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She’s caring, considerate. Warm and soft, all the things I can’t imagine ever being, and it makes me want to walk inside, scoop her into my arms, and never let her go.
Fuck, I’m gone for this little nymph.
“YOU MAY BE INTERESTED to know that I caught your sister at Crimson the other night, using a fake driver’s license.”
Caroline tucks her hair behind her ears, turning from her bathroom sink to look at me. She has on a sleek, thin pink robe, tied loosely at the waist. The curve of her tits strain against the part in the middle, begging me to take a step forward and untie the knot, but I hold back.
There’s a storm in my wife’s blue eyes like she’s jonesing for a fight.
And what I’m about to tell her is sure to start one.
She has no idea I sent Juliet here that night, no idea that we’ve been in constant contact since.
“I think you need to reevaluate what topics you find interesting.”
“What about the fact that she usedyourname and picture?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. Juliet’s been using me since I turned twenty-one, and she’s not exactly slick about it.” Pushing past me in the doorway, she continues into her bedroom.
Since moving in, she’s transformed the place from its basic, pristine whites and added splashes of color here and there. The sheets and curtains are a satin material, blood red, which feels more fitting here than anything else. Her makeup decorates the built-in vanity, clothes splayed in piles on the bed, and draped over the back of the vanity chair. A smirk tugs at my lips; who’d have thought this proper, pristine woman would be messy?
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Walking in behind her, I situate myself on the window seat across the room, folding my legs, so the soles of my shoes press against the wall.
She glances around, picking up a pair of sleep shorts from the bed, running her fingers over the soft material. “I’m going through my things. Getting rid of stuff I don’t need or wear.”
“Less to pack when you run, right?”
Her eyes widen, face flushing. “No, I just have too much shit. My...dadbought me new outfits for every occasion he forced me to go to.”
I don’t miss the way she swallows over the worddadlike it physically pains her to even mention him. That makes my announcement harder. “Right, well. If you’re planning on sending them as hand-me-downs to that brash sister of yours, you’re in luck.”
“What do you mean?”
Reaching around to the back of my neck, I scratch at the skin just beneath the collar of my dress shirt. “I, uh, invited our families over for dinner.”
Dropping the shorts to the floor, she whirls on me, eyes blazing. “Are you serious?”
“Sure am, sweetheart.”
“Oh,God.” A low groan comes from her throat, and she glares at me. “Don’t fucking call me that. I can’t believe you did this. Jesus, you’re an idiot.”
Raking her hands through her hair, she begins pacing back and forth, short little steps that match the way breaths stagger from her nose. I watch her, curious over whether she’s panicking because she doesn’t want to see them or if it’s because she doesn’t think we’re prepared to entertain.
Even though I’m sure it’s the former, I focus on the latter, tucking my arms behind my head and gazing out the window. The lawn care service I hire periodically clips the hedges lining our fence, the summer heat blaring down on them. One guy wipes at his brow, waving to me once he notices me watching.
I lift a hand in response, then turn to Caroline. “Don’t worry about the food or anything. I’ve got Benito and Leo bringing take-out from Portland, and my grandmother’s sending her world-famous Italian wedding soup.”
She pauses, cocking an eyebrow. “First of all, they’re bringing food from Portland? That’s three hours away.”
“I mean, that’s where the closest authentic Italian market is. The food will be cooked here.”
“By who?”
“Benito and Leo.” I tilt my head, studying her. “What’s confusing you?”
“Those guys know how to cook?”
“Oh, Christ, yes. It’s in our blood.”
