Ayla's revelation

“I’m sorry, sir.”

I looked down at the girl before me. She watched me with huge blue eyes and parted lips. Then I realized who the girl was Ayla Rizzo, my future wife.

I stared, beside me, Felix was holding back laughter, but I wasn’t close to fucking amusement. The woman—the girl—who would become my wife in less than three months had just called me “sir.”

My eyes raked over her body, taking in her bare feet, slender legs, ugly denim dress, and the flowery atrocity she wore as a top. Finally, my eyes settled on her face. She still had bangs, but the rest of her hair was long and wavy, trailing down her bare shoulders.

She raised her eyes when I didn’t make a move to let her pass and stiffened, obviously surprised by my unwavering attention.

I had to admit that the bangs didn’t look half bad. She was very pretty. A lovely girl. That was the problem. Dressed as she was, she looked like a teenage girl, not a woman—definitely not a wife and mother.

She touched her bangs with shaking fin