The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Ryan) novel Chapter 199

Chapter 199

Olivia

“You’re quiet,” Alexander observed, watching me with those perceptive eyes that always seemed to see too

much.

“Just enjoying my fish,” I lied, stabbing at the golden batter with more force than necessary.

“Liv.”

“What?”

“You’re massacring your dinner.”

I looked down at my plate, where I’d reduced the perfectly crispy fish to shreds. “I’m just hungry.”

Alexander reached across the table, his hand covering mine. “She means nothing to me. That night was years ago and completely forgettable.”

“Didn’t seem forgettable to her,” I muttered, then immediately regretted it. I sounded petty and jealous, which was ridiculous because we had an arrangement. A business deal. His past hookups were none of my concern.

“Sophie has always had trouble accepting that not everyone falls at her feet,” Alexander said dryly. “Her husband is evidence of that. She collected him like a trophy and treats him like furniture.”

“She’s married and still throws herself at other men?” I asked, genuinely appalled.

“Some people view marriage as a social status rather than a commitment.”

Unlike us, I wanted to say. We’re doing this for business reasons but at least we’re honest about it. Except I couldn’t say that out loud in a crowded pub where anyone might overhear.

“Eat,” Alexander urged, gesturing to my demolished fish. “Before you reduce it to paste.”

I managed a small smile and took an actual bite this time. The fish was delicious, crispy on the outside and flaky on the inside, exactly as he’d promised. But the encounter with Sophie had soured my appetite.

We finished our meal in relative silence, the easy banter from earlier replaced by something heavier. Alexander kept glancing at me like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. When the waitress brought the check, he paid quickly and stood.

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, the evening air had cooled considerably. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I’d brought a warmer jacket.

“Here.” Alexander shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders before I could protest. The fabric carried his warmth and his unique scent.

“Thanks,” I murmured, pulling it tighter around myself.

We walked aimlessly at first, and neither of us was ready to return to the hotel. The streets of London were alive with evening activity. People spilled out of pubs and restaurants, their laughter echoing off the historic buildings. Street performers played music on corners, and their cases were open for tips.

“Where are we going?” I asked after several blocks.

“Nowhere in particular,” Alexander replied. “Just walking. Unless you want to head back?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Walking is good.”

His hand found mine, fingers interlacing naturally.

We turned down a quieter street, away from the main thoroughfares. The buildings here were older, their architecture more ornate. Gas lamps lined the sidewalk, their warm glow creating pools of light in the gathering dusk.

“This city is beautiful,” I said, breaking the silence. “Different from L.A.”

“More history,” Alexander agreed. “Every building has a story. Some of these structures have been standing for

centuries.”

“Tell me one.”

“One what?”

“A story. About one of these buildings.”

Alexander paused, considering the structures around us. “See that one?” He pointed to a narrow townhouse with ivy climbing its brick facade. “That’s where Oscar Wilde supposedly wrote parts of The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely not,” he admitted with a grin. “I have no idea. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

I laughed despite my lingering bad mood. “You’re terrible.”

“I prefer creative.”

We continued walking, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating. Alexander pointed out various landmarks, making up increasingly ridiculous stories about each one. A bakery became the site of a Victorian bread riot. A bookshop was supposedly haunted by the ghost of a disappointed romance novelist. Each tale was more absurd than the last, and by the time we reached the Thames Embankment, I was laughing freely.

“There,” Alexander said, looking pleased with himself. “That’s better.”

“What is?”

“Your smile. It’s been missing since the pub.”

I looked away, focusing on the river. The water was dark and smooth, reflecting the lights of the city. Boats glided past, their wake creating ripples that distorted the reflections.

“I wasn’t that bad,” I protested weakly.

“You were ready to stab Sophie with your fork.”

“I was not!”

“Liar.” He stepped closer, his chest brushing my back. “You got that look in your eyes. The one you get when you’re plotting violence.”

“I don’t have a violence look.”

“You absolutely do. It’s terrifying and slightly arousing.”

I elbowed him, making him grunt. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re jealous,” he said, his voice dropping to something softer, more intimate.

My stomach clenched. “I’m not jealous.”

“Then what are you?”

“Annoyed,” I said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “She was disrespectful. To both of us. And her husband.”

“True,” Alexander conceded. “But that’s not what bothered you most.”

I hated how well he could read me. “Can we just drop it?”

Instead of answering, Alexander wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His chin rested on my shoulder as we both faced the river.

“Look,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “See that bridge?”

I followed his gaze to Tower Bridge, illuminated against the night sky. Its Victorian Gothic towers glowed white and blue, the walkways between them suspended high above the Thames.

“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed.

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