Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
She chews her lip as she puts it on then holds the pair up to the light. The diamond catches the street lights. “They’re beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like them,” I say and find that it’s true. I actually care that they make her happy. What’s wrong with me?
“Still too much.”
“Deal with it.” I lean forward and knock on the divider between us and the driver. He rolls it down. “Change of plans. Take us to Lorenzo’s for dinner.”
“What now?” Isabel asks.
“Yes, sir.” The driver rolls the divider back up.
“We have to play married couple in public, remember? Might as well show off the new hardware.” I look away, staring out the window. If I let myself stare at her, I’m going to start having some lewd thoughts about seeing her in nothing but those rings. And that simply cannot do.
She’s already making demands. She’s already quitting her job and finding me a new assistant. What will she do once she realizes that I want her?
Worse, what will happen to her if I let myself need her more than I already do?
Better to keep my distance.
She doesn’t argue, but I can tell she’s not happy about this turn of events. At least we get a good table, a booth toward the middle of the place with a good view of the kitchen and all the other patrons.
“Smile,” I say, putting my hand on hers after the waitress pours our wine. “Look like you’re enjoying yourself with your new husband.”
She shows teeth like a cheetah on the hunt. “How’s that?”
“Less murder, more joy.”
“Sorry, I only have killing in my heart right now.”
“Try anyway. There you go, that’s good. Now, sweetheart, tell me about your day.”
“Well, my boss, he’s this total asshole—” I give her a flat glare and she smiles sweetly. “What? I’m just complaining to my husband.”
“Good point. Maybe I should tell my wife how incompetent and frustrating my assistant has been lately.”
That annoys her. “Incompetent? God, if you only knew what I do for you. Without me, your life would’ve fallen apart.”
“And without me, your house would’ve gotten repossessed.”
“Great, brag about how I’m financially beholden to a controlling prick. That’s a good look.”
I grind my jaw. “What is it with you and that house, anyway?”
“You don’t really care.” She looks down at her plate, picking at some bread. The restaurant lights are low and candles flicker, casting long shadows. The smell of fresh Italian food wafts through the space, and there’s something about the old-world decor that brings out Isabel’s natural beauty, like she fits in with all the rustic wood.
“You’re my wife. You’re the only thing I care about in the world.” Good, that’s good, I can hide how I feel with exaggerations.
She snorts, sips her wine, and stares out at the other tables. “I grew up in that house.”
“Lots of people move on from their childhood homes. I flew across the country to escape mine.”
“Not me. That house is all I have left of my dad.”
I roll my wine glass, studying her. “He passed away.”
“Back when I was sixteen.”
“Really? That must’ve been hard.”
“He raised me alone. Single dad. I didn’t know it at the time, but he struggled, you know? Taking care of me, working long hours, trying to have a social life. He was the best dad in the entire world, but I never really understood all his sacrifice until after he was gone. Messed up, right?” She frowns deeply, looking down at her hands, then meets my gaze. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
I don’t either, but it unlocks a piece of her I never knew about. All these years, and Isabel never talked much about her personal life. I always figured that’s because she didn’t have much of one.
But maybe there’s more to it than that.
“I’m sure he knew,” I say. “That you cared, I mean.”
“He knew.” She sips her wine. “I told him at the end.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer. Stomach. It was ugly. Too much for a sixteen-year-old.” She rubs her face with one hand. “I really don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
She seems like she’s about to say more, but the waitress comes and asks for our orders. Once our wine glasses are refilled and we’re alone again, I wait for Isabel to start talking again, but she doesn’t look like she wants to.
“You know what I felt when my dad died?” I ask, leaning forward.
“What?”
“Relief.”
Her lips press together. “Was he really that bad?”
“Worse, if you can believe it, but he was still our father. Relief was about all I could muster.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be. I didn’t make my life any easier, you know what I mean? Always a problem.”
“I see not much has changed.”
“Dad tried to squash my rebellious streak and he wasn’t gentle about it.” I lean back, watching her reaction. “I think he only made it worse.”