“Yes,” she says around a spoonful of soup.
“Did everything fit?” I ask. “Maternity sizes are different. Confusing.”
“Everything was perfect,” she says before adding, “Thank you.”
Still, even though her tone has softened a little, something is off. And I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing her upset. I definitely don’t like her snapping at me for no reason.
But more than that, I don’t need more than one woman upset with me. It’s bad enough that I’m being ripped apart by every other obligation in my life.
“Look, I know this isn’t ideal. I’m sure you miss your siblings and?—”
“Do you know?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You have a job. You’re needed by a lot of different people. Busy and important. Not just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”
I narrow my eyes, not really sure where she gets off. “Is the house not good enough for you?” I ask. “You could fit three of your Montana houses inside the main floor alone.”
Amara just giggles at that while rolling her eyes. “Size would be the only thing that matters to you.”
“Did I do something to upset you?” I ask. “Something to give you the right to talk to me like this? After everything I am doing for you? Look, I get that maybe you thought I’d be around more, but if you don’t remember, I have a life.”
“I’m aware,” she says.
“A busy, constantly demanding life. I understand that you’re lonely but?—”
“Not that lonely,” she says, and I stop.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But Amara just smiles, digging into her salad. “I had a visitor today,” she says casually as she pops a grape tomato into her mouth.
“A visitor? Someone came by the house?” I ask, my temper rising.
“In,” she says around chewing.
“They cameinthe house?”
She picks a piece of the bacon off her salad and pops it into her mouth. “Yes. Someone came to the door and I let them in.”
“Amara,” I growl her name and she looks up at me. “Who was it? Who did you invite over? Was it your friend? The one who is always skanking around the city? Electra?”
“No, it wasn’t Electra!” she snaps. “And I didn’tinviteanyone over!”
“Then who was it?” I demand.
But Amara just stares at me. Somehow she’s gotten the impression that she has the right to be bratty with me right now. Her eyes lock hard on mine, and her lips tick in the hint of a smirk before it vanishes again.
“It was your wife.”
20
AMARA
“It was your wife,” I say. Then I wait for the reaction.
It doesn’t take long for Ransome’s eyes to widen. For the look of shock to erase his anger.
