Page 59 of Bargaining

Busy. Busy. That’s me.At some point, I’d have to break my plans to the shareholders. Maybe I could send Lucas in to soften the blow. He could do these things in a genial way. People trusted Lucas. It was the glasses and the single-dad thing. Lucas would never have to pay a companion to make him look like a decent human being. Annoying.

I still had some things to finish up tonight, but I wanted to make sure Charlotte ate well after seeing her so ill yesterday. Thechange of scene looked like it was doing her good. We fell into companionable silence while the waiter poured the drinks, and I fought not to stare at the green flecks in Charlotte’s eyes. The waiter offered me wine, but I declined.

Charlotte watched me over the rim of her wineglass. “I just realized something. I never see you drink alcohol.”

“Because I don’t.”

“What? Never? Not even beer?”

Mum’s decline had put me off alcohol for life. “Not even beer.”

Her eyes darted over my face as though trying to solve a puzzle. She frowned and shook her head, joining the dots. “I don’t have to drink if you’re not. I’ll get them to take it away.”

“You carry on. I’m not in recovery, if that’s what you’re thinking, I just like to keep a clear head.”

She nodded, but the uneasy wrinkle between her brows didn’t diminish.

“Tell me about Rome. What have you enjoyed most?”

I listened to Charlotte talking with animation about the Colosseum until the waiter returned with a host of trays and deposited plate after steaming plate. The rich aroma wafted in the air. She ate a mouthful of risotto. Her face melted in pleasure, and a low moan escaped her lips. Chatter from the other part of the restaurant faded. I couldn’t drag my eyes away from her mouth. I wanted to taste her. It wasn’t enough to feel her come on my fingers. I wanted to feel my pretty wife come on my tongue. Heat spread through me.

“Is this what food actually tastes like? Why did no one tell me? I could get used to all this. Beautiful sights. Sunshine. Incredible food. The Italians are winning at life.” She licked her lips and waved her fork over the rice. “What do they put in this stuff? Crack?”

“Truffles. Crack would be cheaper.”

She chuckled. “You know, I forgot how funny you are.”

I raised a brow. “I’m not funny.”

“You are when you’re relaxed. You used to always make me laugh.” She swirled her wine in her glass and took a sip. “Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me?”

I nodded.

She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Why me? You could have hired a professional. An escort or an actress. I’m sure you’re surrounded by women a hundred times more elegant and refined than me.”

“I don’t need elegant and refined.”

She flinched. The words had been careless. I hadn’t meant them to sound bad, but she had to know what I meant.

“I just mean to say that this is about weaving a narrative. You represent my life before I became the Cole Thorner that the world knows. You’re a normal person from a normal place. Unfiltered and authentic. You have that accent. You open your mouth and, no matter what you say, it sounds homey and trustworthy. A good girl like you will impress the people I need to impress.”

She swirled a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “A good girl? Is that how you see me?”

“I remember when you hyperventilated after I stole a pick-and-mix from the cinema. When all the other kids were sneaking out to get drunk in the park, you were doing watercolor sessions for the old people at the nursing home.”

“So you married me because I’m just the right level of uncool? I see.”

Her face dropped. That was the thing about Charlotte. She could never keep anything from her face. Every emotion played out so clearly. She’d be a terrible poker player. That was one of the first things Philip had taught me.Never show your hand. Never let anyone know what you’re thinking. Everyone is out to manipulate you. Don’t let them.

The chink of silverware drifted to us. “I didn’t say that. It doesn’t matter either way. I married you because you’re exactly what I need.”

“And how do you know I’m still a good girl? You haven’t known me for years.” Her eyes held a glint of goading.

Was she flirting with me? Too much wine.

“That’s true. You’ll have to tell me. Are you still a good girl, Charlotte?”

Her cheeks pinked, and her brow furrowed. I watched her throat bob as she swallowed. My cock stiffened, all too interested in a conversation it had no business being involved in. Her squirming only served to give me a raging hard-on. I couldn’t get the image of her in that white lingerie out of my mind, or the way she’d trembled when I’d slipped her stockings down her tempting thighs.