Page 60 of My Only

“This is my wife,” Hassani said. “Mrs. Ayla Franklin.”

“Aww, nice to meet you, Ayla.”

Ayla.

Not Mrs. Franklin.

Every other person had called me Mrs. Franklin after Hassani introduced me that way.

Even Calese had called me Mrs. Franklin before I told her to just call me Ayla. Calese was cool, and we clicked instantly. So, of course she could call me by my first name.

I did not give Harper that same permission.

And as petty as it sounded, I didn’t like that she helped herself to that privilege.

“This place is gorgeous, isn’t it?” she said to Hassani. “But nothing compares to how laid-back but good you look.”

I jerked my head back so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

Hassani glanced at me, then let out a nervous chuckle. “Aw, you know.”

She giggled. “Oh, Hassani! Guess what I just got my pretty hands on the other day?”

“What?”

She winked. “Another D-Slam original.”

Hassani’s brows arched high. “Oh, word?”

“Sure did.” She nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Special edition, of course. Only a few made.”

“Damn.” He chuckled. “That’s dope.”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “Hassani told me how much you hated the one he got for your kitchen?” She exhaled another one of her annoying little giggles. “I couldn’t believe it. A D-Slam original is one of the most coveted art pieces in the art world right now.”

I had to unclench my teeth before responding. “Is it now?”

“Oh, yeah.” She pressed a hand to Hassani’s chest, and my eyes followed every inch of that movement. “You’re so lucky to have a man with such a good eye for art.”

I stared at her hand—still on my husband’s chest—before rolling my eyes up at him.

Hassani, always quick on the hint, stepped out of her touch and wrapped an arm around my waist.

In that moment, I did not want him touching me.

Who was this woman?

I know she introduced herself as Harper Royce, but who was she? And why did she seem so damn comfortable with Hassani already?

I had never heard of this woman before tonight, but somehow, she knew what was in our home. She knew enough to call him Hass.

And he let her.

“What do you do on the project, Harper?” I asked.

It was a question I hadn’t needed to ask anyone else. Everyone else had been forthcoming about their roles in Greene Gardens.

Not Ms. Thang over here.

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