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Steven held out an empty glass.
He looked at his phone.
He had this trick where he’d always throw a question mark on the end of demands.
I reached for the bottle of wine.
I poured his first glass and my second.
“Damn,” he said.
“Work?”
He glanced at me. “Partnership issues. Found out one of the guys secretly financed a boat six months ago. As though we wouldn’t eventually see it? I swear, you have the easier job between the two of us. Cheers.”
Steven touched his glass to mine.
He took a drink and walked from the kitchen to the dining room table.
Dinner waited.
Nothing I cooked.
Something he ordered and had set up to look like one of us cooked.
Steven loved appearance.
In any shape or form.
To him, appearance was all that mattered.
In his eyes, our relationship was absolutely based on appearance.
Here he was working for his father’s investment company. A job from high school, through college, and then tossed into a seven-figure a year career the day he graduated college. Together with me? A doctor?
At first when Steven spoke of his career and mine and his eyes lit up, I took that as a sign of happiness, love, and success for the both of us.
Now?
Appearance.
Not that I could defend myself on the topic.
Bethany - among many others - figured Steven and I were rich and crazy for one another. Probably just as crazy in bed.
Steven waspretty.
Not a second in his life did he not look dashing, handsome. A jawline cut from stone. Piercing blue eyes. A body toned so much you would have sworn he worked twelve hours a day surfing in the ocean or something with manual labor.
Instead of that, he had great genes and a private gym everywhere he was.
As for me, I had a semi-decent metabolism.
Although lately it seemed to be slowing.
The sight of a piece of cheesecake made my hips feel bigger.
Steven remained glued to his phone.
