Page 28 of The Maverick (WaterFyre Rising #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

VANESSA

I acquainted myself with every room in Attikus’s house, including the art studio.

However, I struggled to enter his bedroom.

I stood at the open door, staring into a room with gray walls and a massive bed.

The door had been left open, so I could see plenty without having to enter.

I didn’t want to invade his privacy, yet curiosity anchored me to the doorway.

One step over, and I’d be inside. But that one step would be like stepping over the demarcation line, wouldn’t it?

You’re his fiancée. You should know what his room looks like.

But I was his fake fiancée. That didn’t give me permission to be nosy, right?

Not nosy. You’re researching a mysterious man who agreed to be your husband for six months. To ensure your safety, you need to analyze him like a plant under a microscope.

I slapped a hand on my forehead. I’d never sounded as ridiculous as I did at this moment.

What was wrong with me? This was his home, and I should respect it. When he said to make myself at home and take a tour, I was certain he was referring to the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and dining room. I was certain he did not mean his bedroom or the office across the hall.

I’d walked past his bedroom to see that his door was open. If he didn’t want anyone to look inside, he should’ve closed it.

Would I want him to enter my bedroom when I wasn’t home? Probably not. But this was his home, so he could enter any room he wanted, including my suite.

I valued my privacy, and I hoped he would do the same for me. Turning around, I walked back past the three empty bedrooms and down the wide staircase to the first floor, where my suite was.

Why did wealthy people need such big houses if only one person lived in them? The bigger the house, the more maintenance and cleaning required. Then again, Attikus probably had a service that came weekly.

I walked back to the living room, admiring the homey decor.

He’d likely hired an expensive interior designer to achieve this comfortable living space with its masculine flair.

Earth tones, paired with wood and metal furniture, illustrated a pleasant elegance.

Despite that, the home would improve with more greenery.

He had only three plants in the entire house, and one of them was plastic.

For an owner of vegetable farms, he had little flowers or plants around.

I made a mental note to check out the greenhouse later.

I envisioned a design plan for him as I walked through the house. Maybe I’d add some colorful accent pillows to the brown couch and loveseat. I planned on making this place prettier while I was here. After the six months, he could remove everything or keep it.

I sat on the wide couch and propped my feet on the matching ottoman.

My mom’s predicament surfaced, but my conversation with Leo settled my nerves.

My heart pounded as the truth sank in. I’d hired men to break the law—men who didn’t hesitate to cross lines I’d never even approached before.

And now? I was no different. An accomplice.

A lawbreaker. Maybe even worse. But then again .

. . who really bore the weight of guilt here?

Who was the true villain in this story? Those who placed my mom in prison for something she didn’t do?

Or me trying to save her so she could live a comfortable life?

The prosecutor had an enormous pile of evidence against my mom—witnesses who said they had seen her stab him.

They claimed to have recordings from their cell phones to support their statement.

The police officer hadn’t listened to what I had to say and probably tampered with the evidence.

The judge had appeared to sympathize with the dead man’s family and ignored the fact that he had attacked us first.

Money had so much power; it ruled everything. It could destroy the lives of innocent people in a flash. My mom and I were victims of that. I needed wealth to combat wealth.

Was it wrong of me to step outside of the law to protect those I loved?

Sometimes, things weren’t black or white.

Shades of gray existed for this reason. As an artist, I loved every shade of every color that wasn’t defined as the typical red, blue, green, yellow, and so on.

I appreciated things could be sea-foam sky blue, mystical green, petal pink, or angry red.

The palette of life consisted of various hues that couldn’t be defined. That inexplicable aspect was its beauty and wisdom.

I heard Attikus’s car in the garage and jumped to my feet. My heart thudded erratically, and I cursed myself for my ridiculous reaction.

Stop it. Behave like a normal person.

I walked over to the kitchen and stared at the door connecting to the garage. When he opened the door, a swoosh of energy overcame me, washing off the worry that had clung to me minutes ago.

His face brightened, and a question sparked in his eyes. He was probably wondering why I was standing in his kitchen like a fool. I wanted to know the answer to that too.

“Hello, Lily Pad.” He smirked, kicking off his shoes on the mat. I’d never heard of Lily Pad as someone’s nickname. But somehow, he made it unique and interesting. Or maybe I was under his spell. That was the only rational explanation for my strange behavior.

Attikus was indeed excellent at adapting. Before today, he’d walked around his home with his shoes on, spreading dirt and germs on his pristine floor. I didn’t know too many men who paid attention to details like him.

“Hello, Whistler,” I said, wondering if he liked me calling him that.

A small smile formed on his lips as he placed the food on the marble island. The scent of the delicious dinner filled the space.

“Did you give yourself a tour of the house?” He looked at me.

“You have a lovely home. I saw everything on the first floor, but I didn’t look at the second floor.

“Why not?”

“Do you want people going into your office or bedroom when you’re not around? Especially people you don’t know well?”

He took out two pretty plates from the cabinet and placed them on the round kitchen table. The dining room had a long rectangular table made of petrified wood. It was a gorgeous art piece that shouldn’t be eaten on.

“You’re not a stranger, remember?” He removed the food containers from the bag.

I helped him bring the six containers to the table. “What if you have things you don’t want others to find out?”

“Like what?” He pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for me to sit.

I sat down. “Like personal things that might embarrass you.”

He folded himself into the chair across from me. “I’m a boring man, Vanessa.”

I didn’t know why, but my inner thighs quivered at the way he said my name. His baritone seemed to sing to it.

“Now that’s a lie.”

An eyebrow lifted. “Do you find me as interesting as I find you?”

Was he playing the role of fiancé?

“You’re a fascinating mystery,” I said, also playing my role. The pretense hid the nerves and heat blooming in my body.

“Then I give you permission to uncover the clues. Nothing in this home embarrasses me.”

Everyone had secrets. Why was he being so open with me? Or did he have another place that held his dark secrets?

He rose from his seat. “Do you want anything to drink? Wine, juice, water?”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

He walked to the fridge, pulled out two bottles of water, and brought them back to the table.

I stood and walked to a drawer. “Do you have spoons for the food?”

“Left drawer near the second sink.”

I took out the spoons and brought them back to the table. One of the food containers held four Vietnamese subs. I thought about asking why he’d bought so much food for two people but remembered how he’d wolfed down everything at the restaurant.

When he sat down, I scooped the rice with the teriyaki beef onto his plate. “You love this dish.”

“I do.” He beamed like a little kid. “Here, let me.” He piled up my plate, surprising me.

“You’re very thoughtful,” I said.

“I had a mother who taught me well. And an adopted mother and sister who made sure I didn’t forget my manners.” He eyed me. “But I’m only thoughtful of those I consider family.”

I opened my mouth to say that I wasn’t his actual family, then closed it again. I didn’t want to ruin the mood.

“This couple recommended the crêpes with chicken and shrimp.” He gestured to it with his chopsticks. “Do you like that dish?”

“Yes, it’s good.”

“Do you know how to make any of these foods?” he asked.

“Of course.”

This casual conversation about food was so normal that I didn’t know what to think.

“Wanna make some for me?” Amusement gleamed in his eyes.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how well my fiancé behaves.” On how well you help me solve my issues. I had to tell him about my mom’s problem eventually. What if I was caught and sent to prison? That would be the worst-case scenario. Still, I had to let him know what he was in for.

He chuckled, and we ate in silence. His gaze flicked to mine often, and I didn’t look away.

So far, we were having fun role-playing.