Page 43 of Dirty Husband

He flips a switch. The expensive chandelier illuminates.

Footsteps move in the kitchen. "Is that you, Mr. Marlowe? Is the future Mrs. Marlowe with you?" A woman's voice asks. It reminds me of Shep's. Strict. No nonsense.

"Yes, but I'm retiring for the evening." He nods a goodbye to me. "Key will take care of you."

Key will take care of me?

"Lock manages things outside the house. Key manages the house." He motions to the light coming from the kitchen. "She'll fix your dinner. Or, if you prefer, you can order something." He turns to Key as she moves in from the hallway. "On me, of course."

Key, a woman in her thirties with a tailored dress and a blond bun, smiles wryly. "Of course, Mr. Marlowe. I would expect you to take care of your fiancée." She turns to me. "Has Mr. Marlowe readied a credit card for you?"

"Not yet." He turns to me. "After we sign the papers tomorrow."

She raises a brow. It's not like Lock. He has a certain mischievous joy—the joy of a young Shep. She's more like a current Shep. Questioning his intentions, his competence, his right to breathe the same air she does. "Papers?"

"A prenuptial agreement." He waves away her objection. "I know how you feel about them."

"You don't like them?" I ask. It doesn't suit my image of her. I know we've just met, but she seems practical. Reasonable. A man of Shep's wealth would be a fool to skip a prenup.

"Some things aren't about money." She nods good night to Shep. "But it's Mr. Marlowe's choice. He pays me to cook, not to talk about his love life."

"It doesn't stop you," Shep teases her.

"I can't help it. You give me so much to discuss." There's the slightest hint of teasing in her voice.

He chuckles. "You and Lock…"

"Aalock"—she calls his full name—"and I have to keep ourselves entertained somehow."

"Entertained and losing money?" He raises a brow.

"We never bet money." Her smile is almost dirty. Then it's not. That normalI'm ready for anythingassistant smile. "What would you like, Ms. Lee?"

"Jasmine. Please," I say. "Whatever is easiest."

"Nonsense, Ms… Jasmine. What's easiest is what you'd like. If you're too tired to consider that, leave it to me. But if there is something you prefer, I'll make it happen."

"Some kind of grilled fish, maybe." Something Mom made that won't fill my stomach with pangs of nostalgia.

"Of course." She turns to Shep. "Are you sure you won't be joining us?"

"Send the food to my room." He looks to me, but he doesn't move closer. "I'll make an appointment for you. At my office. First thing tomorrow."

"No. Send it to my lawyer. I'll do it there." I press my lips together. He's already leaving.

What gives? He's been trying to talk me into adoring him all day. Now that I actually need a little comfort, he's leaving.

Maybe… if I ask… if I admit I'm terrified I'm going to wake up to the news my father is gone…

I try to find the words, but I can't. Maybe it's my pride. Maybe it's all the space between us. Maybe it's an inability to trust him after everything.

"Good night, Shep." I turn to Key.

She waves me to the dining table. Insists she'll bring tea. If I'd like to cook, fine, but she won't have any interference.

So I sit and let her fix me a cup of ginger. It's good. Strong. Fresh ginger boiled long enough to extract every ounce of flavor.

The dinner she makes is fantastic. Almost as good as Mom's. Lacking only in that key ingredient. Love.