I blink, Ben's unique black eyes turning crystal blue—my husband's.
"Ready to go?" Richard fixes his bowtie and holds out his hand. "I've got an early meeting."
"Yeah." I spring up, grab my bag, and hook my arm through his, steering us out.
He frowns at me, trying to figure out my fluster, but I don't say anything. My brain's been running laps all night, and I don't think he'd want to know why.
Outside, while we wait for the valet, Richard pulls me close, his hand warm on my waist.
"Piper agreed to meet me next week." He grins triumphantly before he chuckles into his sleeve. "Old man salivated after twenty years when he saw you."
Normally, I'd cater to his humor, at least snort, but tonight I give him a measured glance.
He rolls his eyes. "Come on, you can't hold it against him. Have you seen how everyone kept eyeing you? You're a stunner—impossible to ignore." He kisses my cheek softly. "I still can't believe my luck, calling you my wife."
My face stays flat. "Richard, that old geezer was staring at my breasts the entire time."
Richard frowns. "At your breasts?"
I give him a look that should answer the question itself. "You didn't notice?"
"No?" He shakes his head once, but vigorously. "You think I'd be okay with that?"
Watching his eyes go glacial and his body angling to go back, I almost believe him.
Not that he would go back. Richard's world doesn't allow scenes.
I touch his arm, turning him away. "It's fine. Forget it."
He doesn't let me pull away, shoulders squared. Then he regards me very seriously. "Em, I would never allow that. You know that right? If he disrespected you, I will make sure he knows my wrath. Nobody takes liberties staring at my wife like that without regretting it."
The words land like a threat, his usual charm freezing into that cold he does so well.
Richard likes to parade me, but I've seen how he reacts when someone gives the wrong signal. It's never fists or a scene. He is smarter, fighting quietly, and leaving you flayed afterward.
I nod. "I know. Don't worry about it. I think I'm overreacting."
Luckily, the car pulls up and Richard nods, like he wants to believe that. Maybe because of the deal? He eases up and talks the whole way home about details, clients, the hum of his success filling the silence where my thoughts might go, so I kind of appreciate the distraction, and when we get home, we both head straight for our showers—the usual choreography after his events.
I slip into the bed first, the sheets cold against my skin, and because something apparently doesn't want me to sleep, Mara's unanswered text pops up on my screen again:Hey babe, me and my brother are in the city! Coffee?
I stare at it for a moment, wondering why I feel a strange thrill when I think of typing back, breaking the usual pattern of my life I thought I desperately wanted.
Then I hear Richard getting out of the shower, the steam slowly creeping in the bedroom through the sliver under thedoor, so I quickly turn off my lamp, turn to the other side and pretend I'm asleep.
He slides into the bed, his chest on my back, and his lips brush my shoulder gently. "Remember what I promised you?" His voice is rougher than usual.
I turn to him slightly. "I know, but it was a long night. I'm really tired, darling," I say, making my voice sound heavy.
He pauses, and I wonder if he's going to push, which I think he won't because he rarely does.
And even today he just kisses me tenderly like the good husband he is.
"Alright. I'm also tired. Good night," he says.
"Good night."
I fluff my pillow, ready to doze off, when, suddenly, a floorboard creaks somewhere above my head.
