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He just kept staring. “Why?”
“Excuse me?” I gritted out.
“Duchess is busy. It’s her birthday, if you didn’t know. I’d just as soon you leave her in peace. She should get to enjoy her own birthday in peace, don’t you think?”
I opened my mouth, shut it, then opened it again. I wasn’t sure what I was about to say, or hell, if I was about to haul off and hit him. I’ll never know because that was the moment my wife showed up, quietly telling Chester that she’d handle it.
He sent me one last glare and left, disappearing into her apartment like he lived there, which he practically did.
I hated that most of all.
I’d left the restaurant mere minutes behind her, but Noura had already managed to tie her hair up into a complicated, voluminous topknot and changed out of her torture device romper into an oversized sweatshirt and itty bitty shorts. Spelled across the front of the sweatshirt in large caps was the word DUCHESS.
I stared at it. “Where’d you get that?” I asked tersely. It wasn’t where I’d meant to begin, but I couldn’t for the life of me ignore it.
She just stared at me, her face carefully, vehemently apathetic. It was impressive, really, how she could school her beautiful, expressive face into the very epitome of impassivity. “Excuse me?”
“The sweatshirt. Where’d you get it, Duchess?”
We had a minor stare down before she answered. “It was a birthday present.”
“From whom?” I shot back calmly and instantly. But I knew the answer. Oh yes I knew, and I was livid.
“Why?” she hedged.
“Answer the question,” I gritted out, calm gone.
“Chester.”
I knew it!
“It’s no big deal. You know he calls me Duchess. I don’t know why. It’s silly.” She paused. Shrugged. “I guess it’s an inside joke between us.”
From her face I could tell that she didn’t realize she’d made it ten times worse.
I made myself take deep breaths. I made myself wait until I could at least appear calm before I spoke again. “Are you having some sort of birthday party in there?” I asked. It was quiet now, but I’d heard some definite sounds of revelry when the door had first opened.
She shrugged. “Not a party. They just got me gifts and cake.” With the oversized sweatshirt and her sullen attitude, she looked more like teenager than she ever had to me before. It didn’t help.
“That sounds a lot like a birthday party, Duchess,” I pointed out.
“Please don’t call me that,” she shot back with automatic speed.
“He calls you Duchess,” I said quietly.
She started. “When he says it, he’s being . . . affectionate. You’re just making fun.”
“Affectionate? You want his affection?”
“That came out wrong. It’s just a harmless nickname. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“See that it doesn’t,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “You know, when I assigned a man more than twice your age to be your security, I did so assuming there wouldn’t be a problem. I should have known better. No man could be immune to you.”
She looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or horrified, and immediately she went on the defensive. “That’s ridiculous. We’re friends, which is nice since I spend ninety percent of my waking hours with him.”
I felt a tick start up in my temple.
“You like him,” I observed.
