Page 92 of The Wrong Husband

I realize the words might sound trite, but I hope she understands that I mean them.

Then she drains the pasta, switches off the flame under the sauce, and plates it out, finishing it off with a touch of parsley. Turning, she hands one over to me, then walks past me with the other. Her thick lustrous hair has fallen over her cheek so I can’t see her face.

She reaches the island and places her plate on it before sliding onto a stool.

"Could you get the cutlery?" Her voice is low.

I’m still unable to see her features. I grab the cutlery, walk back and place hers next to her plate.

"You, okay?"

She nods. And sniffles.

"Hey"—I cup her cheek—"what’s wrong?"

"Nothing." The sheen in her eyes says the opposite.

"Is it something I said?"

She nods.

I peer into her hazel eyes, which appear almost green, cast my mind back over my words, and come up empty. She must see the confusion on my face for she half smiles.

"What you said… It was unexpected."

"Why?" I incline my head.

"I don’t expect someone likeyouto articulate your feelings."

I allow my lips to curve in a half-smile. "You mean, because I’m a man, I have a low emotional quotient, so I won’t be able to share what I’m feeling?" I say, only half-joking.

She chews on her lower lip, a thoughtful look on her face. "Women, score higher than men on certain aspects of emotional maturity, especially in empathy and interpersonal relationships. Of course, these differences are largely attributed to cultural and social conditioning, not biology. So—" She flushes at the knowing look on my face. "Sorry, that’s the nerdy side of me."

"You can nerd out any time you want," I murmur.

She holds my gaze for a second more. That chemistry always thrumming under the surface between us blooms further. She clears her throat, then glances away.

"In my experience, when you come from money, you don’t always appreciate what you have."

"You come from money and look howyouturned out." I sit on the stool tucked around the corner of the island, at a right angle to hers.

She picks up her fork and begins to eat. "You’re right. I was talking about men who are good-lookingandbuiltandhave the wealth to indulge their whims. Not to mention, are as arrogant and as dominant as you—" She lowers her chin. "In my humble opinion, the masculine of the species, when they’re entitled, act like complete twats."

I bark out a laugh. "Hearing you speak a quintessentially British cuss word in your American-accented voice gives me a real kick."

"Annoyingly I can’t rid myself of the accent." She wrinkles her nose, looking disgusted with herself.

“Just to be clear”—I hold up a finger—“you did call me good-looking and built. Also arrogant. And dominant. Which, for the record, I’m taking as a compliment.”

I can’t help the note of satisfaction in my voice.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t stop hyping yourself up, will ya?”

God, she’s cute.My chest softens, the edges of me turning to mush.

“I’m glad I surprised you…in a good way. I plan to keep doing that—even after we’re married.”

Her lips part, and for a second, I see it—that flicker of surprise in her eyes.