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“That’s right.” He holds up a very short, black dress, his eyebrows raised. “This is a nice one.”
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” I snatch it away from him, my cheeks bright red. “Please don’t touch my clothes.”
“I was told to make sure your stuff arrived safely and that you were okay with all this.” He gestures at the workers. “And are you okay with it?”
I slide my box of stuff away from Dante and look around at the strangers crawling like a bunch of worker-ants through my home for the next year, setting up furniture I didn’t ask for in spots I never considered, basically arranging my life for me.
“It’s not my style.” I feel like I’m floating above my own body and watching this from a distance. I turn and frown at Dante. “I don’t like any of it.”
He looks back at me then bursts out laughing. Somehow, that manages to snap me back into my skin, and I grin at him as he gets himself under control.
“Guess Gian’s got some shit to work out with you then.”
“Yep, he absolutely does.”
“Go easy on the guy. He meant well.”
“Meaning well and doing well are two very different things.”
“Ouch, brutal. But not wrong.” He gives me an appraising stare for a moment, arms crossed over his chest. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” I say and step toward the nearest burly movers, ready to tell them to start packing the stuff.
Nothing’s right. I wouldn’t have picked a single piece of furniture in this place. It’s all too masculine. The color palette is gray and deep gray with black thrown into the mix plus a few dark woods. There are too many sharp lines and everything’s too damn modern. It just doesn’t work in a house with so much character.
But before I open my mouth, I have an idea. “Actually, Dante, there is something you can help me with.” A sly grin spreads across my face as the idea being sot coalesce into a plan. “Do you happen to have access to my husband’s money? Did he leave you a card or something in case I wanted to order anything?”
“Well, actually, I do.” He pulls a shiny black credit card from his pocket and holds it up. “I was instructed to give this to you.”
“Wonderful.” I hold out my hand. It’s metal and cold. “Limit?”
“None that I know of.”
“Perfect.”
“What are you going to do?”
“My husband thought it was a good idea to order a bunch of furniture without consulting me.” I turn my back on Dante, grinning wickedly to myself. “I plan on doing the exact same thing.”
I’m sittingon a couch with my legs crossed and a glass of wine in my hand when Gian comes home. I hear the door open and the low stomp of his shoes on the wood. He pauses, probably looking around at the house, before we make it back toward the living room.
I take a long sip of wine as he surveys the space. His eyes narrow, his lips press together, and it’s a few beats before he spots me. We stare each other, gazes locked. I expect him to say something.
Instead, he walks into the kitchen. I hear glasses and something pours. He returns with his own glass of wine a moment later.
“Love what you did with the place,” he drawls. There’s a slight quirk of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Oh, yeah, he’s pissed.
“Do you?” I run my hand over the couch. It’s white—very, very white. “I don’t know.” I get up and move a foot to the left, and sit down on another couch. This one is a deep velvet purple. “I hadsomuch trouble deciding what I like.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
I get up and try the third couch. This one’s a deep walnut leather. It’s actually very comfortable, but I don’t admit that. “There were just too many options and the salesmen were so helpful.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“You mean, you’re happy for us. These are all ours.” I stand and gesture at my collection of couches.
