Suddenly, the house no longer feels like it's mine alone.
"Let's show you to your room," I grunt. I've had enough changes for one day, and watching Elle play mistress of this house is turning my neck red for reasons I refuse to examine.
"Sure," she shrugs, turning to me.
As we climb the stairs, leaving Pasha and Sir Isaac Mew-fucking-ton being lauded over by a handful of my staff, a quiet falls between us.
"You didn't mention you had a child," she says.
"No," I say, surly as fuck. There's no need to give her thebackground here. I barely know the woman. Fortunately, she doesn't ask more.
"I've put you in the West Wing," I tell her. "It's more private."
The truth is, I've given her a spot as far from me as the architecture allows.
"Okay," she says. Without a question or a fight. Like she's just so damn happy to be here, she doesn't care where I put her.
For some reason, that doesn't sit well with me.
I push open the double doors and let her in first. She looks around, still awestruck by everything.
"It's so... cozy," she smiles, turning to me.
"Uh-huh," I grunt, tired of her rose-tinted take on this world.
"I'll have your things brought up," I say. "And your cat, when my kid's done with him."
She sets the empty carrier down neatly, then faces me straight on. Chin up. Eyes unnervingly steady.
"I'm sorry," she says.
"For what?"
"All of it. I know you didn't want this. Neither did I. But I'll try. I'll be a good wife."
The wordwifegrates against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. "You're not my wife."
Her eyes snap to mine. "Not legally. Yet. But..."
"Not in any way that matters." I cut her off before she canfinish the sentence and make it real. "This is a business arrangement, Elle. Nothing more."
Something hardens in her expression. "Great. Then we're on the same page."
"Good."
"Perfect."
We glare at each other for a moment, the air between us crackling with something neither of us wants to name.
“Thank you,” she murmurs softly.
“For what?” It came out harsh. Not intentional. I’m pissed. My head fucking hurts and I need a shower.
“For, um, my mom.”
“She beats you.”
Her gaze drops to the floor.
