Page 34 of Fair Trade (New York Monarchs #2)

thirty

After Delilah put her fighting 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, coexist peacefully 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.

“All right, it’s your turn. Put your coffee down before you burn your tongue, you little gremlin.” He attempts to pry the delicious goodness from my hands, and I have a deep desire to hiss at him.

I eventually concede. “My turn for what?”

He nods at the other espresso cup. “To learn how your husband takes his coffee. This is something we should know about each other.”

Oh. Is that what this is? Marriage 101 homework? I guess that makes sense, since we need to convince the world that we’re a real couple. I’m sure there will be a lot more information for us to learn about one another.

Yet why do I feel a sudden pit of disappointment?

I blow out a quick breath and get my head on straight.

I know Nick is watching me intently—it seems like he always is lately—but I don’t pay him any mind and continue with this little exercise.

I make a show of cracking my knuckles and bouncing my shoulders.

In a teasing tone, I ask, “All right, Lucifer, how do you take your coffee? I would assume black, like the souls of those you’ve condemn—”

“Luisa,” Nick chides from behind me.

“What?” I look up to meet his serious gaze.

“I’m going to let this slide, just this once, because I know you haven’t had breakfast or finished your coffee.

But this.” He taps my forehead twice. “Letting your thoughts run wild without clueing me in to what’s got you changing up on me at the flip of a switch?

It’s not going to work. We need to be open and honest with each other at all times if we want to survive the next year. ”

I inwardly groan. Why must this man be so perceptive?

I bite my lip, feeling embarrassed by what I’m about to say.

But I do so anyway, because he’s right. “It’s no big deal.

It’s just… I don’t know. I thought you were asking how I liked my coffee because you were being, I dunno, you?

I didn’t realize we were doing marriage bootcamp.

Maybe I need a heads-up when we’re doing this kind of husband and wife study session. ”

Nick’s intense gaze doesn’t leave mine, even seconds after I’ve stopped speaking.

I’m about to start rambling, because I’d rather that than the awkward silence I’ve created, when he opens his mouth.

“You prefer plátano maduros over tostones because you can reheat the leftovers the next day and throw them into your scrambled eggs, but you’d never claim that in front of your family because tostones are the clear winner among them. ”

My mouth drops. How did he—

The emails.

Shit. We’ve never discussed in person the things we’ve written to one another. Mostly because they were nonsensical chatter. But as I look into Nick’s determined eyes, I’m starting to wonder if it was more than that.

“You like wearing heels every day because your cousins were allowed to wear them at fifteen, but your parents only let you start wearing them right before your eighteenth birthday, and you made it your personal mission to make up for all that lost time. On busy days at work, you forget to eat lunch, so on your way home, you order takeout from your favorite Thai restaurant and make a little game of beating the delivery guy to your apartment. There have been a few times he’s beat you there, and he’s now in on the little game.

“You like the color pink and wear it often because it reminds the old geezers at work that their boss does, indeed, have a vagina—these are your words—not mine. And you have a deep love for all reality shows produced by Bravo. The Housewives from Potomac, Salt Lake City, and Miami are having top-tier seasons, according to your expertise.”

“Put it on my gravestone, I guess,” I mumble as I look down at my hands.

His fingers tip my chin up, and I have no choice but to make eye contact again.

“If I need to know something about you that I don’t already know, for the purpose of our arrangement, I will ask you that directly.”

I nod, words failing me.

“But if you thought that making your morning coffee was some kind of exercise, something I wouldn’t naturally want to know, then…” He trails off.

“Then what?”

He leans closer, my heart picking up at lightning speed, “Then clearly, wife of mine, you haven’t been paying attention.”

My mind whirls, and I’m trying to figure out what he means when the doorbell rings.

“Right on time,” he says more to himself than me as he makes his way to the front door.

I take a moment to collect myself, then turn back to the untouched coffee belonging to Nick.

I need something to do with my hands, so I pick up the steamed milk and add a dash. I forgo the sugar—because who are we kidding? That man probably hasn’t had anything sweet in a decade—and start to stir mindlessly.

By the time Nick walks back into the kitchen, I’m sure I’ve stirred all the heat out of his coffee.

“Special delivery,” he says with a pleased look on his face while lifting a small package.

I don’t have time to come up with a snarky remark or a penis joke before he’s standing in front of me with a black velvet ring box in his hand.

“Wh-what is this?” I point to the box as if there is a tiny cobra waiting inside, ready to strike at me. “I already have a wedding band,” I say, almost babbling.

Nick’s assured smile only kicks up a notch at my clear confusion.

“Okay, to be clear, this part is for optics.” He nods slightly, giving me a moment to recognize that we are now speaking about our arrangement. “I would have gotten you this at the same time as your wedding band, but this specific ring wasn’t ready in time.”

I’m about to protest because, truly, my wedding band is more than enough.

And when I’m alone, all I do is stare at how pretty it is and think of how I wish it were my real wedding band for life.

But then he opens the box.

My gasp is so loud, Delilah nudges my leg with her nose as I lean onto the kitchen counter for support.

“No. Nick! What? How?” My eyes must be popping out of my head as Nick grins.

“I’m hoping your Pinterest board from three years ago still holds true and that this is the ring you had pinned as your ‘dream ring.’ Of course, the one you had was a respectable three carats, but there is nothing respectable about the man you married, so I had to go ahead and settle for seven,” he announces proudly.

The sparkling cushion-cut ring stares back at me.

“Please, Angel, close your mouth before my mind thinks up ways for you to thank me.”

I snap my mouth shut and find the strength to slap his hard chest. He catches my hand and keeps it in place, then slowly slips the ring on my finger until it reaches my wedding band.

“Never seen anything more perfect,” Nick says, all traces of his teasing tone gone as his thumb sweeps across my knuckles.

I look up to see him staring at me instead of the ring, and my heart kicks up for the second time this morning.

“Luisa, I know this is anything but conventional. Our arrangement, the way we met, our working relationship. Everything about us seems to be at odds with what the world deems as normal. But frankly, I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant having you standing in our home, sharing morning coffee, with my ring on your finger. ”

“Nick,” my voice begs. For what, I’m not sure.

He smiles almost sadly. “Oh, none of that. I’m a big boy.

” He wags his eyebrows, and I muster a giggle.

“You’re worthy of the real thing. A real marriage, a real proposal.

And I feel like I’ve robbed you of that.

So… please don’t make a fuss about accepting this engagement ring.

It holds all the guilt I feel for not being the man you deserve.

For being the lucky bastard who gets to call you mine for what I know will be the best year of my life. ”

I don’t think twice. I can’t form any coherent thoughts around this man anyway. I throw my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. His arms wrap around me instantly and pull me even closer.

“Buy a woman a diamond, and she breaks her own no-touching rule,” he jokes as he speaks into my hair.

“Shut up. Hugs are on the approved touching list as of right now.”

“Unlimited hugs?”

“Stop negotiating, Stonehaven. Keep hugging me back before you do something that makes me call you an asshole in my head.”

“There’s still room in that pretty little head of yours to curse me? I figured your endless berating would get it all out.”

“What I’ve given you can hardly be called berating, and if you think that was bad, buckle up, buddy.”

“Noted.”

“Why is your chest so warm when your nipples are so hard?”

“And the moment is now over. Thanks for that, Angel.” A laughing Nick pulls away.

I smile as I shrug. “Fine by me. Besides, it’s time you test the coffee I made for you.” He quirks a brow. “Okay, the coffee you made but I helped perfect,” I defend.

He rubs his hands together. “Tell me, wife, what concoction have you come up with?”

“I still think you drink your coffee black since you only drink from the best coffee beans in the world. But then I thought maybe you added a bit of milk so that it wouldn’t be too strong?

” My voice lifts at the end of the statement, making it sound more like a question.

I’m suddenly and ridiculously anxious over a silly cup of coffee.

Nick’s smile doesn’t waver as he picks up the mug and takes a generous sip. “Well done. You nailed it, Angel.”

I unexpectedly preen at his praise and take great pleasure in watching him enjoy his coffee.

We spend the rest of the morning cooking breakfast, making each other second cups of coffee, and planning our next public outing while Delilah lounges by our feet.

I take my first real breath in days when I realize that this might work out after all.