Page 46 of Point of No Return

“Tyson’s or my husband’s?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “I work for the Benenati family. In its entirety.”

I have a feeling that’s not entirely true.

I twist the ring around my thumb, grinning slightly. “Which means you also work for me.”

His face remains carefully blank, and he’s quiet for a moment as he considers how to answer. “Yes” comes his reply.

“Great,” I push past him and come to a stop at the foot of the massive bed. “You wouldn’t mind helping me move this then?”

He grins in answer.

At almost midnight on the dot, the door to the room opens, announcing Skar’s arrival. Pizza boxes are still strewn across the floor, and though I have run myself ragged moving everything, Crew props his hands on the wall, assessing our work as Skar stops in the doorway.

“I think a little to the left?” I ask Skar. His eyes flicker between Crew and I and then the newly remodeled room. It’s as if he can’t quite decide which change to address first. “What do you think,Darling?” I wonder aloud, pleased at the obvious confusion on his face.

“I like it,” Crew tells him, a smug look spreading across his face.

Maybe it was the pizza that won him over.

“You changed the room,” Skar states matter-of-factly, and I roll my eyes at him.

“Ourroom,” I correct as I look back over my handy-work. “Don’t worry. I didn’t go snooping in your underwear drawer.”

Skar shrugs out of his coat, his dark hair tousled after a long day running his hands through it, and before either of us can say otherwise, he locks himself in the bathroom.

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Crew yanks his coat from the bed post and then makes a show of grabbing our boxes and heading out.

“Don’t be a stranger!” I call, and I hear his chuckle as he pauses to look back at me.

“Never.”

As soon as the door closes, the room shrinks ten sizes. I can feel the brooding male on the other side of the wall, and part of me wonders if he’s the kind of person to take his anger out on people. Probably should’ve considered that before I messed with his stuff.

Our stuff,I remind myself.

By the time he reemerges in nothing but a pair of sweats, I’m already dressed for bed and tucking a heavy throw pillow into the love seat to sleep on.

He huffs. “Get in bed, Charlie.”

“At the villa, at least, there were two beds,” I start, but he looks entirely disinterested in my sarcasm.

“Get in the bed,” he says, and I blurt:

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

The words hang between us for a moment, my eyes wide. “Good. I’m not sleeping with you either,” he grits the words out, and I know if I were close enough, the muscle in his jaw would be working.

I’m about to ask what he means, but when he stalks toward the door, I know before he opens it that he’s serious. Just as quickly as he’d come, he’s gone. Part of me wants to scream as I consider just how closed off he is.

He’s fucking impossible.

And because I know he’ll keep to his word- and I’d rather not sleep on the couch if I have the option- I climb into the bed, burrowing into the soft silk and silently wondering if this is what a real marriage feels like: A war zone. Everything, always a battle.

I only wish it was all his fault.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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