The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 43

Chapter 33-1

Zara

I should be sleeping.

It’s well after midnight, and I see yet another long day of untangling Knox’s mess looming. Instead, I’m lying in my tiny bed with my head on Locke’s tattooed chest, listening to his heartbeat and watching moonlight spill through the gap in the curtains.

The bed is losing the battle.

One of Locke’s legs is hanging halfway off the mattress, his shoulder is pressed against the wall, and every time either of us moves, the frame makes a sound that suggests it has serious concerns about the future.

I smile at the thought, and he feels it.

“What?” he says. “What’s funny?”

I smile wider. “I was just thinking that my poor little bed looks like it’s trying very hard to survive you.”

A laugh escapes him. The sound is low and warm and still novel enough to make my stomach flutter.

‘It’s a perfectly good bed,” he says.

“No.” I tilt my head back to look at him. “It’s really not.”

His hand slides lazily through my hair. “It’s holding on.”

“Barely.”

|

“It’s showing heart and grit.” Locke smiles without opening his eyes. “I respect that.”

The absolute nonsense of the conversation settles around us comfortably. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The moonlight paints silver across the ceiling, he strokes my hair. Then he says:

“You’re thinking again.”

I groan. “Am I that obvious?”

“With me?” His eyes open. “I can read you like book, baby, even if it’s just to notice that your breathing has changed. So what’s up? Tell me.”

I trace an idle pattern across his chest. “Well, it’s just – you know, people usually wait longer.”

“To think?”

“Noooooo.” I roll my eyes. “To get into a bath and a bed together.”

“Yeah. I know.”

The honesty catches me off guard. “You do?”

Locke’s gaze remains fixed on the ceiling for a moment before returning to me. “I don’t usually do this. Not

<Chapter 33

as fast as this, anyway.”

Hlaugh softly. “You’re saying exactly what somebody who does this all the time would say.”

His hand pauses in my hair. “Zara.”

“Fine.” I hold up one hand. “I believe you.”

“You should.”

I study him, see how the moonlight catches the sharp line of his jaw.

“You really don’t move this fast?” I ask. “Not with anyone?”

“No. Never. This is absolutely, a first.”

“Then why did you?” I say. “With me, tonight?”

The question should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Nothing about any of this feels awkward.

“Because it felt right,” he says promptly. “It felt like the only thing to do in the moment, and all I wanted was to be close to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushes lightly across my shoulder. “I swear.”

The simple certainty in his voice settles warmly inside me. For him, there’s no second guessing, no overthinking, no pretending this was a mistake, just the truth about how he feels. I like that about him.

A comfortable silence falls between us now, and for a while we lie together, watching silver light crawl across the ceiling. Then my gaze drifts around the apartment.

Claim

To the dresser that doesn’t hold even one-twentieth of the clothes that I used to own. The stack of books on the floor beside the bed because I didn’t buy shelves, and even if I did, where the hell would I put them? The kitchenette less than ten feet away. The little life that I built from scratch.

A few weeks ago, I would have been embarrassed by it. Maybe part of me still is.

“You know,” I say quietly, tracing a lazy line across his muscled chest. “Most people would probably look at this place and think that I’ve failed.”

His hand stills in my hair. “What?”

I shrug. “I went from a six-bedroom, four-bathroom house to…” I gesture vaguely around us. “This.”

His eyes follow the movement. “And?”

I smile faintly. “A lot of people would call it a pretty huge step down.”

For a moment he doesn’t answer, then his arm tightens slightly around my waist.

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