“Welcome to your new home,” he announced, opening broad doors to her bedroom.
He had it renovated to her liking, or at least, he hoped he had. It was new territory for him. He’d never lived with a woman before, so he wasn’t entirely sure what decor they preferred. Leaving it to an interior designer also felt impersonal.
So he’d video-called his younger sister, Anna, who lived in Milan. She’d warned him: avoid overusing pink, stick to silk sheets, and keep the designs practical.
Emily’s eyes scanned the space. A smile bloomed across her face, slow and genuine.
Seeing that, he felt more accomplished than he had after his last acquisition.
Note to self: Reward Anna with front-row concert tickets to her favorite boy band, The Evolutionists.
“Thank you.”
His brows furrowed at her. “You don’t have to thank me.”
Her hands pressed at the bed, testing the mattress. He watched as she peeked inside the bathroom before coming back out. She looked like a curious cat. He couldn’t help but wonder if she didn’t have anything else to say. No objections? No moreoffers?
Most importantly, was she not going to mention him losing his temper at the charity gala? Because he’d regretted it afterward. He wanted to apologize, but after days apart, bringing it up now almost felt out of place. So he held it in, much to his displeasure. Because he hated residual conflict more than anything.
“I’m your husband, Emily.” Her head snapped in his direction. “It’s what I should do. It’s my duty to ensure that you’re well taken care of. At least for a year it is.”
“Well, thank—” Emily caught herself at his brow rising. “It’s much appreciated,” she corrected.
Good girl.
He was quick to shake that heated thought away. “I made dinner in case you’re hungry. You’re not on a diet, are you?” His eyes couldn’t help how they narrowed accusingly.
It looked like she’d lost weight since the last time they’d seen each other. He didn’t like it.
“No, I’m not.”
“Great, because I made enough for four.” He tacitlyhinted that she should have seconds. She looked like she needed it. He quietly made it a top priority to fatten her up to a healthy weight while she lived here.
“You know how to cook?” she sputtered.
Her hands flew to her mouth, her cheeks reddening. “Um…sorry…I?—”
“Yes, being in the kitchen is my way of unwinding.”
It was true. His mother had taught them early on that a proper meal was more than just food. It was care, connection. She’d let him and his sister help from a young age, flour-dusted fingers and all. Since then, the kitchen had become a refuge. A place tied to happy memories and simpler times.
Within the next few minutes, they were seated in the living room, their plates filled with dinner.TagliatadiManzo. His signature dish.
“Wow…this looks like it came from a Michelin restaurant.”
“Appreciate the compliment,” he simply said.“Buonappetito.”
Her eyes closed for a prayer. Was she religious? Her file mentioned the kind of traditional schooling where faith was part of the curriculum. Not that it mattered. What did was the shape of her brows, earnest in whatever she was tellingHim. The slight pout of her lips. The flush of her cheeks, he slowly realized, was natural.
He didn’t seem to notice when her eyes had reopened.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Yes…I will,” he breathed, his voice dropping lower than he expected.
Her attention went back to her meal. “Mm…” she moaned, completely unaware of how it sounded.
Nicolas’s fork stopped mid-air. He crossed his legs and found a topic to distract himself. To drown out her soft mewls. To stop the unsolicited thoughts clawing at the edges of his composure.
