“He has a driver.” Her lip curls.
“I expect he has some military training.”
“Whit is a banker. You’re…” Her expression? Fill in the blanks.
“In a line of business that’s a little more dangerous.”
“That line of business being?”
“Entertainment.”
“Well, I’m sure some people find you entertaining,” she says, leaning back with a sigh.
“Not so much you, my little liar?” And now were back to narrowed eyes again.
“I own nightclubs, mostly. A couple of casinos. Some hotels.”
“But I bet that’s not all,” she murmurs, angling her gaze toward the dance floor. “Not by a long shot.”
12
RAIF
“Regret your choice of bride yet?”
“It’s barely been twelve hours.”
I follow her out of the house and watch as she wobbles her way across the terrace, her laughter floating on the fragrant night air.
She’s a little buzzed, true, but not roofied. Self-medicated against nervousness would be my guess as she navigates the furniture, pausing to peel off one unlaced boot, then the other. Socks follow, all thrown haphazardly behind her. She makes for the pool and, when I think she might jump in, traverses the edge like a circus tightrope walker instead.
She veers off to the right, in the direction of the glass fence, tipping onto her toes to look down at the rock face. Limestone graveling underfoot, chickweed, bitter orange trees, and buckthorn bushes I’d tear my shirts on. It’s a land that’s familiar to me.
I grew up not far from here, in a neighborhood much less salubrious, running through the scrub and generally getting upto no good. When I was a kid, this area was the pinnacle of wealth to me. I’d sworn that, when I was older, I’d buy my mother the biggest house on the hill.
She just didn’t live long enough.
As she lowers to her heels, I realize I’d checked out while staring at her ass. There are worse things to look at.
She leans back against the glass, her elbows hooked over the edge. The scent of neroli and jasmine perfumes the air, the night sky twinkling behind her, the sea a shining oil slick in the distance.
All this beauty and her at the center of it.
My wife. That shouldn’t make me feel good, but the things that aren’t good for you usually do.
“You know, it bugs me how some people only count their relationship from the point of marriage,” she announces, picking up where she’d left off. “Like that’s the pinnacle—the be-all and end-all. As though what came before wasn’t also a significant commitment.”
“I stand corrected, but given that our commitment to each other hasn’t yet reached the twenty-four-hour mark, the answer is still no. I don’t regret you.” After stubbing my cigarette out on the wall, I flick the butt into a nearby plant pot.
“Much better.” Her eyes fall over me as I cross the terrace and pull out a chair from the dining setting. Turning it to face her, I take a seat, propping my heel on my opposite knee.
“I should imagine that’s long enough to decide whether it’s worth putting up with me.” She crosses her legs at her ankles.Fuck, those legs. Those toned, tan legs. I want them wrapped around my head again, even if tonight isn’t that night.
She’ll say when. She’ll say where.And I won’t give her space for regrets.
“Comfortable, princess?” My voice sounds husky as she arches her back a little, her thighs pushed tight together.
“Yes.” In the low light, her cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Why?”
