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I’m anything but since I’m still playing the role of Mrs. Locke with zero experience for inspiration.
“Trina.” Mr. Abdon reaches for my left hand. “Let me see that.”
I know he’s talking about the ring because it’s larger than life. I would have never chosen an engagement ring like this. I’m a firm believer that the size of the diamond doesn’t measure the commitment.
I suppose, in this case, it doesn’t matter what the ring looks like.
Lloyd draws my hand close to his face. “This is lovely.”
I nod. I can’t thank him for the compliment because the ring feels like a weight I can hardly bear right now.
I don’t want to lie to the man who gave me a job without even checking my references. He trusted me that day. Now, I’m leading him down a path of dishonesty.
Lloyd suddenly drops my hand and pushes back from the table. “Will you excuse me for a minute? There’s something in my room that I need.”
Graham is on his feet before Lloyd is standing. “I’ll get it for you.”
“No.” Lloyd pats a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Sit with your wife. Toast to your future and all the children you’ll have. They’ll fill this apartment with laughter and fun.”
I down a big gulp of wine because that’s way outside the realm of what I signed up for.
As soon as Lloyd disappears from view, Graham takes his seat. He raises his glass in the air. “To us and our future…”
“Don’t say it,” I warn with a wag of my finger in the air. “Marriage is one thing, but children are…”
Graham’s laughter interrupts me. “If you could see the look on your face, Miss Shaw. It’s priceless.”
I can’t hold back a grin as I touch my glass to the side of his. “To us making it through today.”
With a nod, he takes a sip of wine. “The first of many to come.”
Chapter Twelve
Graham
This feels oddly comfortable, but that word itself feels surprisingly uncomfortable.
I’ve lived alone for the past eleven years.
Technically, it’s eleven years and two months. I broke out on my own shortly after my eighteenth birthday. Since then, I’ve eaten most meals alone. I’ve spent many of my evenings at my office or in the study here.
The exceptions to that rule have been when I’ve been dating a woman, but the caveat to that is that I’ve never brought a woman home.
I’ve always readily agreed when I’ve been invited back to their apartments.
“What do you think Lloyd went to get?” Trina quizzes with a bounce of her blonde eyebrows.
I have no idea.
For all I know, he scurried away so he could give my wife and me some privacy. Not that we need it.
This is the first full day of this marriage, and although it’s not as torturous as I imagined it to be, I’d rather be alone.
Solace is my soul mate.
That’s been my motto for most of my life.
“His harmonica.”
Trina’s gaze narrows. “He plays the harmonica?”
I lean back in my chair. “Like a champ.”
Her hand moves to brush her hair back from her forehead. It’s an innocent move, but the light from the chandelier above reflects off of the diamond on her finger.
It’s an unnecessary reminder that I’m legally tied to her for the time being.
“I hope he plays it for us,” she says in an almost giddy tone.
“You’re a fan, are you?”
She battles off a smile. “Who isn’t?”
I raise a hand above my head.
“Seriously?” she asks with surprise edging her tone. “It takes talent to play any instrument and courage to do it in front of an audience.”
“Says the woman who can play what instrument?”
A breathy sigh escapes her. “None. I’m not musically inclined.”
I’m inclined to ask her to gift me with another one of those sighs because my dick took notice of that.
I’m not hard by any means, but I’m edging toward increased interest.
I’ve never seen my assistant in anything but business attire. Tonight, she’s wearing ripped, faded jeans and a blue short sleeve sweater. It’s snug, so the soft curve of her breasts catches my eye whenever I give in to the overwhelming urge to glance at her.
With her hair down in waves around her shoulders, she’s stunning.
“What about you?” She tilts her head. “Can you play an instrument?”
I sip from my glass and then wait for a few seconds before I answer. “I play the piano.”
“The piano?” That piques her interest enough that she leans forward to prop her elbows on the table. “You play the piano, or you mess around on the piano?”
“Mess around on the piano?” I repeat back. “I haven’t tried that, but it’s sturdy. I suppose it could withstand the impact.”
It takes her a moment to unpack all of that. Her eyes wander over my face as she does, so I’m fortunate enough to catch the precise moment when she realizes that I’m talking about a good hard fuck.
