Nilsson steps aside to let us enter the house. The foyer looks like a set from a feckin’ film. The floor is made of black-and-white marble, large squares turned on end to make a diamond pattern. A staircase swoops down from the second floor, the steps covered in rich burgundy carpet, with a banister of polished oak.
“Madam,” Nilsson says. “I took the liberty of setting up your office in the Blue Parlor, in the East Wing.” From his miniature gesture, that means the hallway stretching off to my left. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if there is anything you require.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I realize my voice has been starched and ironed, just like his.
Nilsson turns to Wolf and refers to me as if I’m not there. “Sir, I have unpacked Madam’s belongings in your bedroom as you requested. With your permission, I will let Anna know that you require dinner this evening.”
Wolf turns to me like he’s an international translator. “Anna is our chef. She takes Sundays off, but she can come in for an emergency.”
An emergency. Like our skipping our catered wedding dinner, up in Baltimore.
“No emergency,” I say. I’ve barely picked at my food for the past week. I can’t imagine ever being hungry again.
Wolf nods, apparently in agreement. “In fact, Nilsson, why don’t you take the rest of the evening off? Kate and I can take care of ourselves just fine.”
“That is very kind, sir. I will return the Bentley to the garage, and then I will see you tomorrow morning.” He does that thing with his head again, that tiny little bow, before he lets himself out the front door.
Now that I’m alone with Wolf, the foyer suddenly seems twice as large. I look around like I’m visiting a museum. “Um, does Nilsson get a day off?”
“He does. Sundays, like Anna. They’re married. That gives them some time together.”
I blink. I didn’t realize robots could marry. “Today is Sunday.”
“It is.”
“But he was here to greet us.”
“He wanted to welcome you to your new home.”
I can’t reconcile the kind gesture with the soulless man who just left. Nilsson must have been on the other end of the text Wolf sent outside the church. I wonder what day-off activity we’ve interrupted. “Where do Nilsson and Anna live?”
“Across the street.” He nods in the general direction.
“What a coincidence,” I say dryly.
Wolf takes a step back. “This is as good a time as any to get a few things straight. Nothing about my life is coincidental. I research. I plan. I act. I leave nothing to chance.”
“Except me.”
“You’re not chance. You’re a carefully weighed decision. Iwant your father’s business. I’m willing to pay the price: Marrying you.”
“Be still my beating heart.”
“Don’t try to shame me into pretending this arrangement is something it isn’t.”
I didn’t expect him to sweep me off my feet, to carry me over the threshold of our joyful home and treat me like his blushing newlywed bride. But I also didn’t expect to be treated quite so much like a business acquisition.
“I’d never dare,” I finally say. “Something tells me you don’t shame easily.”
He stares at theFuck Youon my chest. “So we have something in common.”
Heismaking this easier for me. He’s reminding me of every reason I have to hate him. He’s Lone Fucking Wolf Enterprises, and I’m a Red Cap Raider, and no mumbled words from a half-asleep priest will ever change that. My fingers twitch against my fluted skirt. I’m ready to change into sweatpants.
I glance at the imposing staircase. I expect Wolf to take me to the second floor, down one of the long halls, to a bedroom befitting a billionaire—the one where Nilsson unpacked my things. I’m surprised to feel something turn over in my belly, a lazy creature anticipating a massive bed with more pillows than I can count.
But Wolf doesn’t take me to bed. Instead, we walk the length of the house, all the way to the far end of one wing. The heels of his shiny black shoes sound like shots from a pistol. My dress rustles like it’s trying to escape.
A door is set into the wall, carved oak, like every one I’ve seen in this house. But this one is different. This one has an electronic plaque by the side. Wolf sets his palm against the reader, flattening his hand until a light glows green. I barely hear a click before the door glides open.
