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“I promise,” she heaved the words out.
“And promise me you won’t steal anything else ever again.”
She pulled back, only to reach down and hook her pinky into mine. “Never, ever, ever.”
“THIS IS THE GPS DEVICE we discussed.”
Gypsy glanced at the silver band and wrinkled her nose. “A watch?”
I edged my fingers over the metal, unlocking it before I secured it on her wrist. “Don’t bother tampering with it. If you do, our deal is void.”
“It’s ugly.” She poked at the links, moving it around her delicate wrist.
“Well, if that doesn’t work for you, there’s always an ankle chain.”
“Funny,” she snapped.
I got out of the car and left her to open the door and follow me inside. My bride was distant and quiet as I introduced her to our home. The four-bedroom fortress was nestled into the gated community of Diamond Bay, an exclusive retreat in the suburb of Desert Shores, but Gypsy didn’t seem impressed.
“Did you just move in?” She glanced around the crisp white space, taking particular notice of the cathedral ceilings and Roman columns. The place was probably a little too decadent for my tastes, if I were honest, but at the time I’d purchased it, I was in a hurry and it was available.
“No. I’ve lived here for five years.”
Her dark eyebrows shot up as she surveyed the open floor plan. “It’s so empty. And white.”
She wasn’t wrong. The furniture and decorations were sparse, consisting only of the necessities since I was seldom home. I rarely had visitors, except for Nolan and Ace, but I considered how she might see the space from her perspective.
“Ace will bring whatever furniture you’d like from your apartment.” I observed a few empty spots she could fill. “And if you’d like to redecorate, that’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
Gypsy shot me a look that proved she found the idea amusing. She didn’t seem like the homemaking type, considering she rarely ever had a place to call home for very long.
“The entire upper level consists of the master bedroom,” I explained as we walked upstairs and opened the French doors. “This is our room.”
She looked around the space, her face absent of emotion. “You want me to sleep in here with you?”
There was a softness to her voice that betrayed her nerves, but I chose to ignore it. Nothing I said would ease her fears, and there was no point wasting my breath. “There is space in the closet for your things. The bags are already in there, so you can unpack.”
She swiveled away from the closet, completely disinterested. “Don’t you have someone who can do that for me?”
My dick swelled at her bratty behavior. Gypsy had been living the high life for the past few years, but she was in for a surprise.
“I have a housekeeper,” I answered. “But she isn’t here to do you any favors, she comes here to clean. And besides, I gave her the week off. Remember?”
She crossed her arms and it pushed her breasts up between them. They were soft, natural, and huge, and already, I’d had too many indecent thoughts about them. Thoughts I shouldn’t have entertained at all.
“I’m not cleaning your house,” she insisted.
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
In the interest of establishing the rules, I decided it would be best to marry on a Friday so I had the weekend to play house, so to speak.
Already, Gypsy seemed to be settling in and attempting to exert her control over the situation. In the three hours she’d been here, she’d complained about the lack of cable TV, demanded the Wi-Fi password, and whined about my comment that she’d be responsible for making her own meals when I was gone.
“So you can have meals prepared for you?” she asked as she eyeballed the containers in the fridge, “but I can’t?”
“No,” I answered. “Marisa isn’t here to serve you. Although I’m certain it will be a real hardship, you are capable of making a sandwich.”
She slammed the fridge door and glared. “Fine, I’ll just eat out. No big deal.”
“Not likely.” I turned my attention back to the yellow legal pad in my lap, attempting to read over the notes I’d made today.
“What does that mean?” she questioned. “Not likely? I have my own money. I can do whatever I want with it.”
Exhaustion settled into my body as I put my work away for the evening. I’d been hoping to avoid this conversation until she was tired too, but even after unpacking her belongings, she showed no signs of slowing down.
“I made it clear that you’d be cleaning the house for the week,” I said. “And you refused. Which means you’re grounded.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she laughed. “Grounded? What, like I’m five?”
“Yes, grounded,” I repeated. “You won’t be leaving the house until you’ve performed the task I’ve given to my satisfaction. It’s a rather simple concept.”
