Page 15

I’ve been standing in front of the palm leaf painting for a while when I notice the movers coming down a set of stairs past the kitchen. I follow them but stop short when they all get back in the elevator, offering a quick wave before the doors slide close.

The cold brush of the kitchen island sends a chill down my arms as I brace myself against it. “Now what?” I whisper to myself.

“They were told not to touch your things, so you could unpack if you wish.”

A scream escapes me as I jump back clutching the counter tightly behind me. An older woman with jet black hair that’s only just begun to gray comes to stand next to me, dropping a basket of kitchen towels on the island.

“I’m sorry.” I place a hand on my chest. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“That's alright, honey. No one else besides me usually is.” She smiles, shaking out one of the linens.

I scratch my forehead and then reach my hand out towards her. “I’m Camila.”

She takes my hand and gives a rather firm shake for someone her size. “Rosa,” she replies with a smile. “I’m leaving once I’ve finished these linens, but there's dinner in the fridge for you and I’ll show you to your room on my way out.”

“Oh. I should probably wait for Miles to come home.” Even though I’m confused about what the proper etiquette is in this situation. This situation being that I just moved into my fake husband's penthouse.

Still smiling, Rosa shakes her head. “You’ll be waiting a long time. Mr. Cameron doesn’t usually come home until very late. I'll show you to your room, and then you’ll eat.”

I hope my face isn't betraying me and shows more gratitude than confusion as I nod my acceptance.

Rosa has left me in a beautiful guest suite and I’m noticing a theme with minimal decoration. The room has two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows, an oversized forest-green bed across from them, and a side table with only an empty vase and lamp. There is a beautiful large oak wood empty dresser and hanging above it is another remarkable oil painting, this one of elephant ear palm fronds. I step into the ensuite bathroom and roll the dimmer switch, lighting up the spa-like space that appears like it’s never been used before. I knew Miles had to be well off and obviously I didn’t expect to be sharing a room with him in this sham marriage, but I wasn't prepared for this level of extravagance either. I make my way back into the bedroom, sit down on the floor, and open one of my suitcases. I brace my hands on the frame of my luggage when for the first time, what I’m actually doing begins to sink in.

Having already showeredbefore I left my apartment, all I had to do was put away some clothes and toiletry items. I told the movers not to pack any of my art and left most of my personal items behind as well. I tiptoe down the stairs, in case Miles has come home and I didn’t hear him. When I reach the second to last step my heart rate picks up.Inhala exhala. He invited you here, stick to the plan. You’re fine.My ears strain to pick up any sounds other than my heavy breathing. I would have just stayed up in my room all night to prolong the inevitable, but my growling stomach forced me out. I peek around the corner into the kitchen and the muscles in my shoulders relax when I realize I’m alone.

The quiet air in this place is defining. I open the music app on my phone and press play on my ‘Girls Night In’playlist.

I welcome the cool air of the fridge on my face as I look to see what Rosa left for dinner. I’m not sure if it’s from the long day I’ve had, or if Rosa really is just that incredible, but I find glass Tupperware of the most delicious-looking lasagna I’ve ever seen with reheating instructions on top.

I stand at the kitchen island, one foot propped up on my other leg as I scoop bites of pasta onto the homemade bread. Movement out of the corner of my eye causes me to pause with the perfect bite halfway to my mouth. Miles steps out of the elevator and stops dead in his tracks with that signature scowl. It really should be intimidating but it’s having an oddly different effect on me. It’s at this moment that I realize maybe I shouldn’t be down here.

“I’m sorry,” I begin.

His eyes scan my body up and down before shaking his head and he moves towards a door off to the right of the elevator.

“I wasn't sure when you would be home, and Rosa told me to eat,” I say looking around.

“I’m glad you were able to get settled in.” He drops his bag inside the door before closing it again. “I’m just not used to someone being here when I come home.”

My playlist is still going and it dawns on me then, that I’m wearing pink silk pajama shorts and a tight black cropped tank top. He moves slowly to the opposite end of the island and I’m frozen in my spot. The only thing moving is my heart as it erratically bounces around my chest. I don't miss the way his eyes roam over me. Pausing a brief moment at my bare legs and then a longer moment at my breasts, which I absolutely do not need to look at to know that my nipples are welcoming him home as well. The way his eyes trail my body is almost obscene. Something about his gaze heats my body in a way that’s absolutely foreign to me, but for whatever reason I couldn’t move or turn away right now if I tried.

His thumb runs along his bottom lip before he clears his throat and pulls his eyes from me, taking my breath with them. I wait in loud silence as I watch him get his food from the refrigerator. While it heats, his fingers grip the knot of his tie and he pulls it loose. A moment later his jacket is gone and he starts rolling up his sleeves. If he's going to be brave enough to let his eyes roam over my thighs and breasts, I’m not going to be shy about staring at his forearms—tan with dark hair dusting them.

Three words. Forearm vein porn.

Now it’s my turn to clear my throat. “You have a beautiful home,” I blurt out.

“Thank you. My designer was pretty upset with me, she could never shut up about how much more she wanted to do with the space.”

“No. I like it.” I say looking around. “It's very…you.”

“Quiet?”

I laugh, feeling a little more relaxed. “I was going to saypolished.”

The corner of his mouth lifts half an inch. Not a full smile, but holy shit, if he looks that good wearing the tiniest smirk knownto man, I’m not ready for a full-fledged grin. Before I go down this road of ogling him again I try to think of something safe to talk about. “Umm, and the paintings.” I point to the one above the dining table. “They're gorgeous. Who are they by?”

His brows pull together and immediately that half a smile vanishes entirely. “I don’t know.”