm in my chest. I can tell he loves Megan more than anything. He is giving her the kind of love his parents never gave him.

Marcus glances back at me with a smile and gestures me to follow him.

I follow him into his bedroom.

"I...I should get some sleep too. I need to wake up early and..."

"Rebecca," he interrupts me, his voice deep and gravelly.

I look at him questionably.

He grabs my waist and pulls me against him. I don’t protest. I press against him, enjoying the warmth and hardness of his body. "Yes Marcus?" I breathe.

He leans down and brushes his lips softly over my cheek. "I want to make love to you," he whispers.