A knock at the door, and I pull the sheet up to my neck. One of the maids comes in with a tray of breakfast.
“Ryder asked me to bring this. He thought you’d be hungry and tired.”
“Thank you.” The unexpected gesture surprises me. “Is he going to join me?”
“I don’t think so. He’s eaten already.”
“Where is he?”
“He went out for a walk about half an hour ago and hasn’t returned yet.”
I nod in acknowledgment, and she leaves.
Ryder sent a cheese egg omelet and a bowl of fresh fruit plus a couple pieces of toast and ginger tea. I take a sip of the tea. I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast in bed, and it is sinfully luxurious…even though I have to be careful not to leave any crumbs on the pristine sheets. As far as I know, housekeeping changes them every day, but still…
Then a thought strikes me. Has he ever brought another woman to this bed?
He seems to prefer hotels for the humped and dumped, but he’s got to have had at least one genuine relationship before, even if the media doesn’t talk about it. Did he bring someone here? Did he—
“Argh!”
I smack myself in the forehead. This is the most unproductive train of inquiry ever. I’m not even a real fiancée. Him calling me the love of his life last night in front of our family doesn’t change that. He said it to salvage my pride and shut his stepmother up.
Then there was the Lauren woman. If Julian knew her, she was probably somebody very special to Ryder. I hurt for him, but I probably shouldn’t say anything. Sometimes talking helps, and sometimes it just reopens the wounds. I suspect it’s the latter with Ryder. It’s been years, and given his personality, he’s moved on—or tried to.
Come on, girl. I’m not letting a jerk like Julian ruin things between Ryder and me. We both know what we’re getting out of this union. Keeping our eyes on the prize is what matters, not reacting to everything Julian tosses our way.
I finish the breakfast and go to my suite to shower and get ready for the day. Stylists are going to be here in the afternoon to help me get ready for the party. It’s our first real social event as a couple, so it’s important that we put on a good show. It would be horrible to go through the charade only to be found out and have Ryder lose any chance at getting his grandfather’s painting back.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail and put on a pair of comfy, loose gray pants and a pink tank top. They are two items of a few meager “lazing around the house” outfits Josephine deemed acceptable. If she had it her way, I’d wear nothing but designer dresses all the time.
The door to Ryder’s office is open. He’s inside, reading a script submission, which he always does himself. Thankfully Mira doesn’t send him a lot since he is hyper-selective about his roles. It also helps that he’s a very fast reader. I honestly thought it was some kind of practical joke when I first saw him flipping through one.
He’s reclining in a Barcalounger and…there’s a couple fingers of scotch in a glass by his chair. Huh. I’ve never seen him drink this early. A white shirt strains against his heavily muscled torso, his shoulders impossibly broad and powerful. He flexes his feet as he reads. I can’t believe he’s mine for a little over a year.
Not really yours. Just in name. And…something.
It’s that something that bothers me.
There is a wall between us that I discovered last night. I can only get so close before Ryder will shut me out. At the same time, we do everything like a real couple. We share a house, eat late-night snacks together, have incredible sex. Our relationship is more marriage-like than a lot of couples who are married for real.
And the contradiction is driving me insane.
Or maybe I’m just becoming greedier. I told myself I’d be satisfied with our arrangement so long as my child was free of Shaun and his negative influence. Plus Ryder is going to set it up for life.
But somehow I hunger for more. Maybe it’s the speech Ryder made last night… I wish it were a genuine sentiment, not some line he said to play a role.
“Morning,” he says, giving me the brilliant smile that has every woman in the world melting at his feet.
“Morning.”
“Just so you’re prepared…” He lets the sentence hang dramatically.
“Yes?”
“…Mom didn’t go back to her house.”
Ah. Thus the early drink.