Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 105: I’ve Missed You

Sarah

Do you think this is too much?" I ask, holding up a flowy sundress against my growing baby bump. The blue fabric complements my tan skin perfectly.

Matthew leans against the headboard, watching me with amusement as I flit between the bed piled with clothes and the open suitcase.

"No," he says with a grin.

I fold the dress carefully and tuck it into my suitcase. We are going to Aruba again. I asked Matthew if he wanted to go somewhere new since we had already gone there for our honeymoon, but he insisted we go there.

"You liked it there, didn’t you?" he had asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Then it’s perfect. Besides, there are places there we hadn’t seen yet."

So here I am, packing away.

It’s been three weeks since my world turned upside down, three weeks of processing, healing, and rebuilding. T

"I just checked the weather again," Matthew says, scrolling through his phone. "Sunny and 85 degrees every single day we’re there."

"Perfect," I murmur, moving to the dresser to select swimsuits. My hand rests on my stomach, which has grown noticeably in the past few weeks. "Little avocado is going to love the ocean air."

Someone knocks on the door, so I look up.

"Sarah?" Marishka says, smiling brightly. "I brought you something for your trip!"

I head downstairs to find her holding a large woven tote bag. "I made this for you," she says, her eyes bright with excitement. "For the beach."

I take the bag, running my fingers over the intricate pattern. "It’s beautiful," I breathe. "Did you weave this yourself?"

She nods, beaming with pride. "An old Ukrainian technique my grandmother taught me. I used to make these all the time back home."

The mention of her homeland no longer feels like a distant, abstract concept. Now it’s part of my heritage, my history. I’ve been asking her about Ukraine more and more lately, hungry to learn about that side of myself.

"I love it," I say, hugging her tightly. "Thank you."

"Have you packed your sun hat?" she asks, switching effortlessly into her maternal mode. "And your prenatal vitamins."

I laugh softly, feeling the kind of warmth that only comes from being truly cared for.

"Yes, Mama, I packed them," I tease.

"I will never get tired of hearing you call me that," Marishka says, her voice thick with emotion.

Matthew appears in the hallway behind me. "Alright, you two. Don’t start crying again. Sarah, go finish packing," he orders.

"Yes, sir," I say quickly and walk toward the suitcase.

Marishka chuckles. "I will leave you to it."

~-~

The flight to Aruba is smooth, and I spend most of it sleeping against Matthew’s shoulder. When we land, the familiar tropical heat embraces us as we step off the plane.

"Welcome back," Matthew says, squeezing my hand.

At baggage claim, I notice him checking his phone constantly, typing quick messages when he thinks I’m not looking. He shifts from one foot to another, a nervous energy radiating from him that wasn’t there this morning.

"Everything okay?" I ask as we wait for our luggage.

"Hmm? Yeah, fine," he says too quickly, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Just checking on some work stuff."

"I thought you said you were completely offline for this trip," I remind him, frowning slightly.

"I am," he insists, but his eyes dart away from mine. "Just tying up a few loose ends."

When our taxi pulls up to the resort, Matthew seems distracted during check-in, constantly glancing around the lobby as if looking for someone. The receptionist hands him our room key, and he pockets it quickly.

In the elevator, Matthew’s fingers drum against his thigh. He checks his watch three times in two minutes.

"Are you sure everything’s okay?" I press again, studying his face. "You seem... anxious."

"I am fine," he says curtly.

I frown. Something is going on with him, I can feel it.

Our room is beautiful, a spacious suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the turquoise Caribbean. I wander to the balcony, breathing in the salt air, but when I turn back, Matthew is on his phone again, speaking in hushed tones.

"Yes, everything’s set," I hear him whisper. "Seven o’clock, exactly as planned."

He notices me watching and abruptly ends the call.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Just the concierge," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. "I was confirming our dinner reservation."

"Oh." I nod, unconvinced. "I didn’t know we had dinner plans already."

"I thought it would be nice," he says, busying himself with unpacking. He’s avoiding eye contact now. "Why don’t you rest a bit? The flight was long."

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him move around the room with uncharacteristic nervousness.

Something isn’t right. Matthew is hiding something from me, and after everything we’ve been through, the secrets and lies in my family, a cold knot of dread forms in my belly.

What if things are not okay? What if Matthew still hates me and...

"Sarah?"

I look at him and force a smile. "Yeah?"

"Take a shower and get to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day," he says, not smiling.

A long day? What is that supposed to mean!?

"I will," I say, even as unease creeps through me. I grab my toiletry bag and head to the bathroom, my mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.

The bathroom is luxurious, with marble countertops and a glass-enclosed shower big enough for two. I turn on the water, letting steam fill the room as I undress slowly.

Maybe a hot shower will clear my head, help me figure out what’s going on with Matthew.

I step under the spray, letting the warm water cascade over my shoulders, my hands instinctively cradling my baby bump. The water soothes my travel-weary muscles but does nothing to ease the tension in my mind.

Just as I’m working shampoo into my hair, I hear the bathroom door open. Through the steamy glass, I see Matthew’s silhouette.

"Can I join you?" he asks, his voice soft.

I hesitate only briefly before nodding. "Sure."

He undresses quickly and slides open the shower door, stepping in behind me. "Hey," he says. freewebnσvel.cѳm

"Hi," I reply.

His arms wrap around me from behind, his chest pressing against my back. The hot water streams over us both as his lips find my neck, kissing a path from my shoulder to my ear. I tilt my head, giving him better access, my eyes fluttering closed as his hands begin to wander.

"I’ve missed touching you," he whispers against my skin, his voice husky with desire.

His palms slide over my wet skin, one hand cupping my breast while the other travels lower, across my rounded belly and down. His fingers find their way between my thighs, gentle yet deliberate. I gasp as he begins to stroke me, slow circles that make my knees weak.

"Matthew," I breathe, leaning back against him for support.

"I’ve got you," he murmurs, his touch growing more insistent as he feels my response.

"Turn around," he says, his voice thick with need.

I comply, facing him now. His eyes are dark and intense as they roam over my body. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me deeply, passionately, before dropping to his knees before me.

"What are you—"

"Shhh," he says, looking up at me with a mischievous smile. "Let me take care of you."

His hands grip my hips as his mouth replaces his fingers. I gasp, one hand flying to the shower wall for support while the other tangles in his wet hair. The dual sensation of the hot shower and his hot mouth is overwhelming.

"Matthew," I moan, my head falling back against the tiles.

He takes his time, savoring me, bringing me to the edge and then backing away, teasing until I’m practically begging. When he finally lets me fall apart, I cry out his name, my entire body shuddering with release.

Afterward, he rises, holding me close as my breathing steadies. He kisses me tenderly, then picks me up in his arms.

He carries me out of the shower, not bothering with towels and lays me gently on the bed. The sheets are cool against my damp skin as he hovers over me, his eyes taking in every inch of my body with reverence.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispers, running his fingertips down my side, over the curve of my hip.

There’s something different about the way he touches me now, it’s tender, almost worshipful, like he’s trying to memorize every detail. He lowers himself beside me, propped on one elbow, and traces the outline of my face with his finger.

"I’ve been wanting to make love to you for a long time now," he says, his voice catching.