Fake Marrying the Monarch: A BWWM Royal Romance by Tyla Walker

Author:Tyla Walker [Walker, Tyla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

17

ISHMAEL

Ican’t sleep. Lying on the floor doesn’t help matters, but that’s not the reason for my insomnia.

It’s because up there, in the bed, is the woman who became my wife with a kiss – a kiss I can’t stop thinking about. It’s the night of my wedding, but here on the floor, it couldn’t be further from a wedding night.

“Thank you.” I can see and hear her saying those words after that life-changing, world-destroying kiss. As real as it felt and as real as I wish it were, I know rationally it was just for show. But my heart says otherwise.

I would do anything for it to be real, though.

I can’t stop seeing the image of her in her wedding dress, with a long train trailing behind her and beaded sleeves off her shoulders. And all of my thoughts begin and end with that kiss.

If only I could actually fall asleep and dream about it, I could make it last for a few hours longer. As the sun rises, my eyelids start to fall.

Once I wake up a few hours later, I look up naturally to see if Liza’s in bed, but it’s empty. I put on my clothes and splash some water on my face, listening to the sounds of Liza and Isha in the kitchen.

When Liza whisks a bowl of pancake batter, she has a way of making it look as graceful as a dancer. A streak of pale batter gets onto her elegant, dark hands, and I want to wipe it off of her just to feel her soft skin.

“Daddy, you’re awake!” Isha jumps into my arms, and I give her a kiss before sitting down at the table.

“Good morning, Ishmael,” Liza says. She holds two plates, one in each hand, and she sets Isha’s at her place and one in front of me.

“We’re going to the beach today, right, Daddy?” Isha says, practically bouncing out of her chair.

“Yes, we are, sweetheart.”

“So, hurry and eat!”

“We’re only leaving when you’ve eaten too, honey.”

At that, she makes quick work finishing her stack of silver dollar pancakes. She’s tearing them with her fork, so I slide her plate over and cut them.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Even if we’re only married on paper, having Liza cook pancakes in the morning makes me feel like her real husband. Once we’re finished, I gather up my plate along with Isha’s.

“I’ll take those from you,” Liza says as she maneuvers around me.

Her arm grazes my chest, and I find that having her as my wife, in reality or not, has intensified my desire for her.

“I’ve got it. You go eat. You’ve been cooking all morning.”

She gives me a little smile and pulls her chair out at the table while I wash.

“Let’s go already!” Isha calls out, already in her swimsuit with goggles on her head and a pail in her hand.

The beach is sparsely populated for such a beautiful day. A few dozen families dot the sand, some sitting on rows of folding chairs, others sitting on blankets.

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