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“No women in the house. Or any other houses that you own, thatweown. Not in our cars, not in Tío’s jet, not anywhere even remotely close to an event that we attend together. Not around my guards, Not—“
“Understood, Eleanna.”
“Good.” I put my head back and close my eyes and concentrate on not crying. I’m startled by Mark’s voice a while later.
“I’m leaving early in the morning and will be gone overnight. Make yourself at home, Carmen will get you anything you need.” Then he opens the door and steps out, because apparently we’ve arrived. I stare and watch his long legs, perfectly firm ass and broad, built shoulders disappear into the side door of his house.
My house.
Right.
Time to get busy turning it into a home.
CHAPTER 15
Eleanna
It’s amazing what you can learn about a person just from living with them. Even if they’re never home. It’s been two weeks since the wedding and I think I’ve seen Mark in the flesh maybe four times.
I’ve heard him though. In his gym. No wonder myself and every other woman with eyes lost their minds at him in that thin dri-fit shirt he wore on the Fourth of July. The man has got to be ripped. It’s at least an hour a day, at all hours. I’ve heard the beat of his feet on his treadmill, the crash of weights on the floor, the whizzing sound of what is probably a stationary bike.
Despite his continued iciness, I’ve seen evidence that he is, in fact, human. Snacks disappear from the pantry, some of the coffee beans do start to get depleted, empty dinner plates are stacked neatly in the sink by morning, and the laundry. He goes through so much laundry.
I still haven’t come up with any new theories on his skin, or whatever the issue is, but after a few days of stir-crazy silence in our house, I did research some solutions. Which required that I flip Mark the bird, metaphorically, and go through his wing of the house. Unfortunately, but not too surprising, it was just as devoid of life as the rest of the house. Everything is bare and tidy. I even dared to go through his office and found no locked drawers and not one interesting item.
Finally on a dresser in his closet, tucked away next to a couple watches, I found a small photo of him and his mother. It looks like a graduation photo from college. He’s like mafia men in that way, I guess, a mamá’s boy. Except in my family, if a man dotes on his mother, he usually worships his wife. I moved on quickly from that thought and finished my project with his clothes.
His wing didn’t give much away, but from watching what gets eaten around here, I’ve learned he likes spicy snacks and a lot of fruit. So I changed the menus, using the same healthy staples, but adding richer, bolder flavors. In addition to my savory croissants and muffins, I’ve started adding berries.
With Mia starting school and Luna busy preparing for her own impending engagement, I have loads of time to spare, so I’ve taken over cooking most of our food myself. Mark’s chef, Tyson, wasn’t thrilled, but I insisted my schedule wouldn’t always be this open, and that his salary would stay the same. He smiled then. He also helped me with recipes and we swapped our best tricks for baking pastries.
The redecorating has been an interesting challenge. I don’t want to turn the house upside down, so I’ve just added small touches of warmth. I’ve also added pops of color and, since I’m the only one who will be around, I went with red. It is my house too, after all. Plus, the color used so sparingly really does make the bright whites and neutrals of the rest of the house gleam.
So, I should be feeling triumphant. Or at least productive. But I mostly feel…lonely.
Mia would come if I called, but what would I tell her, my husband detests me? It’s too humiliating. Luna and I text now. I miss our calls, but she’d read the pain and loneliness on my face like a bestseller.
Mark has been on two short trips and I’ve tried not to obsess about it, but failed. I didn’t know he was leaving so I didn’t ask to go along. He didn’t invite me, he just texted me his schedule after the jet had already taken off. And why would he invite me? A hotel rendezvous with one of his models or interns fits squarely within the rules I gave him, if he uses service entrances and back alleys.
Tomorrow, Mark and I have his parent’s anniversary party, so I’m using that as an excuse to stay up and talk to him. I’ve tried to anticipate when he’ll be home each night, but it’s inconsistent and never before 8 or 9pm.
The couple of times I have seen him have been awkward. I tried to sit and wait for him with dinner, but that felt lame. And I can’t wait to eat as late as he can. I’ve tried to sit and read in the main living room or even watch Netflix, something I’ve never had access to before, but he just gave me a nod or grunt and took his food into his wing to eat.
So tonight, after making and eating some dinner, I started on an apple pie using a new pie crust trick Tyson told me about. It should be ready and smelling divine when he comes in. Which is, now, apparently.
It’s eleven-fifteen! He has to be starving. He walks in from the side door off of the kitchen and pantry where Ric usually drops him.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “I made apple—“
I turn and he’s on top of me, so close I can smell him. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“Pajamas?” I say, turning hot pink to match the clothing in question. It’s just a tee and matching short set, not lingerie. But I suppose the shorts are really short. The fabric is buttery soft and deliciously thin. When he walked in, my nipples went hard as rocks and I’m sure he noticed.
He looks me up and down slowly. He balls his fists and I am sure he’s going to touch me. Or tug at the offensive fabric. Something. Finally he grunts, “Wear a fucking robe, Eleanna. Ric could’ve come in with me.”
“Ric comes in with you?”
“He has. Yes.” He snaps at me, but I’m trying not to smile. Because that is clearly a lie, and he noticed me, and we’re talking to each other, and he’s almost touching me. I caught him being a bit ridiculous. He flinches like he wants to back me up against the counter but catches himself. “It’s unbecoming for a senator’s wife to be traipsing around half-naked in front of the staff.”
