Harrison’s gaze swept across my penthouse just once before he turned to face me, those lips tugging into a lazy grin. “If this is what it looks like when you think you need to clean up, we might have identified our marriage’s first potential problem area.”
I shut my front door, locking it behind me before I strode further in, desperately trying to remain as cool and confident as he was. But it was hard, considering it was the middle of the night, I was naked under my robe, and he washere.
“It won’t be a problem area,” I said easily. “Because I’m not your mother. I won’t be picking up after you. You’re a grownup. You can manage that all by yourself.”
He grimaced, rubbing the side of his neck as he took another look around. “There’s not even a scatter cushion out of place. I’m not sure I’m that much of a grownup.”
“You will be.” I shot him a sweet smile and then gestured dramatically around the space. “Right, so, the grand tour. There’s the living room, the kitchen, and oh, look, I have a view of the bay. Do try to keep up.”
He chuckled. “Bathroom?”
“Down the hall,” I said, inclining my chin toward it. “That’s the only one you need to know about. The others are upstairs, which is where I sleep, so you won’t be getting anywhere near there.”
He pressed a hand to his chest like he was mortally wounded. “I’m going to be your husband and I’m not even allowed to see where you sleep?”
“Nope. You made me pass out on your couch, Westwood. I didn’t even get the courtesy of a real pillow.”
“You had a blanket,” he pointed out as he followed me to the kitchen, hands in his pockets. He looked around like a tourist. “I also gave you red wine. The good stuff. That’s better than a pillow.”
As we walked into my kitchen, his gaze swept across the marble countertops, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the top of the line appliances. I went directly for the fridge, but he lingered in the doorway, suddenly chuckling.
“Okay, you win.”
“I win what?”
“The honor of being the one to decorate our home when we’re married. You’re obviously better at it than I am.” He motioned toward the velvet throws on the backs of my couches, glanced at the artwork on the walls and the arrangement of books and candles on a side table. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s very us.”
I scoffed, but I smiled anyway. “Us? I don’t even know what that means. What do you want to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having, and yeah.” He strolled into the kitchen, those eyes suddenly fixed on me again. “Us.”
“I still don’t know what that means,” I muttered, pulling a bottle of wine I’d had a glass from earlier out of the fridge. “There is no real us. You do realize that, right?”
“Of course, there is,” he countered, watching closely. I plucked two stemless wineglasses from a shelf and filled them. “Very chic. Classy. Elegant. We have money and we like using it to buy nice things. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“God, you’re a snob.” I chuckled under my breath as I handed over his glass. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No, but few people talk to me the way you do,” he said as if it didn’t mean anything, but the intensity of his eyes said that it did. That it meant everything. “People rarely tell me exactly what they think of me.”
I nodded my understanding, raising my glass in his direction. “Well, then, here’s to not pussy-footing around each other. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” The soft clinking of our glasses chimed in the air. His gaze remained locked on mine as he sipped. “For the record, you’re a snob too. Don’t think I don’t recognize how expensive your taste is.”
I shrugged. “I warned you about that, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just saying that we’re both snobs in our own ways. Yet another reason why we work so well together. I’ll never have to beg you to let me buy you things.”
“Why would anyone have to beg another person to buy them things?” I frowned. “That makes no sense. If someone wants to buy you something with their own money, that’s their choice. They earned it. How they choose to spend it is none of my business.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “My brothers’ wives don’t seem to understand that, though. Laney thinks that Sterling wanting to spoil her is some kind of kink. Sadie would rather Jameson donate any money he wants to spend on her to her foundation and Maisie has a hell of a time accepting anything from Callum that isn’t for Brody. I don’t think she would have wanted him spoiling Brody either if she didn’t feel guilty about keeping that secret for so long.”
“Oh, yeah,” I murmured, curling my fingers around my glass. “I heard about the secret Westwood. That must’ve been a fun discovery for your family to make.”
“The secret Westwood.” He chuckled. “I like that, and yeah, it was interesting. It was hard for my parents at first, knowing they had a grandson they were only just starting to build a relationship with. It was tough on Callum too, but it’s all good now.”
I swallowed the sip of wine I’d taken and set my glass down. “That’s nice. I’m really happy for all of you, but did you really come here at this time of night to tell me that I’m a snob, or did you actually have a reason for wanting to come over?”
“That would’ve been a perfectly valid reason, but as it happens, I heard something tonight,” he said with a low, serious edge to his voice that made me stop fidgeting with the belt of my robe. “About our moms.”
