Arranged(63)

Each word was a barb that burrowed under my skin. They’d sting for a while.

And I deserved every one of them.

The worst part was that in her mind she wasn’t even being particularly pointed. This wasn’t coming from resentment on her part.

She was just that resigned to my poor behavior. That stung more.

We’d been sitting for a time in awkward, stiff silence when something caught my eye. Two tables away, a couple was being seated.

It was Fatima. She sat in a chair facing me, and her husband took the one opposite, showing me his back. I knew none of it was a coincidence. She’d always had a nerve.

I tipped my glass at her, eyeing her coldly.

She tipped hers back, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. She was enjoying herself, enjoying all of this. She liked these sorts of games. I wondered if I’d ever found that appealing about her, or if I’d just been so blind and besotted that I hadn’t even spotted it for what it was—petty and conniving.

I glanced back at my wife. She was pushing her sad greens around on her plate and hadn’t noticed anything. God, she was beautiful. It wasn’t the type of beauty that needed the right angle or lighting. Face painted heavily or not at all, her extraordinary bone structure shone through. It was distracting, really. It was a struggle to look away, to not stare at her constantly.

I must have been careless and let my face reveal something of my thoughts, for the next time Fatima caught my eye there was something in hers that made me still, dread creeping up.

Of course she was jealous of my wife. She had been from the get-go. She was the type of woman who remained possessive of things, even things she’d tossed carelessly aside.

But seeing us together like this would give her her first real reason to be. Knowing her temper, it was a worrisome development, though I wasn’t sure what I could do about it at this point. I’d done all I could.

Eventually Noura caught my eye wandering and turned to follow it. Her face went dead of all expression when she spotted my ex-fiancée. “Is she waiting for us to finish, so you two can go on a real date?” she asked me coldly.

I felt myself flush, though I’d had nothing to do with Fatima’s presence there. Just the opposite. I’d wanted to bolt the moment I caught sight of her. “No,” I said simply.

“Then why is she here?” my wife asked.

“I have no idea.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said defiantly.

I stared at her. “Excuse me?” I asked, still trying to be polite.

“Is that why you were being nice to me earlier? To make her jealous?”

I stared. “She wasn’t even here then. They just sat down. And believe me, the last thing I would ever do is try to make her jealous of you.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, less polite.

She set her napkin on her plate decisively. “I’m leaving. We’ve both honored our obligations here. Our handlers will tell your father we both showed up for the date. Goodnight, Calder.”

And with that, she left.

I was so caught off guard that I just watched her go. Watched her wind through the crowd and out the door.

I told myself I wouldn’t follow her, eyes glued to her parting figure. It was a great view of her perky, perfect two handfuls ass. Mm.

I called for the check, settled the bill, and rang for my car, all the while telling myself that I was just going home. It was only as I heard the words leave my mouth that I realized it was hopeless. “My wife’s apartment,” I told my driver.





CHAPTER





TWENTY-SEVEN





I was at her door when I realized I didn’t even have a key to her apartment.

I had to ring the doorbell and I hated it.

Chester answered, and I hated that more.

He squared his huge frame off in the doorway, not letting me in, and raised one bushy ginger brow at me. “Need something?”

I had to force my teeth to stop grinding together before I answered. “My wife.”

He just kept staring. “Why?”

“Excuse me?” I gritted out.

“Duchess is busy. It’s her birthday, if you didn’t know. I’d just as soon you leave her in peace. She should get to enjoy her own birthday in peace, don’t you think?”

I opened my mouth, shut it, then opened it again. I wasn’t sure what I was about to say, or hell, if I was about to haul off and hit him. I’ll never know because that was the moment my wife showed up, quietly telling Chester that she’d handle it.

He sent me one last glare and left, disappearing into her apartment like he lived there, which he practically did.

I hated that most of all.

I’d left the restaurant mere minutes behind her, but Noura had already managed to tie her hair up into a complicated, voluminous topknot and changed out of her torture device romper into an oversized sweatshirt and itty bitty shorts. Spelled across the front of the sweatshirt in large caps was the word DUCHESS.

I stared at it. “Where’d you get that?” I asked tersely. It wasn’t where I’d meant to begin, but I couldn’t for the life of me ignore it.

She just stared at me, her face carefully, vehemently apathetic. It was impressive, really, how she could school her beautiful, expressive face into the very epitome of impassivity. “Excuse me?”