“I hope you still like lasagna,” I say in a cheery voice as I return to the room. “I cooked it myself, using my mom’s recipe. I remember you loving it.” The lit candelabra on the table gives the room a distinct romantic nineteen-twenties vibe.
It’s all so very Stepford wives.
I set his plate in front of him, loading some bread and salad on the side.
“What are you doing?” he asks, eyeing me with his sharp gaze.
I lean down and kiss his cheek. “I promised I’d try. Jethro is gone, so this is me trying.” I walk around the table and sink into the seat across from him. I lift my glass filled with cranberry juice and a dash of red wine. “To a new future.” I almost gag on my words.
He clinks his glass against mine, and I know he’s suspicious as fuck. But that’s okay. Because I’ll thaw him out. I’ll have him believing this bullshit is real. Even if it kills me to do it.
I tell him about the scheduled meeting I arranged with the funeral director and pepper him with questions about his dad’s business and what he intends to do with it. When he informs me he’ll most likely have to graduate early and drop out of school to attend to business operations, I have to work extremely hard to keep the grin off my face.
The more he relaxes, the more I top up his glass, and I don’t think he realizes how much he’s drinking. When he leaves to go to the bathroom, I empty one-third of the vial with the sleeping liquid into his drink, praying it works with wine. Drew only mentioned mixing it with water or juice, so I’m taking a risk. But I figure the wine will mask any taste better.
“Want to watch a movie in my room?” I ask, after we’ve finished eating.
“What are you up to, Abby?” His eyes narrow as he takes me in.
“If you’re going to accuse me of ulterior motives every time I do something nice for you, we’re not going to get very far.” I invoke reverse psychology. “We’ve had a nice night. Maybe we shouldn’t push it.” I move my chair back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
I’m almost at the door when he calls out to me. “I’ll grab a quick shower, and I’ll drop by then.”
Sucker.
“Okay.” I toss a smile over my shoulder, wondering how long it will take for the drugs to take effect.
CHAPTER SIX
“Any issues getting away?” Drew asks when I arrive at Lauder’s place a couple hours later.
“No. It went like clockwork. I left Charlie passed out on my bed, snoring his head off. I plied him with wine and a heavy dinner, and he worked a twelve-hour day, so hopefully, the fact he conked out won’t raise any suspicions.”
“Always one step ahead of the game, beautiful,” Jackson says, approaching with his arms wide-open.
I fall into his embrace easily. “How’s the patient?”
“He blew a gasket when Rick pushed his shoulder back into place. Thought he was going to murder him.” Jackson chuckles.
“He’s a fucking nightmare,” Sawyer says, ambling toward me in a tight white T-shirt and loose-hanging gray sweats. His feet are bare. His hair wet from the shower.
“I see Xavier is rubbing off on you,” I tease, gesturing at his casual style.
“Why does everyone assume I don’t own sweatpants?”
“Maybe because you sleep in your dress suit?” Jackson jokes.
“Or because it’s hard to imagine that stick up your ass fitting in a pair of sweats?” Xavier quips, yanking me out of Jackson’s arms. “Stop hogging the treasure.” Xavier bundles me into his arms, and I close my eyes, allowing his warmth and his familiar smell to comfort me.
“Fuck off!”
My head jerks at the sound of his voice, and I pull away from Xavier without a second thought.
“Kai. You shouldn’t be out of bed. You—”
“Screw off, Rick!” Kai roars. “I want to see my fucking wife!”
Kai appears in the doorway of the games room halfway down the hallway, and I take off running toward him. My heart is beating ninety miles an hour, and butterflies scatter in my chest as my stomach flips over. Kai clings to the side of the door, half-doubled over, and it’s obvious Rick is right—he should not be out of bed. Cuts and bruises cover his face, but it doesn’t detract from his gorgeous face. He is still every bit as beautiful to me.
