Page 186 of Cheater

Carson opens the front door to the Steele residence just like last time. I’m wearing the other blue dress Derek had gotten for me for the anniversary brunch.

I woke up snuggled with him and he fucked me as soon as his eyes were open. He fucked me sweetly, holding my face and staring into my eyes with a sleepy, sexy look. I didn’t fight. I actively participated, even kissing him back, and then I felt mortified afterwards, and didn’t hide that.

I don’t know why I kissed him back; I tell myself it’s just sex. At least I’m getting something good out of this craziness. But of course I feel guilty for it.

While I got ready, he explained what I’d be dealing with here today, which doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time, but it also wasn’t optional. He told me he understood my trepidation, that he would’ve gotten me out of it if he could, and I guess I believe him. He made me coffee while I dried my hair and then he shaved at the sink beside me, which I tried to ignore – because I got wet watching him do it.

I’ve been in my head all morning, but he was quiet on the way here, too, so seems like he’s also in his head. God, what is it even like in there?

“Good morning, Mrs. Steele. Mr. Steele,” Carson greets.

“Carson,” Derek greets.

“Hello,” I say. “Chloe, by the way.”

“Thank you, but that wouldn’t be…” Carson stops speaking and goes rigid in the doorway before continuing, speaking fast, “Mr. Steele, your parents are in the semi-formal dining room. Would you mind if I don’t escort you there? I need to deal with an urgent matter.”

I look over my shoulder and see a young landscaper wearing headphones, trimming a hedge while obviously feeling the song by the way he’s erratically doing his work while his lips move like he’s singing along. He’s kind of slaughtering the hedge.

“Go ahead,” Derek waves and we watch Carson rush to the young man trying to get his attention with waving arms. Derek tugs my hand and leads me in and down the hall the same way we went on Sunday. Only we walk past the solarium and I’m thinking semi-formal dining room? Why have multiple dining rooms with levels of formality? Especially for breakfast with your son.

“And you called my parents formal,” I mutter. “Yours are, I guess, semi-formal.”

“What’s more formal than formal?” he asks.

I shrug. “Ceremonialistic?”

He laughs, taking me into a room that looks beyond formal.

“This?” I try.

He laughs harder.

His parents are seated at a table for twelve, dressed up, and looking at us curiously.

By the time we’re back in his SUV, I’m itching to rant.

But I won’t rant to him since he’s the enemy.

As we leave the property, he looks at me. “You good?” he asks, and he’s amused.

“Fine,” I say through tight teeth.

He laughs. He knows how frustrated I am.

“I don’t know what’s funny,” I mutter.

“You’re funny,” he says, leaning over and trying to kiss me.

“Drive the car, sheesh,” I lean away so he can’t get me. He brakes and grabs my face with both hands and plants a wet one on me. “That was fuckin’ funny. I think my father wants to fire my mother’s media bitch and hire you. But no matter how much money and perks he offers you, don’t accept.”

“Oh, there are Steele family members I’m allowed to say no to?” I ask, haughtily.

“You can say no to anyone, wife, but if you say it to me there might be consequences. If you feel strongly about the need to say no to my father, chances are that I’ll back you up.”

“What if he offers me an annulment and the ability to not have to deal with your nonsense anymore?” I quip.

Derek’s expression darkens. “Do you wanna watch your husband commit patricide?”

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