Page 152 of Sadistic

The bathroom door opens and she emerges in a cloud of steam, hair wrapped in a towel, wearing one of my t-shirts.

"Morning," she mumbles, hunting for her clothes.

"Coffee's on your nightstand."

She pauses, notices the mug I placed there five minutes ago. "You're too good to me."

"I'm exactly good enough." I watch her shuffle through our closet. "Blue suit's at the cleaners, remember?"

"Shit." She emerges with the gray one instead. "What would I do without you?"

"Be late and undercaffeinated."

"Truth." She drops the towel, and even after three months, the sight of her makes my mouth go dry. "Stop looking at me like that. I don't have time."

"I'm just appreciating my wife."

"Your wife has a presentation on constitutional interpretation that's worth thirty percent of her grade." But she kisses me anyway, quick and sweet. "Dinner tonight? Dalla mentioned something about making that pasta thing you like."

"I have a meeting until seven."

"The territory thing?"

"The territory thing," I confirm.

She knows enough—that we're consolidating power, establishing new boundaries.

She doesn't need the details about who might bleed for those boundaries.

"Be careful."

"Always am."

She snorts. "Liar." Another kiss, then she's grabbing her bag. "Love you. Don't kill anyone before lunch."

"No promises."

Then she's gone, a whirlwind of chaos, leaving me with the scent of her shampoo and a stupid smile on my face.

I take my time getting ready.

The house is massive enough that I can shower and dress without hearing Dalla's music from the east wing.

She's been here a month now, fully moved in after accepting her place in Mom's fashion program.

The kitchen smells like coffee and ambition when I make it downstairs.

Dalla sits at the massive island, sketching while eating cereal.

She's still in pajamas—Star Warsones that Revna bought her as a joke but she actually loves.

"Morning, brother-in-law," she says without looking up.

"That's Mr. Brother-in-Law to you."

"In your dreams." She tilts her sketchpad toward me. "What do you think? For the winter line."

I study the design—a dress that somehow manages to be both elegant and edgy. "It's good. The neckline especially."