“Threats, sir.”
“And you are telling me now because…?”
“You’re back in town, and I believe you’ll sort it out.”
“Thank you, Jerry. Stay at the office until I call. I will be needing your services as per usual.”
“Thank you for the reassurance, sir.”
“You did not lose your job. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” He clears his throat. “What about Nick and Laurence?”
My regular security. One of them is his nephew. “Call them back, of course.”
“Of course.”
Seething, I hang up and pet the dog again. The motion calms me, and it’s a good thing my wife takes her sweet time upstairs, because if she showed up right now, I’d have words to say I’d likely regret.
Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just fucking say them to her. No wonder she suggested I get a mistress and go live in a different zip code. She’s got her lover running my household.
4
BENEDETTA • AN HOUR AGO
Ireach my bedroom and close the door behind me, plaster my body against it, and breathe rapidly, trying to calm down my racing heart. I’ve been preparing for my husband’s arrival for three weeks, and his presence in the otherwise empty home still hit me like a semitruck.
Maybe because I expected him tomorrow?
Maybe because I wasn’t dressed to receive him and instead I showed up in my pajamas? Which sounds stupid, but I don’t know him, and I don’t want him to see me in the morning all bug-eyed, and oh my God, I haven’t even brushed my teeth.
I scurry to the bathroom and do that, and wash my face too, then glance at the shower.
About three weeks ago, my dad (much like my husband) tackled me first thing in the morning and told me I was getting married. If I had a choice, I would have refused, but Mom raised me to accept anything the man of the house decided, and I knew from a very young age he would use me for family gain.
It isn’t a burden for me. I also want my family secure and safe, and I’ll do whatever it takes in the same fashion my sisterhas done before me. I just hope I don’t end up like her, grieving over what she’ll never have, namely a healthy marriage.
I already built up my walls and squashed those stupid girly dreams as I watched my sister miscarry alone while her husband went out on “business” trips. And while he was away, one of his mistresses gave birth to his child, an event that broke my sister. Mentally, she would have survived the miscarriage had that woman not showed up at her house with a baby in her arms.
This is why I told Hudson that he’s free to do what he wants.
I can’t imagine completely giving myself to a man and then having him destroy me. No, thank you. I learned from mistakes that weren’t mine.
In the closet, I sift through the dresses I brought and find three that I know make me feel and look great. I pick a pretty turquoise sundress and pair it with black cowboy boots. After showering and dressing, I put highlighter over my nose and cheeks, light mascara on my lashes, and peach lip gloss on my mouth. Before I leave, I double-check the mirror. I think I look nice.
Leaving my room, I’m wondering how we’re gonna get the dog out of the house, when Hudson’s piercing gray-green eyes arrest my steps midway down the stairs. Shirtless, he’s sitting on the couch, glaring at me like he wants to kill me.
I recognize this look. My older cousin stares at me the same way, like he wants to kill me, but I know he also wants to fuck me. He’s scared of my dad, though, not my husband, or he wouldn’t have come here and threatened the staff while Hudson was gone.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Peachy.”
It’s bad. I descend the stairs and head for the front door, but Hudson gets up from the couch. He’s not wearing a shirt, and my heart starts doing flips while butterflies stir in my belly.
I’m shorter than him by a lot, so my face is at his chest. The scent of his cologne draws me in, and like a moth to a flame, I take a step closer, only inches from his chest. I inhale. He smells good. Really good. I look up.
Cold gray eyes and a firm jaw meet my gaze, which drops to the dimple on his chin. It’s prominent and the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen on a man’s face. I want to poke it with my finger. When my arm lifts, though, I fist my hand. “Ready?” I ask.
