“Or I can just keep one in the cabinet, reach inside, grab and fire.” She smiles, which looks so innocent and angelic, it’s jarring after what she just said. I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean she fires to scare the other guy. But I can’t picture her firing to kill.
On the other hand…
I look down at the hardwood floor. Maybe she doesn’t have carpet for a reason.
She gestures. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
I follow her, walking past the dining room. The cherry dining table is big enough for eight, but only has one place mat at the head. At least it has eight chairs, although seven have plastic coverings on the seats, like she’s never used them. There’s a curio cabinet full of little wooden figurines of forest animals, including rabbits and deer. Probably souvenirs.
Then it strikes me what’s been vaguely bugging me in the back of my mind. There aren’t any of her works hanging. The walls are mostly bare, which is bizarre.
“Where are your paintings?” I ask. “Did you leave them all in New York?”
“No. I keep them in the studio.” She gestures beyond a door in the kitchen that leads to the backyard. “It’s a separate addition.”
“Can I see?” I’m curious about her workspace. I’ve never seen an art studio before.
“Uh…no,” she says. “I don’t let anybody inside. Don’t want to disturb the area or clean it up. It’s messy.”
Fine. Be difficult about it. Maybe she has some super-secret sketches of paintings to come. I don’t get her wariness. It isn’t like I’m going to try to sell them online.
She gestures to her left. “That’s the den. I left your drum set there because I didn’t know where you wanted it.” She frowns like that’s my fault.
“The den’s fine.” I don’t care where the set is; I just want to be able to drum when I feel like it.
She nods and takes me upstairs. All the bedrooms are on the second floor. The first guest bedroom’s empty, except for some boxes I sent. She opens the door to the second guest bedroom, which is fully furnished and has windows facing out onto other homes. Pink and white curtains are open to let the sunlight in. Several books sit on built-in bookshelves and floating shelves. From the looks of them, they’ve actually been read.
Surprising. I didn’t think Becca was the type to read so damn many books. More like someone who’d go stare at some fancy paintings nobody understands except for the artist and a few people with a bizarre taste for modern art.
“This is the bedroom I was going to give you,” she says. “But since you said no…”
“Pink isn’t my color.” That’s Ashley’s favorite. She put tons of cotton-candy pink in my bedroom, swapping sheets and duvets. I tolerated it, but in hindsight I shouldn’t have compromised.
“You sure? A lot of women in pink have been all over you.”
I smirk as I face her. “Jealous?”
“Just making an observation. You should find a plausible explanation for why you’ve decided to commit when you meet my relatives later.”
I put a hand over my chest dramatically. “What? True love isn’t enough of an explanation for them?”
She looks at me skeptically. “I don’t think you can pull it off, but… We can try.”
“Sweetheart, I’m a master at convincing women. You have nothing to worry about.”
Chapter Seventeen
Becca
Devlin makes a small noise in his throat when I finally show him the master bedroom. He sighs when he sees the bed. What’s the problem? Too pink?
Then I spot the FedEx envelope on the nightstand and hand it to him. “Here. The signed agreement for you and your lawyer.”
He takes it. “You have no questions or anything?”
I shake
my head. “Nope. I was actually surprised because it was so straightforward. I thought you’d send me something full of gotchas.” Given his initial reluctance, it seemed very possible. But the agreement only deals with division of assets in case of divorce—we don’t touch anything that belongs to the other person—and keeping our mouths shut about private details that could harm and damage each other’s reputation or career. There’s nothing about children or jointly owned assets, but then, we aren’t going to be together long enough to worry about either. It’s more like a list of common-sense rules when you’re short-term dating a celebrity.