Page 89 of Angel

I chewed the inside of my cheek, a knot of hesitation tightening in my gut.

Moving into his place, into his sanctuary now, with how twisted things were between us, felt terrifying.

After making love to him and confessing my heart to him, it was going to be even harder to keep the extent of my feelings from him.

‘I don’t know, Angel,’ I murmured. ‘Should we?’

‘We discussed this, Roxy,’ he reminded me, his gaze locking onto mine with steady intensity. ‘Remember Reese’s requirements? We have to maintain the appearance of a unified front, and separate houses will tank the whole strategy.’

He had a point, and I conceded with reluctance.

‘I’ll organize a team of local movers the following morning to box up your apartment your shit to my place.’

‘I’ll supervise because no one touches my canvasses but me.’

We drove in silence to his home in Bellmont-Hillsboro.

After parking in his garage, he led me into his house, striding upstairs and down the hallway.

‘This is your space,’ Angel said, gesturing to a massive guest suite. ‘I have late nights in the studio and don’t want to wake you by moving in and out of the primary.’

It was crystal clear right then.

I was still an outsider, a temporary occupant. Not. His. Wife.

Despite the wild passion we shared in Capri, we were back to being polite, distant, friendly, yet detached.

So had I just been a holiday fling for him?

Was he still in love with Evangeline?

If she came crawling to him again, would he dump me to take her back?

All these agonizing questions plagued my mind as I dragged my suitcase into the guest suite.

The bedroom featured beautiful rose-gold drapes and a geometric grey-and-rose carpet, the expansive window offering a view of a manicured side lawn, the pool, and a tall cedar fence.

The attached bathroom was pure luxury, lined with heated marble tiles and a deep soaking tub.

‘Nari delivers our shopping and meals weekly from a catering company we use,’ Angel added, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. ‘A team of house cleaners does most of the tidying up on Thursdays.’

These were all the luxuries I left behind when I moved out of the Rosedale manor years ago.

I’d gotten used to being my own woman, grinding for my own success, and I swore I’d never let anyone else touch my laundry.

‘I’m washing my own clothes, Angel,’ I told him, setting my jaw. ‘I also like to cook my own food.’

He shrugged, his expression unreadable.

‘Do you, Roxy. Mi casa, su casa.’

My heart dropped a little at his use of my name.

We locked eyes for a beat, then he raised his chin and strolled off.

What happened to beautiful and babe?

What about the panty-melting kisses and the gentle strokes and touches?