I smirk into the darkness as we pull up outside what I’ve been reliably informed is a “Federal Colonial farmhouse.” Tell me the real estate agents stacked words together and hoped they’d make sense…
What I know is that the building looks like it tried to be a Greek temple and failed, so they stacked some bits of wood on it that make the doorway overly massive with its two grandiose Doric columns, and the upper floor appears to be the property’s low forehead.
The agents, seeing the monstrosity and having zero taste, slapped a three-million-dollar price tag on it.
“It’s pretty.”
And that’s why I bought it.
“Maybe it’s an American thing?” I comment dryly.
She snorts. “You mean, like me?”
That earns her a grimace.
Her being American is a fact I prefer not to be reminded of.
She whacks my arm. “Who turned on the lights?”
“Staff.”
“You have staff?”
“It’s a big house and I don’t see you mopping the Greek Revivalist front stoop.” What the hell does Greek Revivalist mean anyway?
“No. I don’t even do that when you drop body parts on it,” she quips, shoving open the passenger door and standing beside the car as she studies her new home.
Well, her marital home.
I swear the wait is going to kill me.
That kiss earlier—goddammit to hell.
Everything I knew it’d be.
A reminder of her perfection and why, despite my brothers thinking I’m insane, I waited for her.
I didn’t when she was a child because I’m not a monk and I never lusted after her like the perverts that run this country. But the second she turned eighteen and I knew my sins could and would be used against me, like a smart man, I remained celibate.
Nearly three fucking years of using my fist—that kiss told me the wait was worthwhile.
You make sacrifices when joining your blood with a woman like Victoria’s. I don’t regret it or resent it, but I’ll be relieved when it’s over.
“It has character.”
“So it should for the price I paid.”
She tuts. “Don’t be a heathen.”
“In my job description.”
“You didn’t have to buy it.”
“Yes, I did. I knew you’d like it.”
“How? It’s not as if we talked about our architectural preferences, Maxim.”
“The history might not be yours, but I know you’re a nostalgic person.”
