The Kiss Thief(23)

He had no TV, no chests of drawers, and no mirrors. He did have a bar cabinet, not to my surprise, considering he’d marry booze if it were legal in the state of Illinois.

I trudged to his walk-in closet, snapping the shears chirpily in my hand with newfound energy as I swung the doors open. The black oak shelves stood out against the cool white marble of the floor. Dozens of suits sorted by colors, cuts, and designs hung in neat, dense lines, perfectly ironed and ready to be worn.

He had hundreds of scarves folded in precision, enough shoes to open a Bottega Veneta store, and blazers and pea coats galore. I knew what I was looking for first. His tie rack contained over a hundred ties. Once I found it, I serenely began to snip his upmarket ties in half, taking a somewhat bizarre liking to watching their fabric drop at my feet like orange and rust-colored leaves in the fall.

Snip, snip, snip, snip, snip.

The sound was comforting. So much so, that I forgot how hungry I was. Wolfe Keaton had screwed Angelo’s date. I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—avenge his indiscretions by cheating on him, but I damn well could make sure that he didn’t have anything to wear tomorrow morning except for his stupid smug expression.

After I finished the task of cutting all his ties, I moved on to his crisp dress shirts. He had some nerve to assume I would ever touch him, I thought bitterly as I tore through rich, smooth fabrics in crème, swan white, and baby blue. Consummating our marriage was expected. But despite Wolfe’s good looks, I detested his playboy way of life, awful reputation, and the fact he had slept with so many women already. Especially as I was embarrassingly inexperienced.

And by inexperienced, I meant a virgin.

Not that being a virgin was a crime, but I regarded it as such, knowing Wolfe would use this piece of information against me, highlighting how unworldly and ingenuous I was. Not being a virgin was not really an option in the world I lived in. My parents expected me to stay celibate until my wedding, and I had no problem fulfilling their wish, seeing as I didn’t particularly believe in having sex with someone I didn’t love.

I decided to deal with the issue of my virginity when it was time. If it would ever be time.

I was so focused on my mission—ruining clothes and ties worth many tens of thousands of dollars—that I didn’t even notice the click-click of his loafers as he made his way into his room. In fact, I only detected his arrival when he stopped outside his bedroom door and answered his phone.

“Keaton.”

Pause.

“He did what?”

Pause.

“I’ll make sure he can’t move an inch in this town without getting raided by the CPD.”

Then he killed the call.

Shit, I inwardly cussed, throwing the shears on the floor and scrambling to run outside. I slammed an open drawer which contained his watches, knocking something to the floor and running out of the walk-in closet, flinging the double doors of his bedroom open just as he stepped in, still frowning at his phone.

It was the first time I’d seen him since the wedding yesterday. After he’d disappeared with Emily, he came back twenty minutes later to inform me that we were leaving. The ride back home was silent. I openly texted my cousin Andrea on my phone, something he didn’t seem to care about. When we got home (this is not your home, Frankie), I retired straight to my room, banging my door shut and locking it for good measure. I didn’t give him the pleasure of asking him about Emily. In fact, I didn’t show him that I cared. At all.

Now, as he stood in front of me, I realized that my reaction toward his fling with Emily didn’t matter or earn me any extra points in our battle. He did hold all the cards. I instinctively took a step back, swallowing hard.

His tyrannical cold eyes ran along my body as if I was naked and offering myself to him readily, his lips still pressed in a hard line. He wore casual mouse gray dress pants today, neglecting the blazer in favor of a white shirt rolled to the elbows.

“Miss me?” he asked flatly, brushing past me and moseying deeper into the room. I let out a shaky laugh of dread when I realized he might notice the broken facedown framed picture I’d knocked over in my bid to escape and the ruined clothes waiting for him in his closet. The second his back was to me, I began to tiptoe out of his room.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, his back still to me as he poured himself a generous drink at the bar by the window, overlooking the main street. “Scotch?”

“Thought you said I couldn’t drink,” I mocked, surprised at the sarcasm that dripped freely from my voice. This mansion was changing me. I was hardening, inside and out. My soft skin clung to rigid bones, my attitude turned from bright to cynical, and my heart frosted over.

“You can’t outside these walls. You’re about to marry a senator and have yet to hit twenty-one. Have you any idea how bad that would look for me?”

“How is it fair that you can marry at eighteen but not drink until twenty-one? One life choice is significantly more monumental than the other,” I blabbed nervously, rooted in place and watching his broad back. He worked out regularly, and it showed. I heard his personal trainer singing songs from the eighties as he walked into the foyer at five o’clock every morning. Wolfe exercised in his basement for an hour every day, and when time permitted it, he went for quick runs before dinner.

He twisted toward me, two tumblers of scotch in one palm. He handed me a glass. I ignored his peace offering, folding my arms.