Page 46 of The Devil's Pawn

“Excuse me?” He drops his fork against the plate; the sound resonates through the space.

“You heard me! You haven’t been yourself since the moment I saw you today. What’s going on? Did I do something to piss you off?”

He inhales deeply, rubbing the back of his neck, but still managing not to avoid me. “I had a lot of time to think last night. About us. And—”

“And what?” The words drip with a thick trail of annoyance. “Say whatever you clearly need to get off your chest.”

He sighs. “We need to keep our arrangement to strictly business. No more messing around. No more sharing a bedroom.”

My shoulders tense up, my muscles going rigid. Confusion and nerves settle in the pit of my stomach.

“What happened to your precious deal? What happened to your seller finding out if we don’t share a room?”

“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How convenient!” My exhale practically slices out of me.

Why is he doing this? And why do I care? Isn’t this what I wanted from the beginning? For us to have different rooms? To not grow attached? Well, problem solved.

Maybe he met someone else. Someone more interesting than I am. Why else would he do such a one-eighty?

He probably regrets marrying me now that he met her and wishes he could be with this new woman instead. Now he’s stuck with me because he feels obligated to help.

“Fine,” I say, standing up and taking my plate to the garbage. “Whatever.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What thefuckdoes it look like?” I grin, my narrowed eyes level to his as I toss the food in the trash.

That could’ve fed a homeless person, and here I am throwing it away like it’s nothing. But if he plans on treating me like shit while I’m living here, then I don’t have to eat his food. Well, at least not right this moment. I may have to re-think lunch.

“You’re clearly mad, so your answer is starvation?”

We lock eyes as he cracks an amused smirk, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’m not mad.” I bend my lips into a snarl. “At all.”

“Right,” he mutters. “’Cause you look real happy.”

“Put on a damn shirt!” I yell, my hands raised in frustration. “Who eats naked?”

“I did tell you I enjoy being naked.” He stands, fingers at his waistband. “The pants are just for you. I can always take them off. I know how much you want it.”

“I hate you!” I drop my plate on the counter with a clank. “Stay the hell away from me.”

And I mean that. I’m done with Dante Cavaleri, fake husband or not. We can cohabitate for the next few months, but he can get the hell out of my way while we’re doing it.

“Won’t be a problem,” he calls out after I’m already steps away.

“Great!” I shout back. “Asshole.”

And I know he heard that.

How did I go from worrying I’d fall in love with him to not knowing how I’ll survive without his kindness?

CHAPTERTWELVE

DANTE

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