He swings open the door to my bedroom.
Like everything else in the house, it’s modern luxury with neutral wallpaper with gold filigree, chrome furnishings, and a simple crystal chandelier. There’s a king-sized bed with a dove-gray leather headboard and one lavender armchair, similar to the one I have at home, by the bay windows. Tucked away in another corner is a desk.
Ren hands me a folder. Inside are drafts of press releases for the Berisha and Sons Company about land purchases, building permits, upcoming mergers, earnings reports, and things of that nature.
I’m familiar with these things from my time at Fleur, which unfortunately I had to resign because of my marriage to Elias. It wouldn’t look good to have a C-suite employee married to a known criminal.
Among the issues, it’s been hard to let go of that part of my life—having a career. While it didn’t fill the emptiness inside me, it was something I took pride in.
Ren types on his phone.
Ren
Elias said, “Make yourself useful.” Text me if you have questions. I’m on speed dial two.
The Shadow King has thought of everything, apparently. From the priest, the rings—I stare at the simple diamond wedding band—to now…assignments.
I’d laugh if I weren’t so pissed off.
He hands me a laptop and points to the antique desk in the corner—the only piece of furniture that looks out of place in this otherwise modern room. Something about it seems familiar, but I can’t place it.
Ren
Elias keeps a small team. Hannah, the cook and housekeeper, will meet you later. Don’t try to leave. I don’t like chasing people.
His lips twitch.
Ren
I’m much better at shooting them.
He disappears before I can ask him questions. Who is he? Why does he have a mask on? Where’s Elias going to sleep?
The last question has my pulse reeling.
He’s not expecting a wedding night, is he?
Because if he comes near me, I’ll cut his dick off.
Gritting my teeth, I cross the room to the desk and yank open the drawer, grinning when I find a pair of scissors.
This will do.
I slide it into my jacket pocket.
But then, I notice something on the corner of the desk. A small red box topped with a black bow.
My heart flutters because I know that box.
Geraldine’s Chocolates.
How does he know?
Seriously, Lana, does it matter how he knows?The man probably keeps food logs of everything we eat, the devil.
My stomach growls. I ate nothing the entire flight, and now my biggest weakness is calling my name.
I peel off the lid, biting down a squeal when I see a dozen of their limited-edition champagne roses confections.
