“That’s the gist of it, right? And now you’re cooking him his favorite dinner.” Disapproval is faint in her voice, but it’s there.
“It’s a strategic move,” I say. “I’m going to tell him to sit down for dinner when he comes home, and then I’ll do what he responds well to. I’ll negotiate.”
She groans. “I do not understand the two of you and your weird fascination with playing office.”
“I never played office,” I say. “It was my actual job.”
“Remember our Introduction to Philosophy class? You made a study guide from your notes and printed copies for every single one of our classmates.”
“You illustrated the front page,” I fire back.
She laughs. “Fine, fine. So you’re going to renegotiate with St. Clair. Renegotiate what, exactly? Your marriage?”
I reach for the giant pepper shaker Bonnie keeps on the kitchen counter and add a hefty dose to the tomato sauce. “Not our marriage, really. But what we are.”
“You’re going to ask him to define the relationship.”
“I couldn’t define it myself.” I lean over the stove and breathe in the scent of pasta pomodoro. “But I want to make it clear that it can’t just be sex. Despite cooking for him tonight, I’m not going to be his convenient wife who got him his grandfather’s house and is always around when he wants to have sex. It has to be separate from the deal.”
“Hell to the yes,” she says. “How are your feelings?”
It takes me a moment to admit it. “I’m getting attached.”
“Of course you are. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.” She pauses, and in the silence, I can hear all the things she isn’t saying.
“I know,” I say. “I’ll be careful.”
“You’re too good for him. Don’t let all his money and power and suits intimidate you.”
“I won’t,” I say. “So, you and Jake are finally going on a real date?”
“Yes… and don’t laugh, but I’m actually nervous about this one.”
“That’s a good sign! You never are. Tell me what you’re wearing?”
We’re deep into a discussion on hairstyles when I hear the front door open. “Sorry, I have to go, he’s home!”
“Good luck!”
I tuck my headphones into the pocket of my yoga pants and turn around, leaning against the counter. His footsteps echo on the hardwood floor.
Victor stops in the entryway, eyes moving from me to the empty kitchen. No Bonnie. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
A slow curve to his lips. “You’re alone.”
“I am. I decided to cook dinner for us.”
He puts down his briefcase and undoes the button of his suit jacket. “Any particular reason?”
“Not really,” I say. “Want something to drink?”
His eyes search mine, but then he nods. “Yes. I’ll get it for us. Wine?”
“Sure.”
He passes by me, and then, as if he catches himself, he stops to press a kiss to my temple. The affectionate touch sends heat to my cheeks.