Luka
Chapter 24
The floral musk of Brooklyn’s perfume greets me as I step into the penthouse Monday evening, telling me she’s back.
I barely slept the last few nights, knowing she was so far away, doing whatever she was up to with Mateo under the guise of a bachelorette party. It was the first time I’ve been alone in the penthouse since she moved in and I swear I could feel her absence like a tangible thing. It created a sort of tension that could only be broken by one thing.
Her coming home.
Her keys are lying in the little ceramic bowl on the side table; her purse sitting on the edge as if she’d simply tossed it there instead of putting it away like she normally does. I walk quietly down the entry hall to the living room, listening for her. The gentle beat of the shower trickles through the open space and my cock immediately comes to life. She’s home and she’s naked in the shower. Two of my favorite things.I’d love to barge in and join her. I think to her haphazard purse on the table. Why was she in such a hurry to get home and jump in the shower?
What kind of lies is she washing off?
Setting my jaw, I resist the urge to barge into her en-suite bathroom and demand to know what she was really doing in LA. My sister and sister-in-law already threw her a lavish party here last month, along with a few of her model friends. Granted, Mateo hadn’t been able to attend, but still. I don’t believe the bachelorette party cover-up for one second. Her departure was so last minute. So impromptu. Brooklyn has to be up to something.
Either she’s fucking Mateo, or—
Fuck! My whole body goes tense and hot at the mental image of her underneath that guy—any guy, I don’t care who. I can’t shake my anger at her for running off. Especially given that the past few weeks have been different between us. More real. I’d been slow to realize it because I didn’t want to face it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that things’ve changed. Yesterday morning it came to me clear as crystal while I was sweating out my shitty mood at the gym.
I like taking care of Brooklyn, doing little things for her. I fucking loved it when she got all possessive over me at the photo shoot. What the other model had said about me was true. I had fucked every female in that room at one time. It’s an uncomfortable, even caustic, situation for a fiancée to find herself in—but instead of cowering, or taking the socially acceptable high road, Brooklyn had stood up for herself, and for our relationship. And I swear it meant something—thatImeant something more than just the agreement we’ve made.
Loosening my tie, I remove my cufflinks and roll up my shirt sleeves. My clothes feel too tight all of a sudden. Needing to calm down, I go to the large windows and look out over the city. Dusk is beginning to fall, and lights dot the buildings in different hues of silver and gold. Streaks of purple and orange fade into the encroaching night. Brooklyn should be here right now, her naked body pressed against the glass. I swear I’ll make her forget every man she’s ever fucked.
“Luka? Hi.”
I turn to find Brooklyn rubbing her hair with a towel. A pink robe clings to her curves as if she put it on while her skin was still damp, her nipples perking beneath the silky fabric.
“I texted you earlier to let you know I was home. Did you get it?”
Ah, so now she’s trying to play nice. She couldn’t be bothered to tell me she was leaving town on her very sudden, very secretive little trip, so why have a change of heart now?
“I did.” I just chose not to respond. Two can play at this game.
“Oh. Okay.” She drapes the towel over her forearm. “How was work?”
The mundane small talk sets off my frustration. Turning to fully face her, I run a hand over my mouth. “Why did you go to LA, Brooklyn?”
Her eyes widen. “I told you. For a really last-minute bachelorette party.”
“My family just threw you one a few weeks ago.”
She looks away, and I can’t tell if it’s guilt or lies she’s trying to hide from me. “I know, and it was lovely. But my LA friends had to miss it, and Mateo was already out there for work, so he thought we should have a second party so I could celebrate again.”
I’m not buying it. “What LA friends? You never mentioned them before.”
Brooklyn shrugs and pauses, probably scrambling to come up with more lies. “Just, you know. Anjali, who models part-time and runs a non-profit magazine, her boyfriend Jacob. He’s a dental student or something at USC. Pera Lutz, you’ve heard of her. She modeled for that luxury car company last year—she played the secret agent in all the commercials. And then Bowie and Harper from YouTube, they run a makeup channel.”
The names are familiar…so maybe she’s not completely lying. I take a couple steps toward her, my pulse racing. Part of me is glad she’s back. The other part is still too suspicious, too jealous, whatever, to fully embrace how nice it is having her in my—our—home again.
“Where did you have the party?”
Her smooth brow crinkles. “Why the hundred questions?”
I move closer. “What aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just answer them?”
“Iam.”
“Okay, then tell me what you did last night. Tell me all of it.” I’m so close to her now that I could touch her. I want to, but I might not be gentle, so I don’t. As if she senses how tense I am, her eyes track up to mine as she crosses her arms over her chest.
