The Wife Upstairs(20)

Which makes it easier for Bea to gently take Blanche’s hand. “Can we declare a truce?” she asks softly. “Because it’s going to be super awkward to have you as my maid of honor if we’re not speaking to each other.”

Blanche snorts, but after a minute, she squeezes Bea’s hand back.





PART III



JANE





10





I didn’t know sheets could actually smell soft, but Eddie’s do.

Every morning when I wake up in that big upholstered bed, I hold the sheets up to my nose and inhale, wondering how I got this fucking lucky.

It’s been two weeks since I more or less moved in with Eddie, two weeks of soft linens and sinking into the plush sofa in the living room in the afternoon, watching bad reality shows on the massive television.

I’m never leaving this place.

I get out of the bed slowly, my toes curling against the plush rug awaiting my feet. The bedroom is luxurious in all the right ways—dark wood, deep blues, the occasional splash of gray. Neutral. Masculine.

This is one space where Eddie scrubbed out Bea’s style, I can tell. Before, I bet it was decked out in the same swirling, bright shades as the rest of the house. Peacock blue, saffron yellow, brilliant fuchsia. But here, there’s just Eddie.

And now, me.

Eddie is in the kitchen when I wander in, already dressed for work.

He smiles at me, a cup of coffee already steaming in his hand.

“Morning,” he says, handing it to me. The first morning I’d woken up here, Eddie had made me a plain black cup of coffee, like I’d had the day we met. Sheepishly, I’d confessed that I actually didn’t like black coffee that much, and now I have an expensive milk frother at my disposal, and all kinds of pricey flavored syrups.

Today’s cup smells like cinnamon, and I inhale deeply over the mug before taking a sip. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m only sleeping with you for the coffee,” I say, and he winks at me.

“My ability to make a great cup of coffee really is my only redeeming value.”

“I think you have a few others,” I say, and he glances at me, eyebrows raised.

“Just a few?”

I hold my thumb and forefinger up, putting them close together, and he laughs, which warms me almost as much as the coffee.

I like him. There’s no getting around that. This isn’t just about the house or the money, although I’m fully into those things, trust me. But being with Eddie is … nice.

And he likes me. Not just the me I’ve invented, but the flashes of the real me I’ve let him see.

I want to show him more of the real me, I think. And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way.

Turning back to the sink, Eddie rinses out his own coffee cup and says, “So, what’s on your agenda today?”

I’ve been waiting for this moment for the past two weeks, hoping he’d ask what I was doing all day. Because I am still walking those damn dogs. I may stay in Eddie’s house, I may eat the food Eddie buys, but I’m still on my own for everything else. Gas for my car, clothes, odds and ends. I still technically have rent to pay.

“Dogs,” I reply shortly, and he looks up, frowning slightly.

“You’re still doing that?”

Some of the warmth I was feeling toward him fades a little. What did he think I was doing all day? Just sitting around, waiting for him to come back?

I hide that irritation, though, standing up from the stool with a shrug. “I mean, yeah. I have to make money.”

He pulls a face, wiping his hands on one of those Southern Manors towels that are all over the kitchen. This one has a slice of watermelon printed on it, a perfect bite taken out of one side. “You’re welcome to use my card to get whatever you need. And I can add you to my checking account today. My personal one, not the Southern Manors account. Lot more fucking paperwork to that one, but we can get that worked out eventually, too.”

I stand there as he turns away again, balling up the towel and tossing it into the laundry room just off the kitchen.

Is it that easy for men like him? He’s handing me access to thousands and thousands of dollars like it’s nothing, and I could just … take it. Take everything, if I wanted to.

Maybe that’s what it is—it would never occur to him that I would do something like that. That anyone, especially any woman, could do that.

But since this is exactly what I wanted, I smile at him, shaking my head slightly. “That would … that would be amazing, Eddie. Thank you.”

“What’s the point of having it if my girl can’t spend it, hmm?” He comes around the bar, putting an arm around my waist and nuzzling my hair.

“Also,” he says before pulling away, “why don’t you go ahead a pick up your things from your old place, bring them back here? Make it official.”

Pressing a hand against my chest, I give him my best faux-flirty look. “Edward Rochester, are you asking me to move in with you?”

Another grin as he walks backward toward the door. “I think I am. You saying yes?”

“Maybe,” I tell him, and that grin widens as he turns back around.

“I’ll leave the card by the door!” he calls out, and I hear the soft slap of plastic on marble before the door opens and closes, leaving me alone in the house.