Page 18 of His

“I love it. I’m just trying to say anything to get you to stop spinning.”

“You need therapy.”

“I’m not arguing with that. And stop deflecting.”

“Why can’t I be the cook?”

His eyes sparkle. “You are an incredible cook.” He chews on his lip. “But . . . if I tell her you’re the new cook, she’s going to actually order things for you to make for her.”

“I do make a mean rat-poison pancake.”

We both grin.

“Okay, so no on the cook.”

“I’m telling you, Sabine, housekeeper is the way to go. It makes sense and you won’t have to do anything.”

“I can’t even believe I’m considering this. . . . but . . . the lake house in Tahoe does have multiple bedrooms on the far end of the house, and one even has a separate entrance, so I wouldn’t even have to go through the main house.”

Astor clears his throat.

“What?”

“We’re not going to the lake house.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the beach house.”

My brows pop. “You mean the teeny-tiny two-bedroom cottage on a cliff you told me about? The one that she lived in?”

“Yes. The doctor said it would be best for Valerie to be in familiar surroundings for the time being.”

I shake my head. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“It’s temporary, Sabine.”

“Your marriage better be temporary.”

“Everything is temporary,” he pulls me in, “besides me and you.”

“It’s going to be tough, Astor.”

“Life is tough, let’s go punch it in the face together, my beautiful butterfly.”

Twelve

Sabine

It’s two in the morning when we arrive at the beach house. In a matter of hours, it feels like I’ve gone from one foreign planet to another. From the blue-collar swamps in Louisiana to mansions on the majestic northern California shoreline. It’s also about twenty degrees cooler here.

What Astor’s beach house lacks in size is made up for in the surrounding property. Though the home is on a cliff, it’s surrounded by pristine forest and a garden that extends from the side of the house to the back. The cottage is warm and inviting, reminding me of an ideal romantic retreat, which is ironic, considering I’m arriving as Astor’s mistress while his bed-ridden wife lies inside.

What are we doing? This is ridiculous. There’s no way it can work. Right?

Astor shoves the car into park, pulling me from my spinning thoughts.

“Whose vehicles are those?” I ask.

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