“If I may …” William clears his throat, and I look at him, trying to ignore the way my heart races from all my stuff in this room. “Mr. Crawford isn’t a bad man. He’s just the type who does whatever needs to be done,” he says simply as if I’m supposed to know what that means.
He looks at me expectantly, and I lick my lips, remembering my manners. “Thank you.” The way he frowns tells me he’s not buying my gratitude.
“Of course.” He nods and walks over to the door, holding it open for me. “This way.”
I follow him down a long hallway and take a right toward a set of black double doors. He pushes them open. “Your master suite, Mrs. Crawford.”
I step inside to see the large room. A black four-post Alaskan king-size bed sets up against a dark gray wall with black silk sheets and duvet. White and red decorative pillows have been fluffed and strategically placed. It’s obvious more than just William takes care of this place. No man cares that much about their bed, especially one that doesn’t live here. A white leather couch sits at the foot of the bed with a blanket draped across the armrest.
“I’ll leave you to it, Mrs. Crawford. Our guests should be arriving soon,” he reminds me, closing the bedroom door behind him.
I enter the bathroom to see all of my products that Tyson had delivered to the apartment at Blackout are also here. From my shampoo to my soap. From my razor to my favorite lotion. I hate that it makes me smile.
Getting undressed, I enter the shower, starting to get ready and trying not to think about the spare bedroom that has all of my stuff in it.
* * *
“Mrs. Crawford?”a woman says.
“Yes?” I exit the bathroom to find three women standing in the master suite. One looks to be fifty, dressed in an all-white suit with fire-engine red heels on. The other two look to be her daughters around my age. They all three smile at me. They’re whispering and giggling to one another. “Please call me Lake.”
“Ladies.” The older woman says tightly when she sees me. The two others straighten and clear their throats.
“Lake.” She gives me a soft nod. “Mr. Crawford wanted us to show you some dresses.” The older woman smiles at me brightly. “We’ve brought quite a selection for you. Is it okay to set them up in here? Or would you like them somewhere else?”
“Here is fine,” I answer nervously.
“We’ll have everything brought in and set up for you,” she says, and they all three turn to leave the bedroom.
“I can’t believe we’re in Tyson’s house.” One of the girls squeals.
“Right?” the other agrees. “God, she’s so pretty. They make a perfect couple.” Their whispering voices trail off as they walk down the hallway, and I stand nibbling on my lip, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.
They return with garment bags hanging on racks that are on wheels. More than I can count. And they wheel in trunks that are full of heels when they open them.
“May I ask you a personal question?” the young brunette asks me.
The other’s eyes dart around the room, making sure their mother isn’t close enough to hear it.
“Sure.”
“Can I see your ring?” She looks down at my hand.
I lift my left hand, and she gently holds it, looking at the ring. I’ve never really paid much attention to it other than that one time while in the bathtub on our wedding day. It’s been an annoyance, a reminder of my life sentence.
“It’s gorgeous,” the girl says in awe, staring at it.
“It is.” I agree. Even I can’t deny that.
“I heard he flew to Paris and had it specially made just for you,” she continues, her eyes coming up to meet mine.
I shake my head. “Oh, I—”
“I heard that he paid millions—with an s—for it.”
I laugh at that. “No…”
Her face goes serious, and I stop talking. “A red diamond is the rarest diamond color in the world,” she informs me.
