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I bark out a laugh and kiss her roughly. “I agree to that demand, but remember one thing, queen.” I turn her head toward the window. “Out there, I will bow to you. Put you on a pedestal so everyone respects you. But when it’s just us, you bow to me. Understand?”
“Yes, my king.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Isabella
Threeweeksgoby,and Kieran and I can’t keep our hands off each other. Considering all the fundraisers and business dinners we’ve been to, we’ve kind of made a spectacle of ourselves. If anyone thought our marriage wasn’t real, we’ve changed their minds. At least as far as our white-hot attraction.
For the fundraising ball I wanted us to attend, one that raises money for low-income women suffering from domestic abuse, I chose a thin, high-neck, yellow gossamer gown with the sides open down to my waist. When I turn a certain way, I show off some good side-boob. I appreciate my boobs a little more after seeing them through Kieran’s eyes.
Eyes that stay on me most of the night, even now, when he’s a few feet away, talking to the mayor.
“A little birdie told me I should talk to you,” a woman’s voice sails over my shoulder.
I stiffen briefly but turn around. “Does the little birdie have a name?”
The older woman, who is the epitome of ‘handsome’, thin and statuesque with flawless makeup on aged skin, smiles. “Shea.”
I let go of a breath. “My sister-in-law?”
“The one and only.” She holds out a hand. “Marilyn Asher.”
“Isabella…O’Rourke.” I shake Marilyn’s firm, warm grip.
“Getting used to that name?” An onyx ring sits on her index finger, and on her wrist is a thin diamond and onyx bangle. The subtle beauty is stunning.
“Yes.” I tuck a hair behind my ear. “It’s just been a couple of months.”
“Enjoy the honeymoon phase.” Before I can remark about her bracelet to make small talk, she says, “Shea tells me you’re looking to work for a foundation when you graduate.”
I go still. Shoot, that afternoon, my first day with Kieran when I met Shea, the wine made me chatty. “I am. My senior independent study project is a business plan to start my own. But I’d like experience first, of course.” And I’dlovefor this not to be a fantasy, since I’m certain Kieran won’t let me work.
Then why did Shea mention it? Maybe she knows her brother better than I do.
“Here’s my card.” Marilyn takes it out of a black, patent-leather clutch. “Send me your project. And we’ll meet to discuss how you can help me. I’m always looking for fresh ideas.”
“I will.” I take it, nodding, containing my excitement.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to hit the ladies’ room. Again.” She squeezes my arm. “Don’t get old, dear. It sucks.”
“I’ll join you.”
We walk there together in silence. It sits right across from the main doors to the ballroom. Calder and Denton, my new guard, hang out in the lobby, so there’s no reason to find Kieran to get permission to leave the ballroom without him. Despite his boasting that when I’m with him, he’s my guard, events like this require more protection.
The ladies’ room is divided into three parts. A sitting room with a mirror along one wall and tufted slipper chairs. Beyond that, a row of sinks and a counter with toiletries to use. Then, to the left, a narrow corridor of toilets, each with a wood-paneled door.
I use one, and Marilyn takes another. It only takes me a minute, and when I come out, I don’t see Marilyn. Not wanting to pressure her to finish, I approach the sinks. I consider how my project is worded, especially if a professional will be looking at it and not a professor.
The opening mission statement sticks in my brain, but I hear something that whacks me right out of my thoughts.
“Did you see who your Kieran brought?”
My steps halt, and I see two women washing their hands at the sink.
“I saw him. Holy shit, can he be any more handsome?” a woman wearing a gold chiffon gown, with platinum-blonde hair in a chignon, practically hisses. She’s looking down into the sink and not at the round, framed window above. She doesn’t see me, so I step to the side, tucked behind the wall for the touch-up section.
“Who is she?” her friend, whose features don’t register, asks.
