Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“You smell better.” I breathe her in, loving the light perfume she wears.
“I did a little cleaning too. Bathroom, bedroom, living room.”
I pull back in surprise. “What’s the occasion?”
“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to play housewife.”
“How was it?”
“Tiring. Don’t get used to it. I’ll excel in other aspects of our life.” She tugs me in and kisses me, deep and lingering. Fuck, I can’t get enough of this woman.
“You already do,” I whisper, unwilling to pull away, but she lightly pushes me back.
“Honestly, I’m buttering you up. And Emily helped a bit.”
“Ah, now that makes more sense. What are you trying to butter me up for?”
“I have an idea I want to run past you, but first—” She starts plating dinner and pours a big glass of wine. “Why don’t you eat?”
“I know what you’re doing. Trying to get me full and drunk.”
“I’m not exactly being subtle here.”
“And I’m not complaining.” I kiss her one more time, skirting the line, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
We sit at the table together. She ditches the apron. I keep tossing glances at her lips and eyes. I love the way she does her hair, so simple and elegant, and she wears the fuck out of her clothes. Whatever she puts on her body somehow looks expensive and gorgeous. Maybe that’s just her, shining through.
“This is fucking good,” I mumble through bites, devouring the meal while she watches, grinning and happy. “You sure you can’t make this a habit?”
“We’ll see. Honestly, it was kind of fun. But now I have all those dishes.”
“I’ll clean them. I’ll clean you too. Whatever it takes for more of this.”
“Easy, boy. It’s just chicken.”
But it’s not. It’s the fact that she went out of her way to clean our house and cook me a meal when she didn’t need to. Maybe she’s trying to soften me so she can pitch her plan, but still. She did all this to make me happy.
I don’t know the last time someone went out of their way for me like this.
We sit together at the table. She pours the wine and we start eating. “Everything’s delicious,” I tell her and genuinely mean it. The girl can fry a mean chicken cutlet. “I’m very impressed.”
“You mean, it’s pretty good for a rich girl?” Her eyes sparkle with teasing amusement.
“You’re not quite at Italian Grandma level yet, but you’re definitely nicer to look at.”
“The highest compliment imaginable.” She picks at her meal, not paying close attention. “It means a lot, you saying that.”
“And it means a lot, you going through all this effort.”
“Even if I have an ulterior motive?”
“I can’t blame a girl for wanting something.” I lean in, smiling slightly. “So long as she doesn’t blame me for wanting too.”
“Don’t tell me you’re making innuendos at the dinner table?”
“I’m a man who mixes his appetites.”
“And I keep my kitchen clean.” She wags a fork at me, smiling sweetly. “I won’t have any of that dirty talk here, mister.”
“My wife is so strict.”
“Actually, I think my husband is even stricter.” She pretends to pout. “Imagine my surprise when it turns out he spanks for a punishment.”
I let out a low chuckle. She grins back at me, eyes shining. I like this playful, teasing side of her. We fall into a comfortable conversation, bantering back and forth for a while as we eat, teasing and poking fun at each other. It’s light and easy, and it honestly feels good to talk to her like this.
There’s no pressure. No looming catastrophe, no murderers lurking upstairs (aside from me, of course), no rivals looking to take me down. It’s just me and my wife sharing a nice meal.
The normalcy disarms me. I think she relaxes into it as well. For a while, we’re just two people enjoying each other, and I didn’t even know how important that was to me until right this moment.
“That was nice,” she says as we sit out on the back patio together. The evening’s cool and the sun’s slowly sinking down behind the houses. “We should do that more often.”
“If you’re cooking, I’m there.”
“I was thinking we’d order in.”
“If you’re eating, I’m there.”
“Here’s to that.” We touch glasses, and she smiles at me, putting her feet in my lap. It’s so intimate and familiar. I rub them lightly, and she settles lower into her chair, squinting off at the backyard. “I have a plan I want to run by you, but I almost don’t want to ruin this by talking business.”
“Then don’t. There’s always time.”
Her face tenses. “I’m worried there’s not.”
“Tell me. Get it over with. So I can get you to finish that glass of wine before I take you up to bed.”
“Getting me drunk? You don’t even have to.”
“All the better.”
She sighs, wriggling slightly. “I want to set a trap.” I raise my eyes for her to elaborate, but she frowns and shakes her head. “You’re going to have to trust me. That’s the most important bit.”