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I loved when she smiled. Did the strangest things to me. “What if we opened a restaurant?”
“I don’t know…”
“You could build the menu from scratch. Teach the chefs how to make the dishes so they’re the ones slaving away in the kitchen instead of you. Then you can work on the specials and do the books in the morning. It could be your business and have nothing to do with me at all.”
“Well…I don’t have the money for that sort of thing.”
“Yes, you do.” I tugged her closer to me, the two of us sharing a single pillow. “You know you do.”
“I suggested this to my father, but he wasn’t interested.”
“Because he’d have no control over the situation, and all he cares about is—” I stopped at the annoyed look on her face. It was hard to mention her father without a tirade of ridicule, and it was something I seemed to get worse at—not better. “Just because he’s not interested doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea.”
“A restaurant is a big investment?—”
“I told you we’re billionaires.”
“You’rea billionaire. You earned that, not me.”
“Baby, what’s mine is yours.”
“If I use your money to build my empire, then it’s not my empire.”
“Then pay me back.” The idea of keeping receipts in a marriage seemed ridiculous, but I needed to give her a reason to get started, to feel better about herself rather than indebted to me.
“What if I can’t?”
“Then you can pay me back in other ways…” I squeezed her ass.
“You know I do that for free every night.”
“But it’ll be fun for me to watch you work for it. Come on, let’s do it.”
“I don’t know…”
“Baby, please.”
“I know how upset my father will be.”
“He’s a grown-ass man,” I said. “He’ll get over it.”
Her eyes dropped back to my chest. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 2
Scarlett
I waited until the bruises were healed to see my father. I didn’t want him to suffer my appearance and the hefty price tag of guilt that came with it. Makeup had been a godsend during this week, but I couldn’t wear it to bed without suffering a massive breakout, so Axel had to see me like that. At least it was dark.
It was afternoon, but it felt like morning with the heavy fog. It muffled the sounds of the city, brought an eerie silence to an epicenter of culture, food, and music. I was ready for spring, had been ready since the first day of winter. I walked past the guards on the property then entered the warmth of his villa, the fire burning in the parlor in anticipation of my arrival. I hung up my coat on the coatrack then moved farther into the room.
My father joined me moments later, dressed in a collared shirt and a jacket, looking professional even though he worked from home all day. “Hello, sweetheart.” He didn’t greet me with nearly the same affection and warmth. It’d been replaced by a heavy dose of hesitation and uncertainty. Even his hug was tentative, like the wrong touch could make me crumple into a pile on the rug.
My face was as it used to be, my makeup back to normal, my smile locked in place—but it wasn’t enough. “How are you?” The last time I saw him had been that horrible night when we were both beaten bloody. Memories swept across my mind, and I imagined they swept across his too.
“Hungry?”
I felt a twinge of pain from his avoidance. “You know I’m always hungry.”
