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“I’m not married to Tommaso.”
I don’t reply to Tommaso’s text.
I have nothing nice to say.
* * *
A bottleof Dom Pérignon with a Post-it attached is on the kitchen counter when we return from the grocery store.
To the newlyweds!
I’m sorry your reception didn’t go as planned.
Drink this and enjoy your night!
Love,
Cristian and Natalia
Thank you, Natalia.No way Cristian would ever use an exclamation mark.
“Dom, nice,” Benny says, picking up the bottle and playing with it in his hand.
He sets the bottle down, helps me unload the groceries, and then retreats to his office after I shoo him out of the kitchen. I take a quick bathroom break and peek at Benny in the office before returning to the kitchen. The office is on the main floor. It’s small and cramped. Most of the room is occupied by the brick fireplace and metal desk, providing just enough space for Benny’s MacBook and water. I’m surprised he managed to squeeze the chair behind it.
Benny is here because of me and what happened last night. Otherwise, I have no doubt he’d be in his fancy office at the club instead.
When I return to the kitchen, I open all the drawers and cabinets, taking a quick inventory of what we have.
Like the rest of our temporary home, it’s outdated.
But, hey, a kitchen is a kitchen. I’ll make do.
I’ve never worked with an oven so old. I look up at the ceiling and send God a silent prayer I don’t burn down Benny’s mother’s childhood home.
Would that be grounds for a divorce?
As the oven heats, I slip my AirPods into my ears, turn on my favorite playlist, and start cooking. I sway my hips to the beat of Beyoncé and move around the kitchen. I’m in my zone, forgetting where I am and belting out song lyrics while dropping the cooked chicken onto a plate.
I turn, the plate of chicken in my hand, and nearly drop it when I catch Benny standing in the doorway, watching me.
“How …” I place the plate on the Formica countertop and pluck out an AirPod. “How long have you been standing there?”
Benny leans his shoulder against the doorframe, and his lips twitch in amusement. “Long enough to confirm your dancing is incredibly sexy.” His gaze drifts down my body—from my messy hair to my sweater that falls loosely off my shoulder, black leggings, and bare feet.
I gulp, my cheeks burning, and do the same to Benny.
He has his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the top three buttons on his shirt are undone. That seems to be his thing. The only times I’ve seen him with his sleeves unrolled was at our engagement party and wedding, when a blazer covered them. His dark hair is messy, as if he was stressed and spent his time running his fingers through it while he worked.
Benny pushes off the wall and tucks his MacBook underneath his arm. I fix my gaze on him, biting my lip when he enters the kitchen instead of returning to his office.
“Uh … what are you doing?” I ask when he drops the MacBook onto the kitchen table and sits.
“Working.” He opens the MacBook.
“Why aren’t you working in your office?”
I need to finish cooking, and he’s a major distraction.
