Page 43 of Devour
“I made you toast and scrambled eggs with coffee. Just how you like it. Black, no sugar.”
I blow on the coffee before taking a sip.
“I still don’t know how you drink that with a straight face,” she mutters.
“It’s good. You should try it sometime.”
“I’ll pass.”
I start digging into the breakfast—quickly—because I know where her next question is heading.
“Ariel… she’s a sweet girl,” she says casually.
“Hmm,” I grunt around a mouthful of toast.
“She and I had a little chat.”
Suddenly, I’m more interested in where this is going. I slow down, taking smaller bites. “Did she say anything about me?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant as I lift my half-empty coffee cup. Griselda gives me a knowing look over the rim of her mug.
“She said enough,” she replies, sipping her tea like it’s no big deal but I can tell she’s holding something back.
“You should talk to her,” she adds, setting her cup down.
“Women like to be wooed, not dragged around like some cavewoman.”
I gulp down the last of my coffee and push back my chair. Standing, I wipe my mouth with a napkin.
“I’ll try to do better,” I murmur. “Thanks for breakfast.”
Without waiting for her reply, I walk out of the house and head straight to the garage. I slide into my blood-red Ferrari 812 Superfast, the car I always choose when my thoughts are a mess and my mood’s darker than asphalt.
Its aggressive growl, sleek lines, and raw power match the storm brewing inside me. As I make my way out of the estate, I glance at our bedroom window through the rearview mirror and spot her watching me.
Her arms are crossed, a pissed look on her face that could cut glass. Damn. How the hell am I supposed to woo this woman when all I seem to do is piss her off? And make her hate me. I mutter a curse under my breath as I speed off toward the office.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Ariel
Ihappen to glance out the bedroom window and see him drive away. My emotions spin wildly, completely off their axis and he just left. No note. No goodbye.
He drives off like he didn’t just set my whole body on fire and leave me to burn in the ashes. Like he didn’t kiss me like I was the very air he needed to breathe only to vanish like none of it meant anything.
I’m overwhelmed by so many emotions, but the one I choose to lean into… is anger. Frustrated, I head into the bathroom and strip off my clothes.
The hot water cascades over my skin, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me. I reach for the jasmine hair wash, working it into my scalp with more force than necessary.
The scent fills the space—floral, soft, hauntingly familiar. Why Jasmine? Why would he stock the bathroom with the one scent he knows I love? Why does he keep doing things that make me feel… seen?
I rinse the lather from my hair, but the questions cling to me more stubbornly than any soap ever could.
Once I’m done with my shower, I dry off and head into the closet to find something to wear. My clothes aren’t here yet, so I have to make do with what’s available and there’s a lot.
My side of the closet is overflowing with rows of clothes, shoes, and bags, all top designer brands. I get whiplash trying todecide what to wear, so I finally settle on the first thing my hand touches: a floral sundress.
It fits perfectly, stopping mid-thigh and hugging my breasts so well I don’t even need a bra. The transparent vanity in the center of the room is filled with jewelry of his and mine.
It makes me wonder how long he’s been planning this. But then again, he’s rich. He could make all of this happen with the snap of a finger.
