God, I love this man.
“You seem more rested,” he observes.
“I am. Adrian took over baby duty and let me get some sleep. He fed me, gave me a shower—well, not gave me a shower, but you know what I mean. Gave me a chance to shower.”
Mateo smirks. “He better not be showering you. Not if I don’t get to watch, at least.”
“You’re such a voyeur.” I smile, my mind conjuring mental images of my husband and Adrian in the shower, taking turns putting their hands all over me. “Adrian can’t play with us. Elise would murder me. That wouldn’t be sexy at all.”
“I would never let anyone murder you,” he assures me.
Unfortunately, this round of teasing his inched too close to reality and my heart grows heavy, the brief reprieve at an end. “I’m sad,” I tell him.
His tone is regretful, his touch firm as he pulls me into his arms and rubs my back, offering comfort in the face of the pain he’s about to cause. “I know. I’m sorry for that.”
“Couldn’t you just think about it for a few more days?” I request.
“That won’t benefit anyone,” he tells me. “I’ve already given her more time than I intended. It has to end sometime. The longer we let it stretch on, the more stressful it will be for everyone. It’s time to end this.”
Apparently it’s also time to stop coddling me, because he boots me off his lap and stands, crossing to my rack of dresses and picking one for me. I bend and retrieve my discarded robe from the floor, slinging it over my arm and walking over to take the dress.
Before he hands it to me, his gaze rakes over my naked body, his face alight with pleasure. “I don’t know why I buy you so many clothes. I should just keep you naked in the bedroom all the time.”
I shake my head, taking the hanger from him. “It’s like you can literally read my mind. Did you add to your skill set without telling me?”
He smiles, leaning in to give me a lingering kiss. Then he smacks my ass, tells me to get dressed, and heads downstairs.
I have such a good husband.
When he’s not murdering and wreaking havoc, anyway.
Nobody’s perfect.
Chapter Seventeen
Meg
I had no idea Dante was coming to dinner tonight.
Somehow, despite having spent the better part of the last two days with him, Rafe has told me nothing. I haven’t died, though. Last night I followed him into the bathroom when he went to brush his teeth. He informed me I was intruding on his personal space. I reminded him the bathrooms are the only space in the whole house where we can talk without cameras.
It would have been the perfect time to tell me Dante was coming to dinner, but I don’t think he much appreciated how much control I was trying to take over everything, so he brushed his teeth in relative silence and sauntered back out of the bathroom without giving me anything.
Tonight is surreal. Getting ready for family dinner again—and not even alone, which is super weird. Rafe left for about an hour after telling me to stay put. When he came back, his whole demeanor had changed.
I keep casting curious looks at him, but we both know we’re being watched, so we don’t speak.
I finally go in to do my hair and make-up. Maria brought me my cosmetic case and a black dress with a full skirt that I should be able to fit on this weirdly shaped post-baby body I have right now. I wish I could just wear leggings and a T-shirt, but then it wouldn’t be family dinner.
I stab myself in the eyeball with the mascara wand when the door flies open and Rafe barges in. I take a step back, watching in alarm as he closes the door behind him.
“What the hell?” I close one watering eye, watching him through the other. “Give a girl a little warning, would ya? A courtesy knock? Jesus Christ.”
He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Sorry, princess, didn’t mean to inconvenience you. Just thought you might want to know, tonight is the night.”
My heart drops. “Tonight? When?”
“Later. After dinner.”
“But… we haven’t had time to—”
“Has to be tonight,” he states, cutting me off. “Your clock’s run out.”
It takes a second for the words to land, then my heart stops altogether. “My clock… He’s going to kill me?”
“Tomorrow. So we move tonight.”
His gaze briefly skates across the surface of the counter, then he grabs a bottle of cologne—probably his excuse for coming in here, should they notice in the surveillance room—and heads back out as abruptly as he came inside.
Mascara forgotten, I stumble back a few steps and drop onto the closed toilet, trying to gather up my wits. It’s quite an experience, being told the father of your children has decided when he will kill you. Would he do it himself, or would Adrian?