Page 69 of Jordan

The brand-new hot tub Enzo bought. I’m not sorry about it. Not for a second. I had a meltdown—it happens. Oh well. I should have done worse. Should have done more. Maybe one day I will. Guess we’ll have to see where this lame marriage takes me.

What I need to focus on is changing my mindset. I need to stop being angry about being here and fall into the role of Enzo’s wife. Get close to him. Make him trust me. Make him care about me. I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this, but I’m going to try. Having a relaxing day in the in-home spa is a good place to start. Making myself want to be here isn’t easy.

It was easy when he was between your legs.

Yeah. Yeah, it was.

I quickly change into my bathing suit and spot Rafael when I reach the stairs.

“Thought you were leaving?”

“Thought you got all your information from the babysitter?” he quips back as we move down the steps, side by side.

“I’ve been avoiding her.”

He nods and says, “My trip was postponed. I’m leaving in a few days.”

“How come?”

“Because my brother was visiting with my mother, and I don’t want to see him.”

Must be nice to have choices.

I’m bitter over this. More so than I should. Why is it Rafael gets to do what he wants, but I can’t? I have to remember this isn’t his fault. He has no say in this.

“Well, have a safe trip,” I mutter and make my way around the staircase to go to the spa down the hall.

I push the glass door inward, and I’m hit with a wave of warm air that smells like a mix of chlorine, mint, and lavender.

I turn the hot tub jets on, get in, and settle into a corner seat, where one of the jets pounds on my lower back. We didn’t have a hot tub at home, and I hate that I’ve missed so many years of this. It feels so good.

I wonder if I’d have asked my father to turn one of the rooms into a spa, if he would have. He probably would. He gave me everything I wanted.

Why did he do that?

I always thought it was because he loved me. He wanted me to be happy.

Now? I’m not so sure my father loved me at all.

How do you sell someone you love? And so easily. My father didn’t put up an argument with Enzo. He told me what was happening and let it happen. That was the end of it. He didn’t even say goodbye. He wasn’t there when Enzo carried me out of the house. He didn’t try to stop him. He made a deal, and that was that.

Did he love me at all?

The thoughts have my chest aching, so I push them away. I’m here to relax, to clear my head, not make me hate my life more. And thinking about my father? That’s exactly how it makes me feel.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jordan

My time is up. I made my decision, and I didn’t sign the papers. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Or maybe it’s because I spent all day in bed.

I dig through the fridge for something to eat. There’s a container of homemade ravioli that I pull out. I go through the cabinets looking for a bowl, slamming them shut after I grab one. I’m especially grumpy today. Unnecessarily pissed. Enzo’s face would be a wonderful punching bag right about now. I scoop the food into the bowl angrily, splattering sauce on the counter. The glass clanks loudly when I put the porcelain bowl onto the glass dish of the microwave, and the fridge slaps sharply when I push the door closed.

“You know, I could help you with the frustration.”

I startle and whirl around. Enzo is standing in the doorway in charcoal grey slacks. No shirt. No shoes. Nothing but slacks. I spend too much time staring at his tattooed body. His abs and sculpted chest. Toned arms and well-defined traps. The amount of power this man exudes is tenfold when I see him like this.

“Do you own anything other than fancy clothes?” I scoff, pulling my gaze away and bringing it to the microwave. Seriously, though. Doesn’t the guy own a pair of jeans or shorts?

---