Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I begin. “But I’ve just washed my hands. I’d hate to dirty them up before breakfast.”
Her lips press into a tight line and when she retreats, she lays her palm against Enzo’s forearm.
My eyes lock onto the spot of contact like it’s the target and I’m the missile.
“You didn’t tell me she was so…witty,” Ann-Marie says to him.
That’s because he doesn’t know me.
Enzo removes her hand, and I manage to break my gaze from the spot just in time to meet his. “Ann-Marie and I are—”
Fucking?
Having a baby?
In love?
“Working through the details of our arrangement,” he says.
“So, is this like an even day, odd day situation?” I cut him off, unable to help myself. “Do we split holidays, too, or am I being too presumptuous to assume I’d be awarded anything outside of the occasional arm candy? Or maybe it’s all in the name and I’m just the broodmare.”
Enzo’s expression grows thunderous, and eerily slowly, he leans forward in his seat. “Excuse me?”
The coolness of his tone has me pausing, the weight of his full attention more than I’m prepared for this morning. I seal my lips and wait for him to tell me what our arrangements are, being they were made without me.
Maybe being the pawn in my father’s games the last few months did spoil me. I almost forgot how things work in this world.
A wife is a pretty party piece…and whatever else her husband allows her to be.
He’s the law.
She is the added task to his overflowing calendar.
Enzo continues to stare, so I’m grateful when the slight clink of kitchenware dings in the space, giving me an excuse to glance away without seeming weak.
The food comes out then, the staff placing the options on the table before us, and my lips curve slightly when the server places the fruit closer to me today than yesterday. He doesn’t look at me, but I attempt to smile my thanks before he’s gone again.
Enzo piles his plate with the exact same items as yesterday, and from the corner of my eye, I watch the woman at his side grab the small tongs, closing them around what looks to be a blueberry scone. Before she can lift it from the plate, Enzo slaps his fork against the item, halting her movement.
“My wife chooses first,” he tells her, his gaze sliding my way.
I can’t bring myself to look at him.
Is that supposed to be sweet, because now I kind of want to throw an apple at his head in response.
And he called me his wife.
I’m…a wife.
A bitterness coats my tongue, but I don’t swallow it down, and I don’t offer him the satisfaction of a reaction either, instead placing a few strawberries on my plate. Enzo’s gaze burns into my cheek as I stab my fork into the fruit, bringing it to my mouth.
He slams his fork onto the table, but I’ve been on the receiving end of my father’s outbursts more times than I can count, so I don’t so much as flinch, smiling to myself when the mistress nearly jumps from her chair.
Enzo, reaching across me to tug the pile of baked goods closer, moves a few things around until he finds what he was looking for, setting a strawberry muffin and strawberry bagel onto my plate.
I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, focusing on the sting there so my cheeks don’t turn an embarrassing shade of pink at being treated like a child in front of the woman who so clearly views me as one.
Ignoring everything he gave me, I force myself to eat another piece of fruit, staring longingly at my mug. It’s no longer piping hot the way I like it, but chilled and drowning in melted whipped cream. Further proving that my server is in tune with his position, he steps from the kitchen just then, a fresh cappuccino in his hands.
He lowers it before me, turning the handle so it faces me perfectly, and moves the Whip Tech within reach of my dominant hand—another thing he must have picked up on.
“My savior.” I smile at his back. “Thank—”
“You’re fired.”
I jolt, my head lashing toward Enzo.
He stares at me coldly, anger and annoyance in his gaze. In the same second, the doors behind me are thrown open, and I glance over my shoulder.
Two guards step in, their black bandanas slung low over their noses. My server steps up to them, pulls the matching one from around his face, exposing himself for the first time, and hands it to the first, silently falling into the middle of the man-muscle sandwich. They lead him from the room without a word.
I gape at the empty exit, my mouth open and ready to say, I don’t know what. What the fuck just happened feels about right, but I don’t get the chance to speak.