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“A lot. It cost me money once we started appearing in the tabloids together, and once I approve our pictures from the photographer of our wedding, those will be going in the New York Times.Socialite Sabrina Winters marries Billionaire Maksim Giordano.” She says with a transatlantic accent like we're in the 40s. I keep myself from smiling. “We'll beseven-pagenews again, and that means even less clients. Not everyone may know what you do, dear husband, but your name instills fearandhate.”
“Does this bother you?”
“Not entirely enough.” She says softly, looking down at her bowl then back up. “About last night.”
She reaches out.
I hold my breath, watching as her gloveless hand stops mid-air, as though she's realized she’s about to touch me without them. Her hand goes under the table, out of my sight.
My heart thumps in my chest, and I inhale silently.
How can there be so much tension like this? How can I want to feel the soft skin of her hands on me, if only for the smallest of seconds?
Because it would mean you don't repulse her. Because it means she'll let you touch her when she's not asleep.Because you want her to want you…my brain replies.
Christ, I feel like I'm in a Jane Austen novel. My thoughts flit to my mother for a second, sitting side by side with her in the library,reading the same books, and talking about the characters like they were our friends.
What kind of books does Sabrina read? She said something about a ‘trope’, but I have no idea what that means. And she readsa lot.There are stacks of books at her house, not to mention her Kindle or her audiobooks, and when she's baking or cleaning her kitchen, she sometimes gasps or says, “What did you just say to me right now?!”and “Are you really that daft?”as though she's taken severe offense to whatever the character is going through. Or she shouts my favorite, “You're being an absolute cockwomble and I can't handle you right now.”
I… had to google ‘cockwomble.’ My wife has a… colorful vocabulary.
There have been times I've been listening and watching that I've seen Parker come out of the shadows and watch her as she mutters to herself, with a smile gracing his face. I don't blame him. It makes my own lips unwillingly turn up.
“I appreciate that you brought your blanket to cover me. I-I- I'm sorry I woke you and you had to…comfortme. I wish I could say it won't happen again, but the truth is, I can't sleep properly in strange places-” This I already knew, thanks to Parker “-And this was so impromptu I wasn't able to grab any of my necessities. I can somewhat nap without an issue. But when I fall into a slumber, it's hard for me to crawl out of… that.”
“That's why you have issues with moving into my penthouse.” I add for her, forcefully feeding myself another spoonful.
Her head bobs. “It's not something I'm proud of. I'm working on it.”
“What happened?” I blurt out, but she only shakes her head. The light atmosphere from earlier is gone, and the sadness in her emerald eyes is enough to make me feel sad for her.
“It doesn't matter. It's something I have to move past on my own. Nobody else can do that for me.” She clears her throat and takes another few bites, then stands to clear her plate from the table. I follow the sway of her hips as she immediately washes it and sits it on the rack to dry, then dries her hands on a towel. “Thank you for having them make the soup. Probably the best stew I've ever had.” She stands there in her little shorts, a pale blue shirt hanging loosely off her body.
It looks wrong – the blue, I mean. Or maybe it's that her clothes just don't look right. I had noticed that at our wedding. How she looked smaller. Her hourglass figure enhanced by the second wedding gown she'd had on that evening, and the way her necklace, a solitary pink pendant, sat on the little hollow of her throat between her morepronounced clavicles. I had gotten her sizes from Lily, her PA. Had she got them wrong?
Sabrina shifts from one foot to the other, a blush still on her cheeks from her fever earlier.
“How… are… the clothes?” I ask awkwardly, wanting to kick myself.
“Fine, thank you.”
I give one nod and look down at the spezzatino, suddenly not hungry. “The wives… will probably be back to check on you tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, I'll be ready. Just need to get more sleep.”
“Okay.”
She blinks. “Okay.”
I don't know why I want her to stay, to keep talking to me. I want her to… I'm becoming pathetic. I laugh at myself inwardly. I could have had anyone. I could have chosen one of the chapter daughters here… “You should rest some more. You still look sickly.”
I regret it as soon as I say it.
Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare.
There goes that.
I wait for the moaning to start before I even dare step inside of her room. What I'm having to wait for makes me feel vile, but soon my fingers are plunged into her pussy. Her delectable little sounds have me sweating beneath the covers and aching to come. She isn't wearing shorts tonight, just a tiny little lace thong and an oversized shirt I'm pretty sure is mine.