Page 62 of Reckless Vow

Brook doesn’t move from the elevated entrance. We’ve been avoiding each other since I announced this trip.

The tension has lingered since I went down on her two nights ago. It’s driving me mad that I don’t understand what the fuck happened.

I want an explanation, but something tells me she needs time to get there herself. In the meantime, we’re radiating with frustration, tension, and anticipation. I’m just not sure if we’re anticipating the same thing anymore.

“Look, I have guest bedrooms downstairs. You can have this place to yourself.”

I’m stubbornly ignoring the fact I offered her my personal space instead of one of the bedrooms on the lower level of the building.

I take her suitcase and roll it into the closet.

The silence is so pronounced that it feels like I’m drilling a ridge into the hardwood floor with the wheels.

It takes too long to get her luggage to the other side of the room, and suddenly I hate my own apartment.

I fucking hate this whole situation.

I worked on the plane to give her space. She seemed like she wanted to tell me something several times. She didn’t. Instead, I got a lot of scowling and sulking from her.

Now I remember why I never got married.

And apparently, I’m lying to myself. Because let’s face it, there is only one woman in the world who I would want to marry.

Fucking shame she is currently so unattainable. Even though she is my wife and she’s only a few feet away.

I don’t even know if I’m pissed at her rejection or at her bullshit.

“I’ll get my housekeeper to fill the fridge. Let me know if you want anything specific. I’ll text you the Wi-Fi password, so you can work if you need to. I have things I need to take care of downstairs. Call me if you need anything.”

My apartment is above my business. The basement and first two floors are the nightclub, the third floor houses private gambling rooms, and the fourth floor has the offices and a couple of guest rooms.

The fifth, the attic, is where I live when I’m not traveling.

I push the elevator call button and turn. Brook moved to the sitting area, but she hasn’t sat on the large L-shaped leather sofa. She stands there, and fuck, she looks so small and lost in my large space.

“You’ll be okay?”

Why do I have this need to make sure she’s good? She’s a grown woman and capable of taking care of herself, but somehow I feel responsible for her.

“It’s my honeymoon.” She spreads her arms, mocking the sentiment. “I’ll be more than okay.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry I dragged you here, but I thought it was a good solution to get away from Rupert. It’s not like he’d spy on us here, so we don’t have to pretend. Besides, I wasn’t planning on my temporary relocation, so this gives me an opportunity to take care of business.”

And to regain my wits. On my home turf, and buried in work, instead of being exposed to her on a daily basis.

The elevator opens behind me.

“Of course. You’re right.” Her voice rings with bitterness.

“I don’t know what your problem is. You said we’re not a good idea. I’m trying to make this as painless as possible.”

The elevator closes before I get in.

She opens her mouth and then closes it. Then she opens it again. “As I said, you’re right.”

“Fuck.” I growl and hit the call button again. The door opens and I step in, ignoring the acid spreading around in my stomach. What is that even? Shame? Regret?

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