Worth Any Cost: (Adam & Mia #4) (Gaming The System Book 6)

by Brenna Aubrey

  “Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. “How are you feeling?”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  I sighed. I didn’t want him to see my turmoil until I got a better handle on what exactly I was feeling. But hiding things from Adam was ridiculously difficult. He was too observant, and I was too poor an actress. “I’m tired.”

  He stepped into the bathroom, moving up behind me, not taking his eyes off my face. “You seem…upset.”

  I opened my mouth to make an excuse. But inexplicably, this whole mess of emotion rose up, and suddenly, I was spewing out those feelings everywhere.

  “You don’t think I should do Botox, do you?”

  He looked at me like I’d grown a unicorn horn out of my forehead.

  My eyes flicked back to my reflection. “Or maybe I should wear makeup more often?” I smoothed fingers over my cheek. “Do you think I dress too much like a student still?”

  His face scrunched up like he’d tasted a lemon. “Have you been watching Real Housewives of Orange County?”

  I clenched my teeth and my fists, almost stamping a foot in frustration, demanding he take me seriously despite the nonsense coming out of my mouth. “I mean it. Do women offer you sex all the time?”

  Now his eyes goggled. “Well, even if they did, I have a semi-explosive spleen, remember?”

  “It’s not funny, Adam,” I whined. Then, inexplicably and much to my enduring embarrassment, I burst into tears.

  “Whoa,” he said, true concern written all over his face as he moved forward to pull me into his arms. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Without a word, I turned and sobbed into his shoulder, already mourning the demise of our marriage due to his infidelity with at least a half-dozen phantom women decades younger than me.

  “Come here. Come on.” He gently coaxed me out of the bathroom and guided me to sit on the bed beside him. “Did the Real Housewives get to you tonight?”

  I shook my head, sobbing into my hands. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I’m not ready for your world.”

  “Emilia!” His voice was firm as he pulled my hair back from my face. “Slow down.”

  “I don’t want to quit medical school.” I sniffed.

  “What the hell? You don’t have to quit school. You’re not making any sense.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “Who told you that you did?”

  “But there are charities to run.” My chest heaved as I gulped more air. “And—and benefits to organize, and your foundation—” I was sobbing so hard that it was difficult to breathe.

  “Emilia,” he practically commanded. “Slow down. Now.”

  I put my hands to my face, unable to control the agitation. “I don’t want to be the starter wife, Adam.”

  “That’s good. I only plan on having one.”

  He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a few tissues from the box, and pressed them into my shaking hands. “Take a breath and calm down.”

  I easily detected the worry in his voice as he watched me slowly gain control of my emotions. I wiped my face and sniffled. The entire time, Adam stroked my back and my hair.

  “Now,” he said when I’d been quiet—aside from my hiccups—for several minutes. “Let’s talk about it calmly. Obviously, they told you a bunch of bullshit that’s got you scared.”

  “They weren’t being mean.” I shook my head. “They were trying to be helpful in their own way, from their own experience. And it…opened my eyes to what it must be like for you. When you’re traveling or out in the world—being a billionaire and everything.”

  “I’m still me.” He frowned. “I’m still the same person whether I’m here or ‘out in the world.’ Still the same person you met three years ago. And yes, my bank account got bigger, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  I turned to him, my fist tightening in my lap, squeezing the tissues into a tight ball. “No, it’s naïve and simplistic of you to say that. Your world has changed. Maybe you don’t see it yet, but it has.” He stiffened beside me, and when he would have interrupted me, I rode over him. “You’re in the one percent of the one percent and—and women are going to chase you even more now than they did before. And believe me, I didn’t like what I saw before.”

  “So should I be worried because men are going to chase you? You’re beautiful, young, brilliant. I’ve seen the way men stare at you when we go out, even when I’m standing right next to you and sending them death glares. Should I be worried, too?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “No? Why not?” He put his hand under my chin, guiding me to look at him. “We’re getting married. I have to trust you as much as you trust me.”

  I shrugged, conceding the point without admitting I was .

  He picked up on that, pulling me closer to him. I relaxed against his chest. “Now, so you know, no one can chase me if I’m already caught.”

  I swallowed. “It’s not that easy. A lot of women—probably most of them—won’t give a shit that you’re already married. Your wedding band might even encourage them.”

  “What does it matter whether they give a shit or not? I’ll care about being married, about my vows to you. That’s all that matters. A woman could walk up to me and drop her dress, and it wouldn’t matter.”

  I scowled at him. “You’re such a liar. You’d look.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, probably. It’s a guy thing.”

  “So is cheating.”

  He shook his head. “Not for me. I have some amazing self-control skills, if you’ll recall. It wasn’t easy keeping my hands off you all that time. But I did. And now…you and I together are more than that. More than the sum of our sexual attraction.”

  I thought he meant that as a compliment, but I was perplexed. And apparently, that puzzlement was on my face, because he elaborated.

  “I mean, we’re like an epic quest—this complex algorithm of experiences, memories, feelings, and promises to each other. Of shared parts of our lives that we’ve been through together. It’s a bond that’s way stronger than sex.”

  I pulled away to gaze up at him. “And the new and illicit thing is never going to tempt you the least little bit?”

  Something about that apparently bothered him, because his forehead creased. “I’m not saying I’m never going to look. That would be stupid and unrealistic. And I’m not going to blow sunshine, because then you won’t believe me on the stuff I’m serious about.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m always going to weigh what I’d lose against the worth of any heat-of-the-moment encounter. And every single time, that heat of the moment will never live up to what I have with you. Never.”

  How could he be so romantic and yet so calmly rational at the same time? I didn’t know, but my smile had now grown along with my confidence. And my trust in him.

  It appeared that he was going to say something, but thought the better of it. So I leaned forward and put my hand on his arm, urging him to say what was on his mind.

  “And…maybe you should recognize that part of this fear is based on your personal experiences, too. And the things the Real Housewives said tonight played into fears that are already there.”

  He was talking about my father—the biological sperm donor. The original cheater in my life. Except my mom had been the poor, unsuspecting young woman that he had cheated on his family with. And then he’d deserted us and gone back to them.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I acknowledge that some of the stuff they were saying triggered my own deepest, darkest fears.”

  He frowned. “Deep down, you still think I’m going to leave?”

  I bit my lip and thought for a moment. “Not logically, no.”

  He smiled and smoothed a strong thumb over my damp cheek. “I’ve watched you puke and pee yourself—sometimes at the same time. If that didn’t scare me away, what would?”

  I shrugged, looking away. “Gray hairs? Wrinkles? Saggy boobs?”

  �
��You’ll be more beautiful.” He shook his head, sighing. “Most men that stray…they’re doing it because of their own fragile self-image. They’re flattered by the attention that feeds their ego. They’re cheating to fulfill a bottomless pit of need.”

  “They’re not cheating because they had a fight with their wife or she’s too tired to get dressed up and be glamorous or hang all over him?”

  He shrugged. “Some, probably, are unhappy at home. There might be times when it’s hard for us. But we’ve proven we can get through the hard times, haven’t we? You should believe in us more.”

  I straightened, suddenly worried that he thought I didn’t believe in us. “I’m sorry. I do. I honestly do. This is completely born of my own insecurity.”

  He scowled. “Then stop it, because like men, women have those needs, too—to have their self-image reinforced. Maybe I should be worried you’ll cheat on me.”

  I glanced up at him to note the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Well there is my sixty-five year old research mentor…”

  The cocky smile vanished from his face, and I started laughing. His mouth dropped, and I fell back on the bed. As he had days of stubble growth on his jaw, I suspected he was going to close in for another whisker burn, but I held out my arm, barring his access as he rolled onto me.

  “Wait—I do have another thing I need to ask you.”

  “Before I execute your punishment?”

  I bit my lip and nodded, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes.

  His gaze narrowed as he scanned my face, from eyes to lips, likely suspecting that I was working him over—which I was. “I don’t trust that look.”

  “What look? I do have something else I need to ask you.”

  He kissed my neck instead of delivering the threatened whisker burn. I smiled, warmed by the familiar zing his lips evoked anywhere on my body. He was getting frisky now that he was feeling better. Unfortunately, despite the length of time since we’d last had sex, I’d have to shut this down. But I enjoyed it for the moment. He kissed a trail up the column of my throat.

  “Well, the Real Housewives were talking about prenups…”

  He froze. There was a distinct hesitation before he resumed kissing me without comment. “Are you absolutely positive my spleen is still too swollen? Because I can assure you other parts are swelling right now.” He nibbled on my ear, and lust flared as my eyes rolled back into my head. Damn, this moratorium on our sex life had been murder.

  Strange that he hadn’t answered my question…but that was my last thought on the subject as he slowly turned me into goo with his hot mouth.

  “We can’t. Not until you see the doctor on Monday and she says it’s okay.”

  “Goddamn it.” He rolled off me. “I can’t even cheat on you with my hand.”

  I busted up, laughing.

  “It’s not funny,” he whined.

  “It’s effing hilarious. You’re not the only one feeling horny.”

  “I’d offer to alleviate your suffering for you, but you’re a cruel woman who has mocked my misfortunes. If I suffer, then you’ve got to suffer along with me.”

  I snickered and rolled on my side to face him, holding up my palm. “I have a hand, too. And I can cheat on you with it.”

  “Yeah. Between that and my dirty underwear—”

  “T-shirt! It was your t-shirt. Jesus.”

  We went back and forth like that for a few more minutes before he sobered and looked at me for a long moment. “You feeling better?”

  “Yeah. I am.” I sighed. “I’m glad we had this talk despite how distraught I was when we started.”

  “And here I was feeling sentimental about us when you got home. It all went out the window when I you started crying.”

  I kissed his cheek. “What got you sentimental?”

  He pointed to his laptop, sitting at an awkward angle on his nightstand. “The quest. It’s all about us. Are you sure no one questioned you to get the details about our relationship?”

  I blinked, stunned. “No. Like…how is it about us? Show me.”

  He opened up the laptop and logged into the game, explaining where he’d gone so far, running errands to help Lord Sisyphus find and propose to his bride.

  “First, it said go to where he first met her, and I was stumped for a while. Then I thought about us and how we first met at that hotel conference room. And I took a chance and went to the best inn in town. Upstairs on a long table, there was a glowing vase. I clicked on it to put the flowers in the vase.”

  I smiled, hearing him talk in such animated tones. It had been a long time since he’d had this much fun playing a video game. I suspected that, for far too long, the game had been work for him.

  “Awesome. Then what?”

  “I had to find a map to a faraway kingdom called Amah Dastam and help get the princess there to meet Sisyphus.”

  “Amah Dastam? Amah Dastam.”

  He watched me carefully. “Say it fast.”

  “Amah Dastam.” I nodded, the light bulb suddenly going off. “Amsterdam. Holy crap. That’s, um, kinda creepy. What’s next? Will Princess Emma start a virginity auction after penning a controversial virginity manifesto?”

  He faux-scowled at me. “She’d better not.” He slammed closed the laptop with a yawn.

  “You could use a nap,” I said, fully aware that it was bedtime anyway.

  He grinned at me crookedly—sporting that scruffy look, he was devilishly handsome, and I silently cursed the fact that I couldn’t attack him. This would have been the perfect moment. Damn sex ban.

  “I think I do, too.” Exhaustion, as palpable as his, gnawed at me.

  Minutes later, we were in bed, but by the time I moved over to his side to cuddle, he was already fast asleep.

  ***

  The next morning, he was already awake beside me, lying in bed and tapping away on his laptop when I rolled over and cracked my eyelids open.

  Through my blurry morning vision, I caught a glimpse of the weirdest thing ever on his laptop screen. An animation displayed what appeared to be the trajectory of a rocket that launched from somewhere off a map of Florida (complete with estimated time stamps, launch angle, altitude estimations, and other numbers scrolling across the screen).

  Clearing my throat, I frowned. “What’s that?” I asked.

  Shockingly, he jumped and slapped his laptop closed, a guilty expression on his face, as if I’d caught him watching hardcore granny porn. After taking a moment to collect himself, he grimaced, seeming upset that I’d seen it—whatever it was.

  I sat up and stared at him. “What was that?” I repeated.

  He jerked his shoulder in a sharp shrug. “Nothing. That wasn’t for your eyes.”

  “Was it aerospace fetish porn or something? It looked like a rocket launching from Florida.” I smoothed a hand through my bed hair. “The trajectories? The explosions over the Caribbean. That seemed …elaborate.” Then I smirked. “And orgasmic.”

  His lips thinned as he reopened the device, the screen pointed away from me this time. “It’s nothing.” Clicking a few buttons on his keyboard, he adjusted the angle. All I could see was his blank desktop.

  My eyes narrowed. “It seemed like something to me.”

  Scowling, he didn’t say anything.

  I turned toward him, a new—and worrisome—suspicion arising. “It has something to do with the wedding, doesn’t it?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t ruin a surprise.”

  My jaw dropped. “That didn’t appear to be a mere surprise to me. That looked like full-blown simulated nuclear war.”

  His gaze went up to the ceiling. “It’s not a missile.”

  “Then what the hell is it?”

  He shifted on the bed. “It’s a rocket.”

  “Like…fireworks? Because even I know that launching fireworks from Florida is not going to do us any good in St. Lucia.”

  His mouth quirked. “It’s not exactly
fireworks.”

  “It’s actually a rocket?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I leaned toward him. “Adam Drake, if you don’t tell me what that was, I will pitch a fit. I promise you I will go Bridezilla on your ass. Are you launching a rocket?”

  He shot me a dark look. “Yes.”

  “For what purpose?” Oh, God…Overblown wasn’t even beginning to describe this shit now. “Is it launching us to the moon? Are we going to have a literal honeymoon? Should I pack my spacesuit?”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s a…special project I’ve been working on.”

  “This entire wedding has been a special project—a special over-the-top project. Please tell me what the rocket is really about.”

  His handsome features revealed nothing. “It’s...supposed to launch a payload into the upper atmosphere. Some harmless, inert debris that will burn up upon reentry while producing the effect of shooting stars. Our vows will be said at sunset, and the payload discharges in conjunction with that.”

  Silence. I blinked at him, trying to absorb it.

  He threw me a glance. “Are you okay?”

  I squinted at him. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react upon discovering that my fiancé has lost his ever-loving mind.”

  His jaw worked. “What? You don’t think it’s cool?”

  “Adam, major nations don’t pull stunts like that for the opening of the Olympics. It’s out of control—” Cutting myself off at the hurt look on his face, I sighed and began more quietly. “I’m sorry, but—”

  He gave me a stiff shrug. “You aren’t that into it. I’m getting that message loud and clear. It’s tiring to be the only one excited about this wedding.” He slapped the laptop shut again, jaw tensing. “Hopefully, you’re more excited about the marriage than you are about the wedding.”

  Now it was my turn to get defensive. I could feel my blood pressure increasing, my fists tightening. “That’s ridiculous. Just because I don’t care about an excessive party does not mean in any way that I don’t want to marry you or that I’m not thrilled about the fact that we are going to spend the rest of our lives together.”