Page 37 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

I saw the slight shake of head and blurted out tartly, “We’re engaged.”

George said nothing as he picked up the rest of our discarded clothing and put them in the clothes hamper.

“And I can pick up after myself.”

“Your eggs will be going cold, Ms DuMont. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” he replied before heading for the door.

“I’ll tell Matt you were mean to me,” I threatened and he paused, gloved hand on the door knob. I still hadn’t been able to convince him to give them up. George turned around stiffly but I saw the gleam in his eyes.

“And I’ll notify Mr Bradley about the unfortunate incident with the painting in the salon-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, George,” I backtracked. “No need to act all hasty. I was kidding.”

“Yes, Ms DuMont. I suspected you were. Eat.” he ordered then left the bedroom.

“Crotchety old man,” I shouted at his retreating back but I didn’t really mean it anymore. Breakfast first then a shower. I gathered the spill of sheets around me and slid off the bed. “Ow.” I stretched some kinks out and made my way over to the breakfast table. Matt’s gift was not where I had left it last night and I wondered if he liked it.

Removing the metal cover revealed an array of sliced fruits, scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and my glass of orange juice; but my scrambled eggs looked wet. Slimy wet. What the hell? George never got my eggs wrong. And because the slimy eggs were touching my bacon I couldn’t eat it. The eggs were over half the pancakes too, so they were definitely not getting munched on. What the hell? I slurped the juice down, picked at the fruits then wrote off breakfast. Wet eggs, almost as gross as sunny side up or poached eggs. Matt loved that. Urgh. Sometimes I wondered about him and his eating habits.

Underneath the spray of hot water I hummed to myself. Matt was home and although dance classes would continue as normal, my corp and I had the next four weeks off. I figured I could probably guilt him into taking a few days off with me, anything more would be pushing it. This was one of my worries. We both worked very hard. Wouldn’t that put a strain on a marriage? Hell, it had always been an issue between us, spending sufficient time together. He worked long hours at his office and travelled quite a lot. How would we address that? I tilted my head upwards, letting the water wash over my face, willing it to wash these troublesome thoughts away. The shower capI wore was a new addition to my stuff in the large bathroom, and my birth control pills had been topped up here too. I needed to ask Matt if George was the one getting these things. It would be embarrassing if he was. With a squeak I turned the shower off and stepped out. Fifteen minutes later I was grumbling under my breath in Matt’s huge walk-in closet while getting dressed. Behind the sleek white sliding doors on one side of the room I had been shocked to see that the two shelves I kept my clothes on had morphed into half the space. Designer dresses, trousers, jeans, tops, shoes, bags, freaking French silk underwear…things with tags on, things I hadn’t bought.What was wrong with him?Ok, I was drooling over the shoes, but still. Why did he make these decisions without my input? I wouldn’t mind if he at least ran it by me first. A little: ‘hey, poppet, I’m thinking about spending a ridiculous amount of money on clothing for you’, would be greatly appreciated. We could then sit down and I would explain how uncomfortable it made me feel. I grumbled some more and tugged my old cut off denims on.

“I am not going to be a trophy wife.” I scowled at my reflection before straightening my red knit-sweater. “I refuse to be a kept woman.” I huffed, pulling on a pair of socks. “And if he thinks for one minute he can use this - this clothes ambush to make me move in…HA!” I slid the door shut, blocking my new stuff from sight. “Oh, he’s got another think coming.”

Well, there was only one thing for it. I needed to confront Matt, make him return the clothes; ah, the shoes could stay. It would be criminal to return the shoes, I was crazy but not that crazy. Oh and the cute Prada dress could stay too, but then I would need to keep the jacket at the end. It matched perfectly with-

Damn him and his money!

I walked out the closet and grabbed the tray on my way out the master bedroom. As Grumps was probably somewhere about the house, I made the journey to the kitchen like a fugitive ducking the FBI. It might be awkward between us this morning. I had called him a son of a bitch and doubted he would ever forget it.

“George,” I sauntered into the kitchen. “These eggs sucked - uh, hello?”

There was a woman in Matt’s kitchen. A leggy brunette. I hopedshe wasn’t an intruder because she held a very large knife. Wait. Why was my favourite sauté pan on the stove? Why were her boobs so damn big? Were those my seasonings neatly lined across the counter? Couldn’t she find a less fitted top? Where did she get that cool chopping board from? I wanted one. Why were her boobs so damnbig? I stopped my silly boob envy and blinked cautiously. Matt didn’t let people into his home.

“Hello, I’m Valerie, the chef.” she introduced herself. “Was there a problem with the eggs?”

Chef?

“Uh, no, no.” I denied anything was wrong with the wet mess. “I wasn’t that hungry.” With a bright smile on my face I walked over to put the tray on the island.

“Could you put that somewhere else please?” she tossed over her shoulders. “I’m about to start prepping for lunch.”

Well excuse me. This was my kitchen. Technically it was Matt’s, but if I moved in like he wanted me to, then the rights of culinary space would transfer to me.

“Sure, Valerie,” I said brightly. She didn’t see my eye roll.

“It’s Valerie.” she corrected.

I just said that. Why did she emphasize the second vowel like that? I was sensing some animosity from Val-e-rie. And the only reason I could think of was that Matt had sexed her. He had sexed his leggy chef. I put the tray on one of the glistening surfaces and spun on my heels.

“Nice meeting you, Valerie,” I said cheerily then turned back around by the doorway to verify my suspicions. “Do you know where my fiancé is? This place is so big,” My voice trailed off as I spotted the tightening of the corner of her mouth. Yep. He had most likely sexed her.

“Unfortunately, I don’t.” she replied and started sharpening the large knife.

Okay, it was time for me to leave. I was jealous. And not only because I suspected she’d been sexed by Matt. That sauté pan was my favourite one to use whenever I was here.

“George,” I caught sight of his black suit turning a corner.

“Yes, Ms DuMont?” he stopped and waited for me to hurry downthe hallway.

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