Page 50 of Indulge
I slept for nine hours and still feel like I haven’t slept at all.
As I head downstairs, I’m greeted by the sweet smell of pancakes.
“Morning,” Reggie says.
“Morning,” I reply, clipped.
He’s not getting out of the doghouse that easy.
He slides me a plate stacked with pancakes, strawberries, and a generous drizzle of caramel syrup.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Look, Bella—” he sighs.
I hold up a hand. “Save it. I get it. You didn’t mean it. You’re sorry you missed dinner. We can be friends. Or, let’s sayamicablefor the duration of our marriage. I’ll behave as well as I have to in public for you, but we can live separate lives.”
He grabs the back of his neck. It’s like he thinks I’m a walking headache.
“Look, I can move out if you want. I have plenty of money,” I suggest.
“What? No.”
I bite back a grin. I like figuring out how to make him tick.
I take a bite of his food and force down the moan threatening to escape. He doesn’t deserve that noise from me yet.
“These are tasty. I thought you didn’t like sweet things.”
“Maybe I’m trying.”
There’s an undercurrent in his voice, something softer, but he buries it fast.
I nod slowly, meeting his eyes and hiding the reaction he always drags out of me.
“I spoke to Declan,” he says. “I’ve got a computer and desk being set up for you in my office today. Drago’s coming over to give you the rundown.”
I smile, genuinely this time. “Thank you, Irish. Now… Drago—he’s the Russian guy, right?” I tap the side of my head, trying to recall scraps of information. “Charlotte—Declan’s wife—her friend?”
Reggie cracks a small smile. “I’m impressed.”
Fuck. It’s praise. I’ll take it. Let’s see how far I can push him. I’m bored.
“Wow. A compliment from Reggie. Next you’ll be calling me agood girl.”
He chokes on his coffee, and I do everything I can to hide my smile.
“Actually,” I continue, “if you want, you can get me a sticker chart for the wall. We’ll put gold stars up when I’ve been good. With all this cooking and cleaning I’ll be getting rewards in no time.”
He stares, unreadable, so I keep going.
“Wait—you can have one too. We’ll see who’s been the better spouse that week. Chores, cooking, food shopping—all the boring married-life shit you’ve sucked me into.”
I rest my chin on my hand.
“Absolutely not,” he chuckles.
“Aw. You’re no fun.”
