I open the door and find Lionel standing at attention. “Let’s walk.”
“Where would you like to go, Mrs. Moretti?”
“Kitchen. I’m starving.”
We walk through hallways lit by soft security lighting. The kitchen is massive with granite counters. I grab an apple from a fruit bowl and bite into it, juice running down my chin.
“Where’s my husband?” I ask around a mouthful of apple.
“Probably in his office, ma’am. Mr. Moretti always works late.”
I swallow and smile. “Let’s go there then.”
Lionel hesitates. “Ma’am, perhaps it would be better to?—”
“Let’s go, Lionel.”
We walk through the quiet house, my bare feet silent against marble floors. Lionel opens the office door for me, then takes position outside like a good guard.
Alaric is inside, pouring himself a drink from one of those crystal decanters. He’s loosened his tie, and the top button of his shirt is undone.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says without looking up.
“Why not?” I step into the room, running my finger along book spines. “Aren’t you my husband?”
“This is my private office.”
“And I’m your wife.” I examine the titles; most of them look untouched. “Do you even read these?”
He turns to face me, drink in hand. “I have a PhD in International Business.”
“You probably bought it with money.”
His jaw tightens. “I earned it.”
I pull a book from the shelf and let it drop to the floor with a loud thud. “Sure you did.”
“What are you doing?” He sets down his drink and walks over, bending to pick up the book. As he places it back on the shelf, I move to his desk area.
“Exploring my new domain.” I pick up a crystal paperweight from his desk and examine it. “Your office is really nice and very…masculine. I forgot to mention it earlier when we got married.”
The paperweight slips from my fingers and shatters against the hardwood floor.
“Oops.”
“Stop.” He’s still standing by the bookshelf.
“Stop what?” I perch on the edge of his desk, swinging my legs. The nightgown rides up dangerously high on my thighs. “I’m just getting comfortable in my new home.”
“Why are you wearing that around the house?”
“Because I can.” I slide back on the desk until I’m sitting fully on top of it, papers crinkling beneath me. “Problem?”
He steps closer, his eyes dark with frustration and desire. “Get off my desk.”
“Make me.”
He walks to his door and opens it wide. “Kasimira, get out.”
