I shouldn’t have done that. I wasn’t mad at him, not really. I was mad at the situation, at Vincent for pushing me into it, at my father for rolling over and letting it happen, and at the family in general— for being violent pieces of shit. I closed my eyes and tried to think of what Alex would say if he were still alive, and found I could barely picture his chubby, boyish half-smile and his floppy mess of brown hair.
No, the memory of him on the ground riddled with bullet holes, his brains splattered on the side of a silver Nissan Altima, was much easier to recall. Dead Alex, murdered Alex, that version of him always seemed to come back whether I wanted it to or not—but living Alex, happy Alex, my former best friend Alex, that version of him seemed like it was fading into nothing.
I groaned and rubbed my head then stormed to the door and threw it open. The hall stared back at me, dim and bare. Wood floors flowed to the right toward more doors and to the left toward stairs. I hesitated then headed to the stairs, the floorboards creaking under my bare feet. My toes were painted pink and I smiled a little, remembered sitting in my tiny apartment painting them while I stared at the wedding dress hanging on the back of the door across from me, and wondering if I could go through with it.
Now I knew—I could do it, even if it hurt.
I went down the steps and found a comfortable, well-lit living room. The couch was low and gray, the coffee table was wooden and covered in neat, orderly magazines, and several potted plants hung from the ceiling and were placed on the deep front windowsill. I walked toward the back of the house, passing a blank flatscreen TV, and entered the kitchen.
Reid sat at the table with a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee in front of him. I stared into his eyes—then let my gaze drift down to his shirtless torso. He leaned back, that infuriating, handsome smile drifting over his lips, and tilted his head as I looked at his muscular chest and defined abs.
“Morning, wife.”
That snapped me out of it. I looked away. “Morning.”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.” I walked over to the coffee pot, found a mug in the cabinet above it, and poured some for myself. I took a long sip of it black as he watched me, a curious look in his eyes.
“I’ve got to admit, this is pretty weird.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Him stating the obvious like that seemed to break some kind of strange dam that threatened to block me up completely, and I shook my head as I took another long sip. The coffee was black and hot and tasteless, but it woke me up and helped with the headache.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
He spread his hands. “Help yourself to whatever you want.”
“Thanks.”
“Since we’re living together, I figured I’d go out and do some shopping today. You know, get you some food.”
I tilted my head. “You’re going to do the shopping?”
“One of us has to.”
“I figured that would be a woman’s job.”
His smile widened. “Well now, I’m not entirely sure what your job’s going to be, if I’m honest with you.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that, so I looked away and covered my discomfort by drinking some coffee.
“Can I admit something?” I asked.
“Admit away.”
“The details of last night are a little hazy.”
He barked a laugh and I grimaced then glared at him. “No kidding,” he said. “You got a little drunk.”
“Can you blame me? I married a stranger last night.”
“Yeah? Me too. Guess we have that much in common.”
I refused to be charmed by him. “So what happened?”
“Nothing special. We danced a little, you told me you loved me, then—”
“I did not.”
“—we made sweet love on a bed of roses. Afterward, you told me you’d never been with a man so gentle, yet so strong before.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dick.”
“Cock was the word you used. ‘Give me your big, thick’—”
“Okay, enough, I get it.”
He grinned and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. I refused to let myself gaze at his muscular bicep.
“Don’t worry, nothing happened. I got us a car home and put you to bed.”
“How’d I get out of the dress?”
“I’m not sure. I tossed your bag on the floor and I think you handled it from there.”
I nodded, feeling a little bit better. Part of me worried he’d helped get me undressed.
“Well, thanks, I guess.”
“No problem.” He tilted his head, watching me as I tried to pretend like I was invisible, but there was nowhere to run or hide—not in my marriage.
At least his kitchen was light and airy. The cabinets were a light grayish color and more plants were lined up behind the sink. I was surprised that his place seemed so stylish and orderly, considering the way he handled himself—like a typical mafia asshole.