Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 92: You Love My Chaos

Chapter 92: You Love My Chaos

VANESSA BELMONT JANG

The second the siblings disappeared over the balcony railing, Nathan turned to me with that look - the one that meant I was about to get A Very Serious Talk. I preemptively stuck my finger against his lips.

"Before you start lecturing me about enabling criminals," I said, "just remember that time in Barcelona when you gave that pickpocket kid 50 euros because he ’had honest eyes.’"

Nathan’s mouth twitched. "That was different."

"How?"

"He wasn’t holding a knife to your throat five minutes earlier."

I waved off his concern. "Details. Besides, did you see her grip? She’s left-handed. No way she could’ve stabbed me effectively."

"That’s not—" Nathan cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. "You’re impossible."

I grinned and plucked a chocolate from the turned-over nightstand. "And yet you married me."

The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway made us both tense. Nathan moved instinctively in front of me as the door burst open—hotel security finally arriving, about fifteen minutes too late to be useful.

The mustached manager took in the shattered wine glass, overturned furniture, and my torn dress with widening eyes. "Signore! What has happened here?"

Nathan opened his mouth, but I stepped forward. "We had a little disagreement about interior design." I gestured to the ugly vase now in pieces on the floor. "Turns out, modern brutalism isn’t our style."

The manager blinked. "But... the balcony doors—"

"Stunning view," I said cheerfully. "Really wanted to appreciate it up close."

Nathan made a strangled noise behind me. I could practically feel him counting to ten in his head.

After ten minutes of increasingly creative explanations (during which I may have implied the broken glass was from an especially enthusiastic newlywed moment), we finally got rid of them with promises not to sue and a generous tip for their "prompt" response.

The second the door closed, Nathan collapsed onto the bed with a groan. "Remind me why I thought international travel with you was a good idea?"

I flopped down beside him, my dress now officially ruined beyond repair. "Because deep down, beneath all that heroic stoicism, you love my chaos."

He turned his head to look at me, his expression softening. "I do. Against my better judgment."

I traced a finger along his jaw. "Admit it. This was more fun than another boring sunset dinner."

Nathan caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "I was looking forward to the tiramisu."

I gasped in mock horror. "You’re right. This is unforgivable." Sitting up abruptly, I grabbed the room service menu. "We’re ordering three. No—five. And that expensive champagne they tried to upsell us at check-in."

Nathan laughed, the sound warm and rich in the quiet room. "Five tiramisus?"

"I nearly died today," I said solemnly.

"You threw a vase at someone."

"Emotional trauma counts." I picked up the phone, batting my eyelashes at him. "Besides, it’s our honeymoon. We’re supposed to indulge."

As I placed the most extravagant room service order of our lives, Nathan pulled me back against his chest, his chin resting on my head. The adrenaline was fading, leaving that pleasant, floaty exhaustion in its wake.

"You know," he murmured, "most couples come back from their honeymoon with souvenirs. Not criminal debts."

I twisted to grin up at him. "We’re not most couples."

"No," he agreed, kissing my forehead. "We’re definitely not."

Outside, the first stars appeared over the Tuscan hills. Inside, we waited for our ridiculous feast, tangled together in the wreckage of our would-be robbery. The sapphire necklace—the whole reason for this mess—still hung safely around my throat, catching the light with every breath.

Life with Nathan would never be simple. But as his arms tightened around me, I couldn’t imagine wanting it any other way.

The champagne arrived first, carried by a flustered bellboy who nearly tripped over the remains of the shattered vase. Nathan tipped him generously—probably out of guilt—and the moment the door clicked shut, I snatched the bottle and popped the cork with a practiced twist. Bubbles fizzed over my fingers, and I laughed as Nathan caught my wrist, bringing my hand to his lips to lick the champagne away.

His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along my skin, and my breath hitched. His eyes—dark and full of that quiet intensity that always undid me—locked onto mine. "Waste not," he murmured.

I shivered. "Since when are you the reckless one?"

"Since I married you." He took the bottle from me and poured two glasses, handing me one. "To chaos."

I clinked my glass against his. "And to the poor hotel staff who’ll never believe our stories."

Nathan smirked, but before he could reply, a knock announced the arrival of our obscene tower of tiramisu. The waiter wheeled in a cart laden with desserts, his expression caught between amusement and bewilderment. Nathan thanked him with that effortless charm that made people instinctively trust him, while I shamelessly swiped a fingerful of cocoa-dusted cream the second the door closed again.

Nathan caught my wrist again, but this time, he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged me forward until I was straddling his lap, the silk of my ruined dress sliding against his thighs. His free hand settled at the small of my back, warm and possessive.

"You’re covered in sugar," he observed, his thumb brushing a stray crumb from the corner of my mouth.

I grinned. "And whose fault is that?"

Instead of answering, he leaned in and kissed me—slow, deep, and sweet with the lingering taste of espresso and chocolate. My fingers tangled in his hair as his grip tightened, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. The necklace pressed cool against my skin, but all I could focus on was the heat of his mouth, the way his heartbeat thudded under my palm.

When we finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against mine. "We should probably talk about what happened tonight."

I groaned, dropping my head onto his shoulder. "Ugh, fine. But only if you feed me tiramisu while you lecture me."

Nathan chuckled, but he obliged, lifting a forkful to my lips. I took the bite, humming in satisfaction as the rich flavors melted on my tongue. He watched me with that soft, unguarded expression he reserved only for me—the one that made my chest ache.

"You scared me today," he admitted quietly.

I stilled. Nathan wasn’t one to admit fear easily. I reached up, cupping his face. "I know. But I’m okay. We’re okay."

He exhaled, leaning into my touch. "You’re going to give me gray hairs before I’m forty."

I grinned. "Lucky for you, you’d look devastatingly handsome with gray hair."

He rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased. His thumb traced idle circles on my hip, his voice dropping to that low, rough tone that sent sparks down my spine. "You’re lucky I love you."

"The luckiest," I agreed, stealing another kiss.

Outside, the night deepened, the distant sounds of the city a quiet hum beyond our balcony. The room was still a disaster—glass on the floor, the bed half-destroyed from our earlier scuffle—but none of that mattered. Not when Nathan’s hands were in my hair, not when his lips trailed down my throat, not when he murmured my name like a prayer against my skin.

Life was unpredictable. Dangerous, even. But in moments like this—champagne on our tongues and laughter in the air—I knew I’d choose this chaos, choose him, every single time.