“I’m not in a rush. Take a seat. Have some coffee with me.”
“Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee. Can’t handle the caffeine.”
“It’s decaf.”
Her lips part in surprise. “Really?”
“That’s how I take it, too. I don’t like relying on stimulants.”
I pour her a cup, mixing in a half-teaspoon of sugar. Her eyes narrow. “But you know how much sugar I like. How do you explain that?”
I shrug. “I had your father’s staff compile some basic information about your routine to help smooth your transition.”
She arches her brows. “So you spied on me.”
“If you choose to see it that way.” I slide the mug over to her.
“I don’t think there’s another way to choose to see it, husband,” she says sweetly. “You secretly assembled privateinformation about me. That’s spying. If your real last name is Bond, you have to tell me.”
“It’s Keller,” I reassure her. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.”
I slide a manilla envelope from the edge of the counter over to her.
“Handing me an envelope with mysterious content?” she chirps. “You’re really not beating the spy allegations.”
“I’ve added you to my bank accounts,” I explain as she opens the envelope. “Those are your credit cards. You can treat them like they’re your own. Buy whatever you need.”
“Maura Keller,” she reads off one card, glancing up at me. “First time I’m seeing it in writing.”
I feel a quick stab of satisfaction, hearing my name come after hers. It’ll tell the world that she’s mine. Shaking off the possessiveness, I go to the next thing on my mental list.
“Your staff sent over your clothes and essentials, but we’re still waiting on your art supplies and a few larger items,” I tell her. “It should arrive by Thursday.”
“Once the studio is finished,” she says, nodding. “Good coffee, by the way.”
“Glad you like it. Are you up for discussing scheduling now?”
Her head tilts to the side, confused. “Scheduling? Scheduling what?”
“I often have late meetings with the Asian Sequel offices. Since your ovulation is time-sensitive, I thought we should coordinate our calendars.”
She levels me with a mocking gaze. “Seriously? You’re scheduling our sex life?”
“I schedule everything.” I pass her the tablet, open to my weekly schedule, so she can review it. She laughs.
“It’s all color-coded, too. You’re a scheduling freak, Keller. You really should have disclosed this during the marriage negotiations.”
“Why? Would you have refused me?”
“No, but I would have negotiated a daily five-minute window to make fun of you for it.”
“I’ll fit that in between my personal trainer and my call with Guillermo Del Toro,” I say drily. “How long are you ovulating?”
She pulls her phone out of her robe pocket and opens an app. “Last night was the second day of a seven-day estimated fertility window. Based on my ovulation tests, it’s most likely in the next twenty-four hours, but we should finish out the week to be sure.”
I glance over my schedule. “I could do any time in the next two hours, or tonight at 11:00 p.m.”
“I guess before lunch would work best. God, this is surreal,” she says, shaking her head. “Can’t we just agree that we’ll figure it out the day-of?”
