Page 39 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Fiona

As the gates to Bryce’s house magically swing open, I understand why he wanted me to take the Lamborghini. He didn’t want me stuck out here again like last night. The garage doors open on their own to let the car in as well.

But once I get to the entrance to the house, the security pad blinks red. I run the fob over it a couple of times, but it remains red. I grab my phone and text Bryce.

–Me: In the garage. How do I get into the house?

A moment later, he sends me a six-digit code. I stare at the number with surprise, uncertainty and confusion—Finley’s birthday. Is it a coincidence? Seems unlikely, but…I don’t want to give it more meaning than I should.

–Bryce: Did you get in okay?

His message pulls me out of my daze. I quickly enter the number on the smooth screen, which has a scrambled number pad. The system turns green and the door unlocks with a metallic click. I push it open and step into the nook between the living room and the kitchen.

–Me: Yes. Thank you.

–Bryce: Do you still like pepperoni pizza?

–Me: Yes. Why ?

–Bryce: Because I’m going to pick one up to share.

As I look at our text exchange, it’s almost like we’re back in college. We used to split pepperoni pizzas and sip Diet Dr. Pepper when I stayed over at his place.

–Me: How about some Diet Dr. Pepper?

I send the message before I realize what I’m doing. I bite my lip, wondering if he’s going to think I’m being overly sentimental…or maybe presumptuous.

–Bryce: I can grab that, too. I’m leaving the office in half an hour.

–Me: That early?

–Bryce: Shitty traffic, and we have to go out for dinner.

Dinner? Then why the pizza…?

Is this some weird way of trying to celebrate our fake two-year marriage? In any case, isn’t necessary to cut his workday short for it.

–Bryce: With my family. Paola told everyone, and of course, The Fogeys want to meet you.

I inhale sharply. He called the elders of his family The Fogeys in college, and I’m guessing that hasn’t changed. Something like an electric charge runs through my nerves, leaving me shaky. I drop onto a couch and try some deep breathing. But it doesn’t settle my anxiety.

–Me: Do we have to? I’m only your wife for a little while.

–Bryce: Sorry, it’s mandatory. My stepmom is cooking, and there’s no avoiding it. Unless you want them descending on our house, which I’d prefer to avoid.

I prop my elbow on my knee and rest my forehead in my palm. A small throbbing starts at the base of my neck—the beginning of a tension headache.

–Me: If we’re having dinner with your family, why are you getting pizza?

–Bryce: Because that’s also mandatory.

What?

–Bryce: Trust me. You’ll thank me later. Gotta go.

I blink, dazed and dumbfounded like I just got sucked into a tornado.

Realistically speaking, I suppose it only makes sense that his family wants to meet me, although…

don’t they know about the ugly history between me and Bryce?

Ares and Josh know for sure. They were at Harvard when it happened.

I ran into them a few times later, and they both looked at me with loathing and contempt.

The only reason they didn’t punch me in the face was my gender.

Is this going to be some kind of dinner of disapproval? The family wants to warn me to be good to Bryce or else…? The judge said I was lucky to marry into the Huxleys because they’re loyal, but he doesn’t know the history. They’ll never accept me as one of their own.

I run my clammy hands on my skirt, then stop. Oh shit ! I can’t go like this. I picked this dress because it was the most bridal-looking one, but they probably don’t want to be reminded of my new status as Mrs. Bryce Huxley. I rush to the closet to find something else, but…

Jeans won’t do. A blue wrap dress with a floral print in darker blue? I put it on and look at the mirror. Much better. And a pair of nude pumps. I redo my hair, twisting it into an updo. Reapply mascara and blush. Then I undo my hair and brush it vigorously. Still… Something’s off.

By the time I’m done, my hair’s in a French twist, and my apprehension is through the roof. There’s no scenario under which his family’s going to like me. Forget like . I’ll settle for indifference. At least it won’t be hate.

“Fiona…? I come bearing pizza and Diet Dr. Pepper!” comes Bryce’s voice from below.

“Coming!” I say, checking the time. Five thirty. A little too early to eat, but then I realize I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Suddenly I’m famished.

I hurry downstairs. The heavenly aroma of pizza laces the air.

Bryce stands by the counter, in a black suit he wears like armor.

My pulse accelerates at the slight slant of his eyebrows, the piercing, intelligent eyes and gorgeous lips—the only thing soft on him.

The sight of the wedding band glinting on his finger has a combination of fluttery anticipation, guilt, wistfulness, remorse and something else warm and sweet I don’t dare name pooling in my heart.

I want his family to not hate me with a keen, aching desperation. My fingers tremble, and I clench my hands to hide it. I promised myself to be the best wife possible, and refusing to meet his family would be breaking that vow.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes darkening with the desire I’ve come to recognize so well. “Damn. You look good enough to eat. Maybe we can skip the dinner.”

“No. Your family will be disappointed.”

“They can wait.”

“No.” I don’t want them to hate me any more than they already do . “Let’s have the pizza. I didn’t have any lunch.”

“You should’ve raided the fridge,” he scolds as he takes out two plates and glasses from the cabinets.

“Didn’t think about it. Next time.” I place a slice on a plate and hand it to Bryce, then serve myself as he pours the soda into two glasses full of ice.

We take the stools at the counter, the moment surprisingly companionable and homey.

Over the pizza I can smell Bryce’s mint and woodsy scent.

This hasn’t changed either in all the years since our time in college.

Every cell in my body seems to relax. Sex was great back then, but I also missed peaceful time like this, when we could just be easy with each other and enjoy something as mundane as pizza and soda.

I take a small bite, then stop as something not so pleasant pops into my head. I hesitate for a second, but decide honesty is the best policy. “I forgot to tell you earlier, but Harvey approached me after you left.”

“What?” Bryce stiffens, his eyes roaming over me for signs of injury. “Are you okay?”

I nod, my heart warming at his protectiveness. “He didn’t hit me or anything like that. Much more civilized than your mother, actually. He said he’s the one who lent the money to Aaron, and I don’t need to pay it back because it’s a ‘wedding gift.’”

Bryce turns livid, the muscles in his jaw working. “ Son of a bitch . Then what happened? What did you tell him?” he asks urgently.

“I told him no. He’s going to try to get something out of me. He even said I could give him something reciprocal. There’s no way I’m owing him anything worth two million, no matter what.”

“Good girl.” Bryce relaxes a little, then frowns. “I’ll take care of this. And the next time you see him—if there’s a next time—call 911 and report him for harassment. That’s the least he deserves.”