When I opened the door to grab the mail, Ashton was already standing there with a coffee tray and a paper bag.
I blinked. "Uh, morning."
It came out awkward.
Couldn't help it.
Last night, I'd somehow agreed to marry the man, and my brain was still buffering.
"Morning," he said smoothly. "I brought breakfast."
Of course he had.
"Thanks. Come in. You look... nice."
Understatement of the damn year.
He was wearing a three-piece charcoal grey suit.
Not the stiff Wall Street kind, but something sharp and clearly custom-made.
The lapels were narrow, the trousers tailored within an inch of their life, and the stitching at the cuffs was subtle hand-embroidered initials—AL.
Jesus. Even his tie looked smug.
People complimented well-dressed men by saying they l
