Page 116 of Speak of the Devil

“It’s a yes?”

“No.” And then I hear her vomit. “Ugh. It’s the second time today.”

I drop the covers because I realize we’re entering a new relationship era.

Two weeks later. . .

“What is this?”Cat walks around the back of the vehicle, taking it in.

“It’s your new car. An SUV technically.”

“I have a car.” She points across the driveway. “The Toyota.”

“Now you have a new one.” I present with both hands out. “A Volvo.”

Her gaze bounces between me and the SUV. I can tell she likes it because her eyes have brightened, but she doesn’t like that she likes it so much. “You can’t give me this gift, babe. It’s too expensive.”

Confused, I ask, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes find mine across the top of the hood, and she laughs. “I know money is no object?—”

“Money’s an object that I like to spend on you. But it’s not like I’m buying a two-hundred-million-dollar yacht.”

She walks to the front, sliding her finger along the emblem. “I’ve always wanted to go on a yacht.”

Tipping my head, I smirk. “Random but noted. As for the vehicle, it’s a Volvo, babe. Safest in its class. The inventor of the seat belt. Airbags all around to protect the kids and you.” I catch her smiling. She’s warming up to the idea. “I got a car that I thought you would like and fits what you would look for in value and reliability. But if you’d like something else, choose whatever you want sensible or impractical. I want you to have what you want.”

“I do like it. It’s pretty in this blue. Reminds me of your eyes.” If she’d let me spoil her rotten, I would.

“I thought you’d like it.” I open the driver’s door. “Get in. I want to show you the best part.”

She doesn’t bother coming around to the driver’s seat. She opens the passenger door and slips onto the leather.

“The interior color is called camel, not beige.”No beige for my babe.I ease in carefully, not to irritate my shoulder, and ask, “Notice anything?”

The smile splits her cheeks as soon as she sees it and a giggle bursts free. Reaching toward the headrest, she runs her fingertips over the design. “You did not.”

“I did.”

Angling for a better look, she says, “Why do I like it so much?”

“I know, right?” She pulls her phone out and takes a photo of her initials embroidered on the seat. I kept it classy for her, so the thread is camel-colored as well. “CMF,” I say, “Catalina Marie Faris. Or Farin if you prefer. Works both ways.”

She replies, “Tomato.”

“Tamahto.”

“I love it, Shane. It’s beautiful and it will make the commute a lot easier and more comfortable. Thank you.” Checking the back seat, she adds, “And it fits two car seats.”

I’m about to move to surprise number two when my brain catches up. “Wait . . . what?”

“Just in case.” She shrugs. “Twins do run in the family.”

“Talk about expensive.”

She leans over to give me a kiss. “It’s only money. I need you to remember that.”

“Now it’s no object,” I reply sarcastically.

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