Page 50 of The Contract Marriage

Blow-drying her hair takes about fifteen minutes—also fun to watch as she bends and twists to get every strand. She slithers into a conservatively cut navy dress and slips her feet into nude stilettos that make her legs look longer and shapelier. Quick taps of the sponge on her face, then mascara—totally unnecessary for her long, thick lashes—a dab of pink lipstick and she’s done.

“You need some diamonds,” I say.

She raises her hand. “I have this.”

I grin at the sight of the Rubedo. “Still need something for your ears.” I go to the closet and pull out a set of yellow diamond solitaires from the island. “Allow me.”

She tilts her head, showing the long, elegant line of her neck. I’d love nothing more than to nibble on it for the rest of the morning, but business waits for no one and it wouldn’t be good to be late on the first day of work after our marriage. I put the stones on her ears. They sparkle like tiny suns.

“Perfect. And they’re yours.”

Her eyes glint as she studies them in the mirror. “You give me the prettiest things.”

“My wife, my prerogative.”

She laughs. “I should bring you something pretty too.”

I pull her into my arms and hold her tight, then look into her radiant smile. “You already did.”

Confusion, then uncertainty flicker across her face. What’s causing her the anxiety? I wish she’d tell me so I can slay it for her. Nobody gets to upset my wife—her phone pings with a harp sound, something you might use with a person who generally brings good news. She sighs. “That’s Simon.”

My mood drops. “What does he want first thing Monday morning? You haven’t even gotten to the office.”

“He’s worried about the fallout from the tabloids. Tyler also made a public statement on Instagram about how Brielle’s life’s been tough, and her marriage shouldn’t be overshadowed by her more glamorous and powerful sister, and asked that people respect their privacy. Of course, the tabloids he’s been feeding posted pictures of my car since who cares about my privacy.”

My gut tightens. “Is it safe for you to be out at all? All you need is one lunatic having a shitty day, taking all this the wrong way.”

“I’ll be fine. No one can get through here, and only a few people know where I work. Simon says he’ll pick me up, just in case.”

Her tone is casual, but it feels like a slap in the face. “I can provide security.” Better than that bastard, I swallow the second part. She doesn’t need jealousy, just protection.

“I know, but this may be easier.”

“Olivia, easy isn’t the point. I want you safe.”

She smiles, placing a hand over my cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’m not letting some scumbag like Tyler affect my life. And I promise if I feel threatened, even a little, you’ll be the first to know.”

I lay my palm over her hand and look into her eyes. “You have to call me, okay? I don’t care how minor it is.”

She nods. I expel the air in my lungs harshly, but evicting the tension from my gut is impossible. Fucking Tyler. I should’ve done more than just flick that pathetic ring at him. Next time, he’d better run because I’m going to break every joint in his body, starting with his toes and working my way up.

Plus his face. I hate the way he looks, and I loathe the way he sneered at Olivia.

We head to the kitchen. Acting like internet hostility is nothing out of the ordinary, she pours me a cup of coffee, then serves herself. I hand her a toasted bagel with cream cheese—which I noticed she enjoyed yesterday—then grab a chocolate protein bar from the pantry. Emmie will have something more substantial waiting in the office.

Wait… Is the bagel just to tide her over until she gets a real breakfast in the office, provided by Simon? The idea sits in my belly like a large bowl of bleach. At the same time, if she needs to eat, she should. And without my ego bristling in the background.

“Want anything else?”

“Nope, the bagel’s plenty. Thanks.” She smiles. “I don’t usually eat anything until lunch, but these are really good.”

“Frederich’s recipe.” I make a mental note to get him something extra special for Christmas. Maybe a tennis bracelet for his wife or daughter.

Olivia’s phone pings with that harp tone again. “It’s Simon.”

Is that Simon’s special ringtone? I try not to grind my teeth too obviously.

“He’s here to pick me up.”