Page 43 of Vicious Arrangement
It’s enough. It should be enough.
But when I go to bed, lights off, the last thing in my mind before I drift off to sleep is her.
Aria.
Chapter Twelve
ARIA
When I wakethe next morning, I’m confused.
It takes me a moment to piece together where I am, that I’m not at home, I’m apparently sleeping on some kind of cloud because, damn, this bed’s comfortable, and there are strange keys on the strange bedside table.
“Fuck, I’m not in Kansas anymore, Angus.”
From outside, I get a soft bark.
Outside?
The clock in my head rings an alarm, and I sit up, bolt straight.
And it all comes back, rapid fire.
I’m married. I’m in SoHo in a sky mansion. Angus is in his own personal outside space he shares with me, and I didn’t fall asleep here, unless I’ve taken up sleepwalking, which I don’t think I have.
Because the last thing I remember was discovering Noah’s sound system and listening to podcasts and music, drinking some wine and eating expensive cheese and artisanal crackers.
Shit. I must have fallen asleep to the sounds of the city when something ended… some podcast I don’t even remember.
But I think the keys are a dead giveaway to how I got to my room.
Noah.
He must have gotten sick of whatever girl he was with and come home.
My stomach turns at that, and my cheeks burn. I’m better than this. I don’t blame without truth, and I don’t point fingers. He might be arrogant and an asshole, but would he fuck someone right after me?
I’d like to think he wouldn’t. But just say he is that kind of boy toy, then I don’t think he’s the kind who’ll jeopardize his inheritance on cheap sex after going to such lengths—me—to secure it.
I sigh and get out of bed, in my sweats and T-shirt from the night before, and strip off, jumping in the shower.
I start my shift in a few hours, so I can have a quick shower and run with Angus and then just a rinse before I head in. I want to wash my hair. But first…
Reaching for the body wash, I find empty spaces. I feel around, then I start looking. I don’t remember unpacking in here, but Carrie did. She put toiletries where they belong, makeup and toothbrush in place, hairbrush and so on. But…
“Fuck.”
Did I pack them?
“Oh, fuck me.”
Nope, no. I don’t remember it. Or if I did, I put them in something else… Shit. I’m going to need something for today.
My mind goes straight to Noah. Nope, he’ll be at work, and I’m not opening his door. I’ll check out one of the guest rooms.
I turn off the water and pull a fluffy towel around me, then pad out of my room, listening for others. But didn’t Noah say Carrie was here three times a week? He has people doing loads of repeat jobs, like cleaning on top of having a housekeeper, so I figure those are for when he’s entertaining or the place needs a deep clean, or I don’t know, he’s overtaken by a whim to have people do his bidding.
I start down the hall, peeking in one room that I know is his gym. But as I make my way across to the room on the other side, it’s just for towels and waters. No shower. I mean, it’s a home gym, not one he charges people from the street to join and use.
