Page 27

I should’ve known Eden was messy. She’s the kind of woman who leaves a trail. I pick up the almost-empty champagne bottle on the kitchen island and pour the dregs down the sink, throwing the Dom Perignon bottle into the recycling bin.

The burned pan is still on the stove. I guess she gave up on it. Or maybe I gave her a reason to.

And because I’m annoyed, and want to make a point, I put it all in the trash.

She’s going to hate the waste of that.

Good.

I go to pick up a dish towel that’s barely hanging on one of the handles, and then my brow lifts because next to it is a scrap of red silk.

The lingerie Vin sent to celebrate our sham marriage.

The thin fabric is smooth as it clings to my fingers. I drop it like it burns.

I haven’t gone more than a few weeks without sex since college. Usually not even that. And it’s not because I’m a raging frat boy with something to prove. I enjoy sex. I’m good at it. It relaxes me.

My therapist would say I like feeling like I’m not alone. Which is probably why I fired him. It’s not that deep. I just like sex.

I press my palms into the cool marble worktop trying – and failing – not to imagine Eden in that teddy. Silk clinging to her breasts, barely hiding anything. I groan. This is why I don’t do chaos. It’s so damn inconvenient.

My phone beeps and I glance at the clock on my screen. It’s half an hour until my first meeting with my architect firm.

I could stay here and do the video call. But I’d rather do it on site so I don’t have to deal with whatever mess Eden’s going to make today.

And yeah, if I was a better person, maybe I’d feel a twinge of guilt that she spent the night alone, drinking champagne meant for newlyweds, while I holed up in my office and got some work done.

But we’re not in love. We’re just doing this marriage thing until we don’t have to. I don’t owe her anything.

The next few months will be a hell of a lot simpler if I keep my distance. That way I won’t let myself think about what it all meant. That she cooked dinner, put on a dress, waited for me to notice.

Pocketing my phone, I head for the hallway, glancing up the stairs. Her door’s closed, but the light’s shining out underneath. Does she sleep with the light on, or is she awake?

It doesn’t matter. Pulling my eyes away, I grab my keys off the counter, ignoring the pang of regret in my stomach. Because this is for the best.

And when I pull the door closed behind me and walk to my car, it feels like I can breathe for the first time since I arrived last night.

EDEN

There’s something deeply – viscerally – offensive about finding the scorched pan in the trash. I stare at it for a moment, my jaw tight, then snatch it back out and shove it under the faucet, filling it with water to soak.

The water splashes furiously against the interior of the pan. Matching my mood. Because yesterday was a mess of my own making.

What was I thinking, trying to cook for him? Thinking we could have fun with this?

Hoping the West I met in Vegas was a glitch in the system and that maybe,just maybe, here on Liberty he’d revert back to the laid-back guy I remembered from childhood.

But no. He’s still behaving like a Grade A asshole. He hasn’t even mentioned the job he supposedly offered. He certainly hasn’t given me a job description, an office, or even a log in to the damn system.

Hell, he didn’t even wake me up before he left to say goodbye. To be fair, he probably didn’t want to get punched in the face.

I rinse my hands and walk to the front of the house, yanking open the oversize glass door that probably cost more than I’ve spent in my entire adult existence. Outside, the morning sky is a pale blue, and the ocean wind lifts my hair off my shoulders as I step onto the patio and look around.

We have no neighbors. And I have no car. I’m stranded. Oh sure, Liberty isn’t that big, I could walk into town in a few hours, but that’s not the point.

The point is, my loving husband left me here without asking if I needed a ride. Without so much as a post it note on the fridge saying ‘Hey, babe, remember how I offered you that job? Good luck finding it’.

I mutter out some words that would make Hudson’s hair stand on end, and then storm over to the garage.