He leads us through a side hall and into a secluded area of the restaurant. Ash pulls out my chair and for a moment, I feel like a queen.
“I understand you’re newly married. Let me bring you our finest champagne. On the house,” the man says.
Ash nods. “That would be nice.”
Should I mention that I’m only eighteen? Nah. I’m going to enjoy this moment. It might be the only one I get like this with Ash.
“You seem well known for having been gone for so long,” I say.
“It’s not me. It’s the name. My father was well-respected.”
I nod. “My father has always talked fondly about your parents. I’m sorry?—”
Ash lifts his menu, blocking his face. I’m astute enough to realize his parents aren’t a topic of discussion.
I open my menu and peruse the options. I’m torn between the scallops and the lamb.
The man returns with the champagne, pouring us both a flute. I lift mine knowing it’s customary to have a toast.
When it appears Ash isn’t going to make one, I say, “To the house.”
He stills and then clinks his glass with mine. “To the house.”
We sip, and the bubbles dance in my mouth. I love it. I’m definitely going to stock champagne in our wine fridge.
“I’ll make arrangements for you to interview staff.”
“Staff?” I hadn’t even thought of that.
“A cook. Housekeeper. It’s just us, and the house isn’t so large that we need a full staff. Of course, your driver and the guards, but you already have that.”
I nod. It’s not like my mom didn’t spend a lot of time teaching me how to run a household. She also talked about being a mom. I want to ask Ash about that. Is he never going to sleep with me?
“Within a week, you’ll be in your new home.”
The way he says it makes me think he’s not joining me. And why would he? He’s got another woman.
I sit back, unable to keep my eyes from welling with tears.
His brow furrows. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re placating me. Patronizing me.”
His jaw tightens.
“You bought that house just for me.”
“I told you?—”
“I mean you don’t intend to live there. You already have a home… with Meghan.”
“Don’t.” His voice is sharp, and I can’t stop myself from flinching.
But I don’t heed the warning. “Does she get an art room? What about a nursery? God, do you already have children?”
His face darkens into menace that stops me from saying more. “Don’t ever talk about her.”
I swallow, for the first time feeling real fear. My hands tremble as I lift my champagne and sip.
