Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
In bed, I tug her close, wrap my arms around her, and bury my face in her neck. The next thing I know, it’s morning, and the sunlight that filters through the windows is blinding me. I must’ve slept like the dead because it’s the first time in weeks that I got more than four hours of sleep.
The space next to me is empty. The first feeling that hits me is disappointment. I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. Music comes from downstairs. The smell of coffee. And laughter.
In a blink, I’m wide awake. I grab my phone from the nightstand. Two notifications show on the locked screen. One is from the guard in charge of watching the new house and the other from Gianni, assumably informing me of the visitor.
I don’t bother to read the messages. I get up and dress in a clean pair of jeans, a cashmere sweater, and my favorite Italian shoes before going downstairs.
My wife and Fabien are deep in discussion in the kitchen, standing close together with their heads bent over a wrapper in Sabella’s hand. At least Sabella is dressed. She exchanged her pajamas for a sweater and yoga pants. She chose fluffy socks over sneakers. Fabien wears his favorite attire—a suit tailored to the latest French fashion. You’d swear he was on a date, trying to impress his companion.
“Good morning,” I say with enough hostility to make Fabien jump.
“Jesus,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “You scared me.”
I eye the stack of waffles on the table. “That’ll happen when you sneak around.”
Sabella slaps my arm. “Fabien brought waffles. We’re reading the heating instructions.”
I grab a waffle and drop it in the toaster. “Simple.”
Sabella narrows her eyes at me. Cute. “They’re gourmet waffles. You’re supposed to cover them and heat them at a low temperature in the oven.”
“Duh,” Fabien says, at which both burst out laughing like fucking teenagers.
I’m jealous enough of their fun to want to spoil it. Like a boy with a toy, I want to keep her all to myself.
I sit down, grab Sabella around the waist, and pull her onto my lap.
She utters a squeal.
Locking my arms around her waist, I pin Fabien with a stare. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“I was in the area,” he says, opening a punnet of strawberries and popping one into his mouth.
“Convenient,” I mutter.
Sabella rolls her eyes. “Cut out the territorial stuff, Mr. Russo. Fabien is our friend.”
Our friend. “And here I was thinking he works for me.”
Seemingly immune to my caveman vibes for a change, Fabien waves a hand. “Your wife is easy to like. What can I say?”
What can he say? One more word about my wife, buddy, and I’ll fucking cut out your tongue.
“What’s that smell?” he asks, sniffing with his nose in the air.
“Shit.” Sabella removes my arms from around her waist. “The waffle. It’s burning.”
I set her free with reluctance, lifting her to her feet as I stand. When she makes a beeline for the toaster, I hold her back. I don’t want her to burn her fingers. I go over and remove the charcoaled waffle before dumping it in the sink.
Fabien chuckles. I’m just in time to catch him making a funny face at Sabella when I turn around. He’s very fucking lucky he’s into men. Even so, I still feel like stabbing a knife into his kidney.
He plates the waffles and covers them with aluminum paper before sliding them into the oven. Of course he knows where everything is. He bought and unpacked the kitchen utensils. It irks me that he’s so at home here, but Sabella seems happy, so I tolerate a breakfast of waffles doused in syrup and topped with strawberries and cream with my personal shopper intruding on my time with my wife.
I stay to make sure he leaves. Sabella walks him out. When she returns to tidy up the kitchen, I corner her. She must see the darkness that’s clouding my reason on my face, because her brown eyes widen as I back her up to the table and pin her against the edge with the weight of my body while caging her in with my arms.
“No more impromptu visits with Fabien,” I say in a soft tone that nevertheless carries the violence surging through me.
She stares at me with parted lips. “Are you serious?”
“Dead fucking serious.”
“What am I supposed to do when he shows up? Chase him away?”
I let my gaze play over her stunning features. “Yes.”
“He’s gay,” she exclaims. “Not that anything would’ve happened if he was straight.”
“I don’t care.” I brush my lips over hers. “I don’t want him here when you’re alone.”
Her jaw hardens. “I’m always alone. Is that part of my punishment? You want to make sure I don’t see people and have no friends?”