“Then don’t argue with me, Duchess.”
“I’m not getting a nanny and that’s my last word on it.”
He watches the two of us for another quiet moment.
“Get some sleep,” he says.
The next thing I hear is the front door slamming shut.
5
ROMAN
Iscoop a forkful of Juliette’s homemade pot pie inside of my mouth and revel in the taste as I bite into a tender piece of chicken. Joseph must have saved humanity in a past life, because in this life his beautiful wife cooks him extraordinary dinners from scratch almost every night. Tonight it’s comfort food. Another night it might be a lobster boil. The old man has always been a lucky bastard.
“How’s the crust, sweetie?” Juliette asks, as if there was any other answer but damn good.
“Delicious.”
My woman is many things, but a wizard in the kitchen is not one of them. That’s why I occasionally sneak back here around seven in the evening, because I’m almost guaranteed something delicious is cooking inside or on top of the stainless-steel Viking Range I bought Juliette for Christmas three years ago.
“I should teach you how to make it. Have you ever thought about learning how to cook?”
Imagine me cooking a pot pie from scratch. Not even Mr. Tibbs would want to taste a scoop of that disaster.
“This is becoming a dangerous habit,” Joseph comments as he walks into the kitchen.
“Be nice, Joseph.” Juliette glides her hand along Joseph’s chest and then steps out of the room.
“What’s become a dangerous habit?” I ask as I continue to chew.
“You coming here for dinner.”
“I guess you will never get the hang of this father thing, will you? This is my childhood home. I’m supposed to come home and visit.”
“Not without my grandson with you.”
“Elizabeth took him to a mommy and me swim class tonight.”
“Then you should have come by here another night.”
“I see how you are now.” I take a swallow of my juice and bitterly wash down my last bite. “All you care about is Knox.”
“What do you want me to say? So glad you’re home, Roman. Please eat all of my dinner and while you’re at it stay the night in your old room upstairs and I’ll read you a bedtime story?”
“Listen, old man, this is still my house too, and if Juliette invites me to come by and have a meal, I’m coming. It’s obvious that she desires a little more normal human interaction than she gets around here. It’s called having a conversation. You should try it sometime.”
“Stop whining.”
Joseph pours himself a lowball of whiskey and sits across from me at the table.
“Uh, no thank you. I don’t want a drink.”
“I didn’t offer because it’s clear you’ve already had a few.”
He’s right.
I stopped by a local bar for a drink before I came here.
