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I look down at the dress, forgetting I’m wearing something that probably cost tens of thousands of dollars. I shrug. “Yep. People do long receptions in expensive dresses where drinks get spilled on them, and they parade around a dirty dance floor in it. Going to my apartment and changing shortly after seems pretty tame to me.”
He runs his finger along his bottom lip as if he’s deep in thought. All he does is stare at me, staying eerily quiet. Finally, the silence bothers me enough that I fill it. “What?” I ask nervously.
“Nothing.”
“The look on your face says otherwise,” I counter.
The corners of his lips rise slightly. “It’s justyou.”
I swipe at my face, wondering if I have something on it. “What about me? Do I have something on my face?”
He reaches across the back seat once again. His fingers are timid as he wraps them around my wrist and guides my hand back down. “No. You’re perfect.” He pauses for a moment, as if those weren’t the words he meant to say. He sighs, letting go of my wrist and letting my hand drop to my lap. “It’s just you in general. I expected you to be different.”
“You don’t know me well enough to really have any opinions about me,” I whisper, trying not to pay attention to the electricity in the air. He hasn’t gone back to the other side of the car, and he’s incredibly close to me—too close. His expensive cologne clings to the air, enveloping me in everything that’s him.
“You have a point,” he admits. He shifts but doesn’t make a move to sit back.
“I get what you’re saying, though. We haven’t had much time, but you’re already different from what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
“A raging asshole.”
He barks out a laugh. “Many people do call me that.”
“I know.”
His eyes narrow on me. It’s quiet for a few beats. He breaks the silence by pressing a button on the ceiling. “Change of plans, Franklin. We’re going to the Brentmore Apartments before going home.”
“Yes, sir,” a voice comes over the speaker above us.
Neither of us says a single thing until we arrive at my apartment building. I’m getting ready to open my door when he reaches across us and stops me. “Wait,” he demands.
I stop, waiting to see what he needs.
“Just let me get the door for you? That’s what a good husband does.”
Before I can argue, he’s throwing his door open and quickly rounding the car to open my door. He even holds out his hand for me, waiting for me to take it before I step out of the car.
All the way to my apartment, he holds the train of my dress for me, making sure I don’t trip on the extra fabric at my feet. When I tell him in the empty elevator he doesn’t have to do that, his only answer is a repeat of what he said in the car. “It’s what a good husband does.”
CHAPTER 11
ARCHER
“Areyou just going to stand there?” I ask Winnie, taking a step closer to her so we’re shoulder to shoulder. There’s a slight chill to the air as it wraps around us, but she doesn’t give any indication that she wants to step out of the cold and into the warmth.
“Yes,” she answers immediately, her neck craned as she looks up at the building in front of us.
I sigh, setting down the heavy suitcase she brought from her apartment. “Can you at least tell me why we’re standing here staring at my house?”
“Because it’s your house.”
“Okay…” My words pause for a moment as I try to figure out what she means. “So we’re just going to stand in the cold, staring at my house?”
My comment awards me a dirty look from her. At least she looked away from staring at the home I purchased two years ago. She huffs as if my questions are annoying her. “You were raised in New York. There’s no way you think it’s cold right now.”
She’s got a point. “Can we at least judge my house from the inside? It’s weird to stand out here staring at a house.”
