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“What’s all this?” I ask.
“Our dinner,” he admits, shifting from foot to foot. “Do you know Fallon? Theo mentored her, and she worked for him for years.”
I nod. “Yeah, I used to see her all the time when I’d visit Theo’s restaurant in the West End. She left last year to launch her private chef service…” My voice falters as the pieces fall into place. “You hired her to prepare our dinners, didn’t you?”
“Guilty,” he says with a sly grin.
I frown. “Why would you do that?”
It doesn’t matter to me if Cash can cook. I survived on fish and chips, Thai food, and sandwiches from the pub down the street from my office for years, and I would be fine doing that again. Or if he had told me upfront that he wanted a private chef to cook our meals, I would have been okay with that. I’m struggling with the fact that he wasn’t honest from the start.
His confession stirs memories of Landon lying about his whereabouts and who he spent time with when we were dating. When the truth came out, my pride was bruised, and I felt foolish for missing the warning signs.
Cash fidgets with his bracelet as he looks at me apologetically. “I figured you’d appreciate it more if you believed I was cooking dinner rather than someone else doing it.” He’s not wrong. It’s one of the primary reasons I began feeling at ease with him. “I saw how hard you work and wanted to make the transition easier for you, especially since moving in with me wasn’t your first choice. You deserve to live somewhere that feels like home, and I thought coming back to the apartment to a home-cooked meal every night would help.” He stops in front of me, and I’m met with his earnest gaze.
His admission tugs at my heartstrings. It would have been better if he’d told me upfront, but I can understand why he didn’t. He may be too laid-back at times, but he’s also kind-hearted and patient.
I have to remind myself that Cash is nothing like Landon and would never deliberately cause me harm. He goes to great lengths for the people he cares about, and I’m fortunate to be counted among them.
“I appreciate the gesture, but it hurts that you kept this from me. It’s important that we don’t keep secrets—big or small.” I place my hand in his. “Can we agree on being open with each other moving forward? It’s a hard limit for me.”
Cash squeezes my hand as he looks into my eyes. “There’s one more thing I have to tell you,” he confesses.
“Which is?”
“Marcus didn’t put off decorating the apartment. I waited to call him until yesterday.” He holds his hand out to stop me when I go to speak. “I wasn’t ready to have you sleep in a separateroom. What if you got scared of the dark or needed me to kill a spider?”
“You can tell the truth and admit that you like having me in your bed.” I rise on my toes to press a kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry, Cash, I like being there too.”
“No more secrets,” he promises.
“You said you called Marcus yesterday. When is he stopping by?”
“Later tonight, actually,” Cash tells me. “It’s about time we made this place a real home.”
My heart races every time he calls itourhome. This arrangement was supposed to be temporary, but right now, it feels like anything but.
When the elevator doors open, a man enters the penthouse’s entryway. He’s clad in designer jeans, a blazer layered over a graphic tee, and a stylish blue scarf. He strides in with a leather portfolio tucked under one arm, scanning the space with a discerning eye.
“Marcus, it’s great to see you. Thanks for coming,” Cash says, giving him a pat on the back.
“Sure thing. I’ve been itching to decorate this space since you bought it.” Marcus looks around. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d ever take me up on my offer, given how set you were on keeping it looking like a permanent bachelor pad.”
“He had no choice,” I interject, coming to stand next to Cash. “This apartment is too stunning to stay empty.”
“And who might this lovely creature be?” Marcus asks, his face lighting up as he glances between Cash and me.
“This is Everly, my wife,” Cash states, beaming with pride.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Marcus says, offering me his hand. I mirror his gesture and he presses a chaste kiss to my hand. “It’s about time you finally settled down,” he tells Cash.
“I got really lucky.” Cash puts his arm around my shoulders, silently staking his claim.
“How do you two know each other?” I ask.
“We worked in the mailroom of the Stafford Holdings New York office. I was saving up to move to London, unaware that I was working with the future Chief Operations Officer of the billion-dollar conglomerate,” Marcus says.
With a sheepish look, Cash lifts his arm from my shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t want people to know who my family was.”