My phone rings. I curse inwardly and ignore it. Whoever’s on the line will get the hint.
It keeps ringing, and after a while, it stops. I turn all my attention to running my lips over my wife’s delicate jaw line. It’s smoothly curved and infinitely precious, just like everything abou—
The phone goes off again. Belle pulls back, breathing choppy and cheeks rosy. “I think you should answer that.”
“They’ll survive. But I won’t…” I dip my head.
Laughing unsteadily, she turns away when the damned phone keeps ringing. “Come on. People are depending on you.” She smiles. “Later.”
“Promises, promises.”
She licks her kiss-swollen lips.
“Keep doing that and I’ll throw the damn phone off the balcony.”
“And regret it the second it leaves your hand.” She walks out, laughing and swinging her hips with an extra bit of provocation.
Annoyed, I hit the talk button. The world had better be burning down. “Elliot Reed,” I bark into the phone.
“Got your email.”
“You didn’t have to call,” I say bitingly as unfulfilled lust thrums through my tightly wound body.
“I want to confirm you’re really okay with running this.”
“Of course I am. Why else would I have sent all that junk to you?”
“It’s just such a shitty thing to make public.”
“So? You think she’s going to sue you for defamation?” I laugh. “She knows everything in there is true.”
A short pause and a loud sigh. “You lead an interesting life, Elliot.”
“Never a dull moment.” I bare my teeth in a smile. “And next time you want to chat, text me.” I hang up and roll my neck.
I’m probably going to make enemies with what I’m about to do, but I don’t care all that much. The primary focus is keeping my wife safe and happy. And to do that, I would cross the gods themselves.
Chapter Twenty-One
Annabelle
The restaurant we end up going to is contemporary French. The exterior is rustic—pale brick and sun-bleached sandstone. The interior is just as charming, with a huge glass ceiling that opens up to the evening sky and walls that are designed to look like rows of European homes, with stone-and-mortar façades and inset windows. The air is replete with the scent of freshly baked bread and warm butter and herbs. On one side is a huge rack with hundreds of bottles of wine. The sound system gives us a woman singing a soft chanson.
It’s packed inside, but somehow we have a table reserved. I’m sure Elliot’s assistant pulled some strings.
Elliot looks awesome in a white button-down shirt with the collar undone. The sleeves are rolled up, and his dark slacks hang nicely over his trim pelvis and beautifully muscled legs. The overall effect is a casual, masculine elegance that takes my breath away.
I’m in a pair of brand-new jeans and a green sleeveless scoop-neck top. A couple of boxes of jeans came for me earlier in the afternoon, and I couldn’t help myself. The arrival of the clothes surprised me, but it was also a sign that our contract is no more—our original terms forbade my wearing pants, ostensibly to give Elliot easier access. I felt almost giddy pulling them on.
Our hands are linked, and I lean closer to him, inhaling the clean soap on his skin and sighing over the heat radiating from his body. Nonny grins at me knowingly, and after a moment I wink at her. It’s a little startling to realize she’s not a child anymore.
Since Nonny came home late, she didn’t change into anything new. But she still manages to look fresh and adorable. She spots Elizabeth at a table big enough for six and dashes toward her.
Elizabeth gets up and hugs Nonny. I didn’t think to invite Elliot’s sister, but she called him about something, and somehow ended up joining the party. Not that I mind. She is one of the nicest people ever, and I’m delighted that she wants to celebrate my new job. I really want to be good friends with her. I have so few.
Unlike the last time I saw her, Elizabeth is glowing. A royal blue wrap dress is cinched around her already tiny waist, making her look even slimmer. Her hair’s curled and pulled into a simple ponytail on top of her head. She’s one of those rare women who can make any hairstyle look chic, any dress fashionable. It doesn’t hurt that her facial bones are more exquisitely sculpted than most models’.
We exchange quick greetings and sit down. Elizabeth gestures at the glass of white in front of her. “Sorry, started early.”