Page 64 of Fair Trade

My laughter echoes around the bedroom and is quickly joined by Luisa’s cackles and Delilah’s barks.

And I realize in this moment that this house now feels like a home.

thirty

After Delilah put herfighting paws away, we all fell into a deep slumber.

I was certain I’d spend the night tossing and turning, but the pure exhaustion of the day, combined with Delilah’s sweet snores, was enough to put me in an instant coma.

I woke up to sweet doggy kisses and a hot, shirtless husband brushing his teeth on the other side of the open bathroom door, watching us.

That’s a view I could definitely get used to.

By the time I made it down to the kitchen in search of some food, I was almost in need of using one of my special toys. But the thought of Nick handling and washing them almost sent me into a spiral I need coffee for.

The kitchen is open and airy, with a large curved window looking out over the patio. And even though this place is huge, even for Manhattan standards, the kitchen still manages to feel homey. Touches of wood everywhere, with pockets of yellow and green mixed into the backsplash and tea towels, coexistpeacefully among the double ovens, six burner stove, and touch screen gadgets.

I trail my fingers over the smooth countertops in search of my caffeine fix, Delilah’s prancing steps right at my side.

The coffee machine is built into the wall. Because of course it is.

I’m about to start tinkering with it when a clear coffee mug is placed under the espresso machine in front of me.

I feel the heat from Nick’s bare chest at my back and force myself to stand straight. He presses a few buttons, and the machine comes to life. Loudly.

I turn in place. “I had it all figured out,” I fib.

His mouth twitches. “Of course you did.” His arms move around me, setting another mug in place and pressing more buttons. I’m sure this task would be much easier if he just asked me to move out of the way.

I’m just about to duck under his arms when he speaks again. “Okay, first things first: how do you take your coffee?”

“I’m a café con leche kinda girl. One sugar packet if I have time to sit down and savor it. No sugar if I need to wake up and get down to business.”

He places a hand on my hip and moves us over a step. I turn to see what he’s doing—and to escape his intoxicating natural scent.

There are two chic coffee mugs in front of me, both half filled with espresso.

I didn’t notice that he’d already steamed milk, and it’s in a stainless-steel milk frothing pitcher.

He picks it up and says, “Tell me when.” He starts to pour the milk into a mug, and when it turns the perfect shade of pale brown, I tell him to stop.

He studies it dutifully, then nods. “I don’t have sugar packets, but I can buy some for the house. If I don’t have any packets,how many small spoonfuls would be enough?” He scoops sugar into a dainty spoon and holds it over my coffee, waiting for my response.

“I’m sure one would be fine.” My voice has suddenly turned shy at all the attention placed on my coffee preferences. Somehow this is starting to feel more intimate than sharing a bed.

I can feel Nick studying my face from above me. “All right, then. Two it is.”

I don’t have time to hold in the quick laugh that escapes from my chest. I don’t dare look up at him, but I can sense that he’s smiling by the satisfied hum as he stirs the sugar in my cup.

“All right. Time to put my skills to the test. Have a sip, and please, be brutally honest.”

I grab hold of the warm mug and take a small sip, followed by a much larger one, and moan. “Good God, that is some good coffee. Damn you rich people for having access to the good stuff.”

His chest rumbles with restrained laughter behind me. “You better watch your mouth, talking around rich people.” His voice drops to a stage whisper. “You’re one of us now.”

My stomach drops at the thought.

To the outside world, I became a billionaire through marriage. I made a verbal agreement with Nick that I wouldn’t touch his money when we went our separate ways, but it seems like I’ll be enjoying a bit of the high life until the jig is up.