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“I brought dinner. Chinese. I didn’t think you’d feel like cooking.”
I turn.
He’s unpacking food cartons on the island counter. “What did you do with yourself this afternoon?”
“Why? Do you care?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “You know I do.”
I take a sip of champagne. “Nothing.”
“I’m having a home gym delivered. There’s space to put it in the dressing room.”
I laugh. It’s a nasty sound. “You want me to work out? Make sure I don’t get fat from staying locked up in here all day?”
He takes two plates from the cupboard. “You don’t have to stay locked up. You can go where you want as long as you let me know and my man goes with you.”
“To check up on me and report back to you?”
“To keep you safe.” He opens a carton and scoops noodles onto a plate. “I still have enemies. They’d still like to get to me through you.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Only for your safety.” He tears a packet open with his teeth and pours sweet and sour sauce over my noodles the way I like. “I told Benoit to bring your sewing machine.
“I don’t want it.”
“You can putter around in the garden. That’s why I had the greenhouse installed. I remembered the plant in your apartment.”
“How considerate.”
“You’ll find plenty of good books. I got all the latest bestsellers. Romance. The flat screen I ordered wasn’t ready today, but I’ll make sure it’s here by Monday. You’ll have unlimited access to movies and those soapies you like.”
“The news?”
“Not the news or any other channels.”
“I suppose that means no laptop, either.”
“The pool will make up for it in the summer. You can spend your days outside. There’s a fully equipped gas barbecue in the summerhouse. It’s easy to operate. I’ll show you.”
“I would’ve been happy with a shack, Maxime.” No money in the world can buy me. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s wrong.”
His face darkens. Pulling out one of the tall chairs, he says, “Come sit.”
I pad over obediently and shift onto the chair.
Taking another flute, he pours himself a glass of champagne. “To your new home.”
I don’t raise my glass to his.
“I want you to be happy,” he says.
Just like that. Like it’s a button I can push. On. Off. God, I wish it was that easy.
“You should take up a hobby.” He pushes the plate toward me and hands me a pair of chopsticks. “Painting or yoga. Journaling. Knitting. Anything you like.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He leans his elbows on the counter, putting our faces close. “In case you had any illusions about it, I’m staying the night.”
It’s like slap in the face. “This is what you call respect?”
He walks to the lounge and crouches in front of the fireplace. “This is where I’m supposed to be,” he says, throwing a log into the empty fireplace, “and nothing about us is wrong.”
I can’t listen to it. I hop off the chair.
“Where are you going?” he asks, the darkness that’s such an integral part of him surfacing in his voice.
“To the bathroom.”
His gaze burns on my back as I walk to the bedroom and close the door behind me. Placing a hand over my stomach, I fight to calm my breathing. My heart thrums in my temples when I rush to the bathroom and go through my medicine box. A long time ago, right at the beginning of our relationship, Maxime got me sleeping pills. He thought it would help me to rest better. I’ve only taken one, and I hated how it made me feel. I was groggy in the morning, feeling worse than when I have a few hours of unmedicated sleep.
Pushing two of the pills out of their foil casing, I place them on the marble vanity, crush them with my hairbrush, and sweep the powder into the palm of my hand. Then I hurry back to the living area before my hands turn clammy from stress and the powder sticks to my skin.
Maxime is building a fire when I enter. He’s busy enough with arranging the logs not to notice when I brush the powder into his glass. I give it a stir with my finger for good measure, and rub the rest of the residue that’s stuck on my palm off on my robe.
When he returns, I take my seat and pick up my chopsticks. “Aren’t you eating?”
He gives me an approving smile. “I wanted to make sure you were taken care of first.”
I break the sticks apart and twist the noodles around one.
He grins. “Let me.”
Leaning over me from behind, he arranges the chopsticks in my hand and manipulates my fingers to show me how to use them.
His voice is husky, his soft words and accent seductive against my ear. “Like this.”
I inhale him, the clean smell of winter. The heat from his body penetrates my skin through my thick robe. I want him badly. I want to use him to take my pain away. I know he’ll let me, but it’s wrong to desire another woman’s man. I stuff my mouth full of noodles. It’s all I can do not to give in to temptation and tell myself it would be for old time’s sake.
