The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Ryan) novel Chapter 197

Chapter 197

Chapter 197

Olivia

Alexander was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “What kind of legacy do you want to leave?”

The question caught me off guard. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

“Think about it now.”

I considered his question, my eyes still on the illuminated manuscript. “Something that matters, I guess. Something that helps people or makes the world slightly better.”

“That’s admirably vague.”

I elbowed him gently. “What about you? What’s your legacy going to be? Carter Enterprises expanding into new markets?”

“That’s my grandfather’s legacy, not mine.” He paused. “I’m still figuring out what mine will be.”

There was something vulnerable in his admission, a crack in his usual confidence. I turned to face him, surprised by the contemplative expression on his face.

“We have time to figure it out,” I said, not entirely sure why I’d said “we” instead of “you.”

Alexander’s eyes met mine, something unreadable passing between us. The moment stretched, charged with an intensity that had nothing to do with ancient artifacts.

“Should we see the reading room?” he asked finally, breaking the spell.

“Definitely. Lead the way.”

The reading room was breathtaking, a circular space with towering bookshelves and a magnificent domed ceiling. Natural light filtered through windows high above, casting everything in a warm glow.

“This is gorgeous,” I whispered, spinning slowly to take it all in.

“No shouting in the British Library,” Alexander teased.

“I’m whispering!”

“Barely.”

We found a quiet corner and sat on one of the benches, simply enjoying the space. Other visitors moved quietly around us, their footsteps muffled on the polished floors.

“Thank

you

for this,” I said after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“For what?”

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Chapter 197

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“For bringing me here. For taking the time to do tourist things even when you’d probably rather be working”

Alexander’s hand found mine, his fingers interlacing with my own. “I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else right now.”

My breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. “Careful, Mr. Carter. That almost sounded romantic.

“Maybe I’m practicing for when we need to be romantic in public.”

“Right. Practice.”

But the way he looked at me suggested it wasn’t entirely practice. And the way my heart raced suggested I didn’t mind one bit.

We spent another hour wandering the museum, eventually finding ourselves in the ancient civilizations wing where Alexander pointed out details I would have missed on my own.

“See the weathering pattern on that column?” he said, leaning close to point. “That’s from centuries of people touching it in the exact same spot. All those hands, all that history condensed into one worn patch of stone.”

“That’s actually beautiful,” I admitted. “And slightly depressing when you think about how temporary we all

are.”

“Getting philosophical again?”

“This place does that to me. All this permanence makes you realize how fleeting everything else is.”

Alexander’s hand found mine, his fingers interlacing with my own. “Then we should make the most of our fleeting time.”

“That was surprisingly deep for you.”

“I contain multitudes,” he said with mock solemnity.

By the time we finally left the museum, the sun had started its descent toward the horizon, painting London’s sky in shades of orange and pink.

“Hungry?” Alexander asked as we stepped onto the street.

“Starving. All that culture worked up an appetite.”

“I know a place nearby. Authentic British pub food, nothing fancy.”

“Lead the way.”

We walked through narrow streets lined with historic buildings, the city transitioning from business hours to evening leisure. People spilled out of offices, heading to happy hours and dinner dates.

The pub Alexander chose was tucked away on a side street, its exterior covered in dark wood and etched glass. The sign above the door read “The Crown and Anchor” in faded gold lettering.

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Chapter 197

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Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting. Dark wood paneling covered the walls, and the bar was lined with brass fixtures that had been polished to a dull shine. The scent of beer and fried food permeated the air.

“This place has been here since the 1700s,” Alexander said as we found a corner table. “Supposedly Shakespeare drank here, but every pub in London claims that.”

“I believe it. This place looks older than America.”

A cheerful waitress approached, setting down paper menus. “What can I get you folks to drink?”

“Guinness for me,” Alexander said. “And for you?”

“The same, I guess. When in Rome, drink as the Romans do.”

“That’s Ireland, not Rome,” the waitress corrected with a grin. “But close enough. Two Guinness coming up.

After she left, Alexander leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him in days. The tie was gone, his shirt collar open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked less like a CEO and more like just a man enjoying an evening out.

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