“This is a surprise.” I recovered enough not to sound too anxious that he was home because I had some place to be and I didn’t want him asking questions. Which was wishful thinking because when he glanced up, his gaze trailed down my checkered cream-and-black suit.
“I took the morning off.” He quirked a brow. “You’re heading out?”
“Yes.” I forced myself to walk casually into the kitchen, filled my insulated water bottle, and grabbed an energy bar from the pantry.
“You said you have unhealthy eating habits, so I conferred with Sorcha.” His eyes narrowed with disapproval. “I know we don’t share meals together, but maybe we should start.”
Hell no.
“She also told me you have zero input when it comes to running the household,” he added.
“She’s an efficient housekeeper,” I pointed out. “I didn’t see the need to involve myself.”
“Youaremy wife.” Kirill’s eyes flashed.
Oh, I wanted to retort, “in name only” but I was trying to get out of the house, and arguing with my husband was going to make me late.
“Okay, I’ll talk to her.” We stared at each other. I’d become adept at discerning Kirill’s limited expressions. He’d shown more emotion lately. Mostly irritation. But this one on his face right now was pointing to calculation, maybe even a hint of suspicion. It was when the crease between his brows and the narrowing of his eyes eased. A slight hollow would appear in his cheeks as he examined the information before coming to a conclusion. Then, a telltale smile would curve his mouth.
I braced for his question.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting Aralina for breakfast.” I might have overdone my gasp when checking the time. “And I’m running late.”
Kirill rose from his seat. “I’ll take you.”
Shit.
“It’s private.”
Now he wasn’t even disguising his amusement that he’d caught me in false capitulation. He rounded the counter and cupped my waist, tugging me to his side. “Then I’ll drop you off and pick you up later.”
“Why?” I had to ask.
“I would quit while you’re ahead, baby,” Kirill said softly. “I’m not compromising on this. Don’t argue too much or I might suspect you and my sister are stirring up some kind of trouble.”
He was already suspicious, so I took his advice and stopped arguing.
The drive to Jabbin’ Java was uneventful if not fraught with awkward conversation like talking about the weather and how it was a warm November. Or how traffic appeared to be smooth sailing into Hell’s Kitchen. That area was a De Lucci stronghold, which reminded me of something more unusual than seeing Kirill in the kitchen this morning.
I twisted to look behind us. “No security.”
Kirill glanced in the rearview mirror. “They’re around, just not as closely. I doubt your brother is going to whack me while in his territory.” He shot me a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “Especially when you’re with me.”
The last time I’d seen my De Lucci family was two weeks ago at Dom and Sloane’s wedding. Of course, Kirill, Aralina, and his parents were in attendance. The stark difference in their ceremony and the reception compared to mine was huge. Especially since there was dancing and laughter. So much laughter.
When I didn’t say anything, he added, “They’re on their honeymoon, right?”
“Yes.” I side-eyed him. Dom and Sloane were on a three-week European tour.
Another beat of silence passed between us.
“I didn’t give you a honeymoon,” Kirill said solemnly.
The urge to snort a mocking laugh was overwhelming. Because a honeymoon would be a joke. He knew this. Kirill was pushing my buttons, wanting to get a reaction. But that would mean I cared about this damn marriage. I remembered how I had broken down in the shower on our wedding night. Did it mean I cared for this asshole? Because every time he did something sweet, there was an agenda. I chose my words carefully. “A honeymoon didn’t make sense for the reasons wegot married. It’s a business arrangement. You needed a wife to cement your position.”
“And this is all this marriage is to you? Whiling away the time until you get your freedom?” he bit out.
