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The Billionaire’s Sudden Bride
Chapter 29: Does That Proposal Still Stand?
Summer’s POV
Even in my drug–induced haze, I could feel someone watching me. The intensity of that gaze followed me through fevered dreams. When consciousness finally returned, the first thing I noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling – all clean lines and modern elegance, nothing like my apartment’s cozy simplicity.
My head felt stuffed with cotton, and every muscle ached like I’d run a marathon. Memories of last night came flooding back in fragments: Grandpa’s birthday party, the drugged tea, Charles Windsor’s cruel smile, Brandon carrying me through the darkness… Oh god. Brandon.
The room screamed masculine luxury – all grey and white tones, with expensive furniture. Sunlight streamed through floor–to- ceiling windows, catching on what had to be custom Italian sheets. Where am I? And why am I wearing… I looked down at myself, heat flooding my face as I realized I was wearing nothing but a man’s white dress shirt. The fabric felt impossibly soft against my skin, carrying a hint of that winter–fresh cologne I’d come to associate with Brandon.
“Ms. Taylor?”
The deep voice startled me, banging my head against the headboard in my haste to pull the sheets higher. Brandon stood in the doorway, looking unfairly perfect in what had to be Tom Ford loungewear. His dark eyes studied me with intensity that never failed to make/my pulse race.
“Mr. Stark!” I tried for a casual laugh, but it came out slightly hysterical. God, could this be more awkward?
“There’s fever medication on the table.” He nodded toward an elegant side table where several pill bottles sat arranged with military precision. “How are you feeling?”
“Fever?” I frowned, trying to piece together the fragments of last night. “I don’t have a fever. You… you saved me last night?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Obviously.”
“Thank you, but…” I glanced down at the shirt I was wearing, heat creeping up my neck. “These clothes…”
“I changed them.” He said it so matter–of–factly, like discussing the weather. “There are no maids here, only James.”
My face felt like it was on fire. “That’s not what I meant! I was asking about my dress…”
“Hmm?” His eyes gleamed with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “It should still be at the cleaners. All clothing here goes to a specialist service.”
I clutched the sheets tighter, painfully aware of how vulnerable I felt under his intense gaze. The events of last night came back in sickening waves – Mother’s calculated cruelty, Father’s cold betrayal, the way they’d tried to… No. Don’t think about that now.
“Hungry?” His deep voice pulled me from my spiral of dark thoughts.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“The bathroom has fresh toiletries. Get ready and come down for breakfast.”
Okay. The word came out smaller than I intended.
The ensuite bathroom took my breath away – all gleaming marble and state–of–the–art fixtures that probably cost more than my car. Everything was new and unopened: Hermès toothbrush set, Egyptian cotton towels, an entire collection of La Mer products arranged with precise care. Even his bathroom screams perfectionist.
1/3
Chapter 29: Does That Proposal Still Stand?
After washing up, I padded down the sweeping staircase, feeling oddly small in Brandon’s oversized shirt. The marble floors were cool against my bare feet, and morning light streamed through massive windows, making the whole space feel almost ethereal,
A gentle tap on the banister made me jump. Brandon stood at the betom of the stairs, those dark eyes tracking my descent with predatory focus. “Miss Taylor isn’t hungry anymore?”
You’ve gone to so much trouble, Mr. Stark.” I tried to keep my voice steady despite how his gaze made my skin prickle with
awareness.
The dining room was a study in understated elegance, with views of manicured gardens through floor–to–ceiling windows. “Do you live here alone? Where is your family?”
His eyes met mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Alone. Though not for long.”
The breakfast spread was surprisingly homey fresh fruit, pastries, and what looked like perfectly prepared eggs. “Last night we had to use an ice bath to bring down your fever,” he explained, pulling out a chair for me with that casual grace that seemed to come so naturally to him. “Dr. Sean said you might spike a fever afterward, but you seem to have recovered well. I kept breakfast light.”
“It looks amazing.” And it did – simple but elegant, just like everything else about him.
“I made it myself.” Sonfething about the way he said it made my heart do a complicated flip. “James usually handles this, but…”
“It’s better than anything I could make.” I took a bite of the eggs, trying not to think about how domestic this all felt.
“If you like it, have more.” His voice carried that gentle command that never failed to make my pulse skip.
I nodded. The simple domesticity of the moment felt dangerous somehow – like stepping onto thin ice, knowing it might crack but unable to resist testing its strength.
My parents betrayed me. They were willing to sacrifice me to secure an investment, and I remembered the cold calculation in Mother’s voice as she discussed my fate. But here, in Brandon’s private space… everything felt different. Safer.
He’s perfect, my traitorous mind supplied. Grandpa Thompson’s favorite student, powerful enough to protect me from the Windsors, completely outside my parents‘ influence… The memory of his marriage proposal at Manhattan Club floated through my mind. Back then, it had seemed absurd – now, it felt like a lifeline.
“Mr. Stark?” My voice came out shakier than I’d intended. “That day at Manhattan Club… does it still stand?”
His perfect eyebrow arched slightly. “Which part?”
Heat flooded my face. God, he’s going to make me say it.
“Hmm?” The amusement in his tone made me want to throw something at his stupidly handsome face.
“The… the marriage proposal.” The words came out in a rush. “Does it still stand?”
His dark eyes studied me with that unsettling intensity, but his lips curved into that dangerous half–smile that never failed to make my heart race. The silence stretched between us, heavy with possibility.
“Does it?” I repeated, hating how vulnerable I sounded.
