Page 75 of The Husband Contract
“I guess I should sayourhome.” I chuckle slightly, but still, she doesn’t look at me. “Do you need me to get you anything from the store? Any particular food you like to eat? Any items you may need? Toothpaste? A toothbrush?”
Still, she says nothing, and I sigh.
I miss our conversations and banter. I miss her looking at me with light in her eyes. I miss the way she used to touch me. I wonder if I should have waited longer to tell her the truth. As soon as I dropped the bomb, everything betweenus changed, which shouldn’t have surprised me, and it didn’t. What surprised me was the fact that I still felt so unsure about everything.
We step out of the elevator onto the 110th floor, and she follows me down the carpeted hallway to my penthouse apartment.
“We’re here,” I say. “Home sweet home.”
No smile from her, though I suppose I can’t blame her. I don’t know why I thought she’d want anything to do with me after what I’d done. But knowing and accepting were two different things. I hadn’t expected that I would feel this annoyed by her reaction toward me. I’d rather deal with an angry Willow than a cold one. I open the door and step aside, ushering her in. She avoids eye contact as she shuffles into my abode, and I watch her eyes widen as she takes in my luxurious space.
I look at it objectively, through her eyes—the Italian Carrara marble floors, the onyx waterfall that separates the grand kitchen from the dining room, the large twelve-seater oak table, then the giant fireplace in the living room and the oversized couch, the floor-to-ceiling windows that look down upon the streets of New York, and the pieces of art that decorate the walls. Original Van Goghs and Rembrandts.
“Mr. Laurence, welcome home.” My housekeeper, Janice, hurries to the front. A polite smile rests on her face as she looks over at Willow.
“Janice, this is Willow. She’ll need a room. She’ll be staying with us.”
“Certainly, Mr. Laurence.” She nods.
“You’re not going to introduce me as your loving wife?” Willow finally speaks, turning to me. Her blue eyes challenge mine before she looks to Janice. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry that you have to work for mydarlinghusband.”
“Enough.” I keep my voice pleasant, but I have to admit—I’m impressed by her gumption. She almost made me laugh. “Janice, Willow and I were married in Vegas.”
“Oh.” The impartial façade on Janice’s face drops as shock overtakes her features.
“Do you want her to be in your room then, Mr. Laurence, or?—”
“No way,” Willow says quickly. “I’d like my own room, please.”
“It was a bit of a whirlwind of a relationship,” I explain. “We would like separate rooms at this time.”
“We would like separate rooms foralltime,” Willow adds, her fiery glare boring into me. She’s glaring at me, but there’s still fire there. I have no doubt that if she could breathe fire onto me, I’d be burning in that moment.
“Do you like the place?” I ask her. She turns away from me and doesn’t speak. There’s a knock on the door then, and I frown. “Janice, show Willow to her room, and I’ll get it.” I wait for them to disappear down the hallway before I open the door. I don’t need Willow going off on any new guest I have. I am surprised to see Louisa standing there.
“Hey,” she says, a glint in her eyes as she looks me over. “Can we talk?”
“Step inside.” I open the door wider and usher her in.
Louisa is dressed in a short black skirt and tight top. A bottle is clinched in her grip.
“What are you doing here, Louisa?”
“I heard you were back.”
“What do you mean youheardI was back? I literally just arrived about five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, I’m friends with your doorman, and I’ve been needing to talk to you, so I figured I’d just come over. I have champagne here, so if you want us to?—”
“I don’t want any champagne. What information doyou have for me?” I cross my arms over chest, refusing to let her bully her way in without telling me what she’s found. I’m fed up of her acting like this is an equal relationship between us. I’m starting to feel I’ve allowed her to feel too comfortable.
“I have bank account statements and receipts for all the money that Willow has been spending.”
“Bank account statements?” I ask her. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, you told me that you wanted as much information as possible, so I’ve been doing more research. And she really appears to be going through her money quickly.”
I press my lips together. “I see.”
