𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 32

Holy Friggin Matrimony (Draco POV)

I SIT IN A HIGH-BACKED CHAIR in the corner of the bedroom in a suite at The Plaza hotel, flipping through the advertisement-packed pages of Bride Magazine. Female-targeted ads are ridiculous. I don't care how "flawless" looking the makeup claims to be; if you don't already look like a Victoria's Secret model, no cover-up in the world is gonna make you look like one.

Another thing I don't get—everyone always raves about The Plaza, but the room is wall to wall florals—the bedding, the upholstery, the framed pictures. It looks like it was designed by a deranged Mistress Mary, quite contrary-obsessed grandmother. I shift in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but the seat was obviously made to be "looked at" not "sat in." I give up on the magazine and wait.

Waiting for what, you ask?

For Hermione, of course.

She's behind the closed bathroom door, probably taking a bath. And she doesn't know I'm here yet. It's going to be a surprise. A lust-filled, haven't-seen-her-in-twenty-four-hours-and-I-can't-wait-to-get-inside-her kind of surprise.

You have no idea what's going on right now, do you? Well, hang on; you'll figure it out shortly.

Because the bathroom door opens, and Hermione steps into the bedroom. And like a dog who hasn't seen his master all day, my lonely cock lifts its head at the sight of her.

She holds a champagne glass filled with bubbly, orange liquid. Her hair is twisted up in a high knot, while delicate, curling strands brush against her damp neck. She's wearing a short, red silk robe that leaves little to the imagination—which is exactly why I bought it for her.

I smile when she sees me. Her beguiling brown eyes widen. "Draco?" She glances at the door. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here."

"I know. I snuck in. I'm stealthy like that."

She steps towards me. "If Gin sees you, she's going to freak out."

I scowl at the mention of Hermione's psychotic best friend, whose mission in life is to interfere with mine. "Screw Gin. I wanted to see you."

Last night was the first night we've spent apart since Hermione moved in with me. Now, you might think that one night shouldn't be that big a deal—but you're wrong. Ask any recovering drug addict which night of detox was the worst? When they were hungriest for a fix? The initial hours of withdrawal are always the hardest.

Hermione smiles forgivingly, but reminds me, "The guys aren't supposed to see the girls before the reception. It's a tradition."

I stand up and pull Hermione flush against me, because seeing her, smelling her vanilla- and lavender-scented skin, makes touching her a must. "It's a stupid fucking tradition. And that's not even accurate—the actual rule is the groom isn't allowed to see the bride before the ceremony. Ginny just made up this shit up to make me miserable."

Are you starting to figure it out now?

Hermione giggles. "Because everything is always about you, right?"

"Well...yeah."

I lean in to kiss her lips, but she leans back. "You can't stay here."

I counter her dodge with a move towards her neck. I kiss and suck the sensitive skin above her collarbone. Delicious.

I mumble against her, "Sure I can."

Hermione tilts her head with a sigh, giving me more room to taste, even while she argues, "And when Gin finds out you're here?"