However, I must admit, the git who thought to turn US History into a bloody rap song to get people to pay attention to it deserves every award in the sodding universe. I’ve never seen so many hopped-up fangirls and boys at a Broadway production before. Even my wife stopped being so vinegar and salt for a while to marvel at the spectacle. It was nice to see her smile and laugh and sing along in her head.
I was a wee bit concerned about her earlier, evenn if I didn’t say so.
By the time I got called into that debacle, she’d knocked back the better half of a hundred and fifty-dollar bottle of scotch and she didn’t stop until we left. My wife likes a nip, but drinking like that is for two things: parties and pain. I wasn’t sure what to say to her, though, because she seemed like she was running on autopilot.
Coming to NYC to kill was a calculated plan to see if I could get her to let loose a little. It worked.
“I swear to Satan, I’m going to wear your guts for garters, you nitwit!”
Turning my head, I watch her pop in front of the slimy little gang-banger she caught attacking a college chit. Normally, I’d play along in the fun, but she’s enjoying herself, so I don’twant to distract her. Giving her what she needs is my number one goal, so I’m inclined to let her work through whatever’s bothering her for as long as she wants. When she asked to hunt again after the show, I just brought her back and kept my eyes on her just in case.
It doesn’t suck that she’s bloody hot while she’s doing it, either.
Looking around in disgust,I tilt my head at my wife. “Are you sure that this is where you want to be, Minx? It seems like an odd choice given all of our other destinations tonight.”
I look down at my feet where I’ve piled the bag of souvenirs from the show, ten bags that I’m certain only contain new shoes, an assorted selection of foreign branded designer boxes, and a large shopping bag from the blue jewelry store that makes ladies drool. We just made Fifth Avenue scream in a commission-induced orgasm.
My wife is covered in ten kinds of awful after the park, so we rang the bells at the most expensive places until someone let us in. Any place you make an appointment to shop at is one that ninety percent of people can’t afford, and the ones who can are the ones who ring the bloody bell. That meant that I didn’t have to kill anyone to get her outfitted in something less attention-drawing as we made our way up Central. They saw the card and kept their mouths shut.
How very un-French of them.
I’d pop her swag home, but I’m evil. If I have to be in this godforsaken rat hole, I want every sniveling bint to envy my wife. Let them see every brand and bag while she does this.
She comes over and drops a kiss on my lips and murmurs, “Thank you.”
My brows furrow. “What for, love? I promised you a rocking date a long time ago. It took me a while to make good on it.”
“For everything: taking me out, hunting, shopping—you did it all to make me smile and I appreciate it.”
I cup her cheek in my hand, stroking her jaw. “Hell, woman, I’d buy half of Lower Manhattan if it’d make you smile. The least I can do is take you out for a meal and a good kill.”
“See, you say things like that and I worry that either you’ll do it or two, you could do it.”
I give her a wicked smile, not answering on purpose. “That, minx, is for me to know. I enjoy keeping you on your toes a little.”
Besides, she’s no slouch herself. I’d be willing to bet that she’s not once checked her account since she started working for the Company. Money’s not why she’s doing it; she didn’t even ask Mikhail about payment. I went in and worked it out on the back end for her. She’s not as wealthy as I am, but I’ve been doing this for years. She could, however, purchase a small island if she chose. Her balance keeps going up every time she works. One day, she’ll have a coronary when she sees it because she thinks I’m Uncle Moneybags.
She doesn’t know that she’s fast becoming the Queen of Diamonds.
“I think I’m going to sing now.”
Thank Christ.
I knew she had something to get off her chest. I give her a light kiss before I disapparate us back to The Rift so she can belt out her problems at that fucking hellhole. She stands on the stage in her war paint, glaring into the crowd as if daring anyone to ask her about it. When they don’t, she holds the mic and takes a deep breath before she begins.
That’s my wife, giving them hell even in a karaoke bar.
The Cat Goes Sleepwalking
DELILAH
When we got home, we found a room to stay in, so I sent him to fetch pajamas. Of course, he picked the worst thing possible. I didn’t want to tell him it hurt my heart to look at a gown because of the other night. He seemed excited, and we had a good time out on the town. I put it on, and we slipped into bed to sleep.
But I knew it wouldn’t last; it couldn’t because my mind is unsettled.
I stared at the ceiling for three hours before I gave up the ghost, admitting I couldn’t sleep.
The hem of my long, black satin nightgown drags near my bare toes, and the moonlight plays over the ripples of the pool as I walk past it. I smell the night-blooming jasmine and gardenias creeping along the waterfall, and I stop to tilt my head and inhale deeply. The scent is enhanced by the heat from the hot tub tucked nearby. It wafts across my face in the light breeze, making my lips curl up.
