Page 27 of Tainted Princess
Francesca glared at me, her eyebrows coming down. “Out,” she said, throwing my own words from hours ago back in my face.
Moving past me, she headed for the bedroom, and I followed, hot on her heels.
“Who the fuck gave you permission to leave the room?”
She spun, her sudden movement catching me off guard, and my still sort of drunk brain was too slow to respond, nearly crashing into her as she stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Excuse me,” she said coldly. “But I don’t recall a marriage license doubling as a leash. I went out to see a friend before we have to leave. I am back in time to make the flight. If you have a problem with that, then perhaps you should have stuck around last night to talk about it.”
She turned on her heel, leaving me standing in the doorway like a loser as she grabbed her suitcase and marched back my way, dragging the rolling case over her dress as she did, not seeming the least bit concerned that she was ruining an item that most women would treasure.
“Your dress,” I said, jerking my chin toward the pile of trashed satin.
“Leave it,” she said without feeling, standing in front of me as I blocked the door. When I didn’t move, she huffed, rolling her eyes. I was completely baffled by her. It was like she was two totally different people, and I found it as infuriating as I did fascinating.
But not the least bit arousing, regardless of what the twitching in my pants was trying to indicate.
“Look,” she said, exasperated, “I know neither one of us is exactly thrilled about this arrangement.” I tried to ignore the pang in my gut when she said that, not sure why I should be concerned with how she felt about our…situation.
“But it is what it is. I, personally, don’t want to spend the next however many years fighting about every little thing.” I frowned, hating that she was talking about the end of our marriage. Then I frowned harder, wonderingwhyI hated it. “How about we just agree to stay out of each other’s way. I won’t get in your business if you don’t get in mine, okay?”
No, I thought, that’s not okay. Not when I was suddenly dying to know every little thing about her. Not when the fact that she didn’t want to be married to me was starting to feel like a kick in the guts.
Not wanting to look too deeply at those feelings, I grunted and stepped back, letting her pull her heavy suitcase from the room and toward the door. She hauled her phone out of her jeans pocket, checking the time.
“If you want to shower, you better do it now. I think the car will be downstairs in twenty minutes. I’ll meet you in the lobby. I’ll even get you a coffee.” Opening the door, Francesca stopped and looked back at me, her face once again that blank yet pleasant mask she showed me yesterday.
I hated it. I missed her fire.
But her doll mask stayed in place as she headed out into the hall, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving me with nothing but my confusing thoughts…and a semi.
What the fuck?
* * * *
By the time the cab dropped us off at the doors to my apartment building on the Strip, Francesca had managed to go the entire rest of the day without uttering a single word to me. She sat beside me on that plane, reading a paperback she’d picked up in the airport, smiling at the flight attendant when she brought her a club soda, and pretended like I didn’t even exist.
She had followed me to the luggage claim and then to the taxi stand, where she didn’t even blink at the fact that we were taking an ordinary cab and not a chauffeur driven Escalade like she was used to.
I watched her reaction to everything, trying to gauge her feelings on the way I lived my life compared to what I’m sure she was used to in New York, but so far, she’d maintained her stoic silence and her placid mask. But this next moment would be the true test.
See, I had been to her father’s house in Manhattan. I had stood inside his multi-million dollar restored brownstone, with its rich wood and warm finishings, knowing that all four thousand square feet of old-world luxury was theirs alone.
Francesca was about to step into my home, and if she was expecting anything even close to that, she was going to be sorely disappointed.
And I hated the way the possibility of disappointing her felt, so I shoved that shit down deep and led her from the car into my building.
I loved my apartment. It was situated right in the heart of Las Vegas Boulevard, surrounded by lights and depravity and sin. From my thirtieth-floor windows, I could look from one end of the Strip to the other, taking in every aspect of my city. The apartment itself was sleek and modern, with glass and chrome and black leather everywhere, and I was sure Francesca was going to hate it.
It was also less than one thousand square feet in total, and I waspositiveshe would hate that.
I opened the door and stepped back, letting her enter first. The entrance was a long hallway leading to a galley style kitchen along the one wall. There was room for a small round table with four chairs, and the open floor plan meant that the kitchen table was directly behind the living room sectional, a black leather thing with deep cushions and a single long chaise lounge seat on one side which faced a massive wall-mounted television over a gas fireplace.
And that was it. The whole room was an oddly shaped trapezoid, with the kitchen appliances all built into the wall to maximize the available space, and the floor to ceiling windows gave the illusion of a spacious room without it being the reality.
I watched as Francesca stood beside the couch, her wide golden eyes taking everything in, but her face still wore that blank, pleasant mask, and I just couldn’t get a fuckin’ read on her. Finally, she turned to me, and asked, “Where should I put my things?”
I knew I was staring at her, but it wasn’t until she repeated the question that I finally moved. Pushing past her, I entered the single bedroom, the king-sized bed taking up one entire wall, the opposite wall being the same floor to ceiling glass. There was the bathroom, a Jack-and-Jill style with two doors that also served the rest of the apartment, and against the windows I had one over-stuffed club chair, positioned to make the most of the view. I opened the small closet and shoved all my stuff to the far side of the bar.
