Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Interesting.”
“No, it’s not. Not for you, anyway.” I toyed with the limitless card inside my pocket. “You know, if I really overspent, you could’ve canceled the card. I’m surprised you didn’t.”
“It was the only proof of life I had.”
“You mean you’re not having me followed?”
“You slipped your security detail after the lunch crowd congregated around your table to thank you for treating them to thirty-thousand euros’ worth of overpriced Parisian cuisine.”
“If you tried their fricassée de coquillages, you wouldn’t find them overpriced.”
For once, and despite me doing absolutely nothing different to alter myself, he didn’t seem utterly appalled by my existence.
He stared at me with reluctant acceptance. Like I was a chore he needed to get over with.
I could tell whatever was happening here was completely new territory for him.
“Let’s start over, shall we? I have a reservation at The Eye of Paris. It’s on a terrace overlooking the city. You will join me.”
I rubbed my ear. “So weird. My hearing must be off, because I can’t seem to register the P-word.”
“Calling you a parasite seemed unfitting in this instance.”
“I meant please.”
I could tell I was driving him to the brink of throttling me, but I had to score a few small wins after he’d literally snatched my virginity with his tongue, just to make sure Madison wouldn’t beat him to it.
He looked like he’d rather rub his genitals against a rusty cheese grater than say the word, but he finally muttered, “Please.”
“Let me grab a quick shower and put something on.”
Thirty minutes later, an off-the-shoulder olive satin gown with a trumpet silhouette swathed my curves.
“You look adequate,” Romeo grumbled when we crossed the lobby to the waiting chauffeur service.
“Stop, or I’ll swoon.”
He opened the door for me. I slid in, unsure how to behave now that we were in a so-called truce.
“Any special requests tonight?” Each word spat out of his mouth like it was nailed into his tongue.
“Drop dead?” I bit out before I could help myself.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a helicopter trip or jewelry.”
If my whole body could eye roll, it would.
Uniformed personnel welcomed us at the restaurant entrance and led us to an exclusive table upstairs. After we ordered, I clutched a champagne flute, watching cars zip across the Seine River, waiting for Romeo to break the silence.
An array of insults anchored my tongue. I had little to say without their familiar company.
The alternative would be to press him about his scars. A question that often occupied my mind. But I knew he wouldn’t answer.
The sour mood sure to follow would only ruin my parsley-butter escargot.
When our silence began drawing curious looks from neighboring tables, I finally snapped. “When we have kids, I’d like to raise them in Chap—”
“We won’t have kids.” Romeo snapped his napkin over his lap with a flick of the wrist.
“I don’t mean soon.” I shot him a murderous glare.
It wasn’t like I was smitten with the idea of him fathering my children. I could find more emotional intelligence in a key lime pie. More comfort, too.
“We won’t have children. Not soon. Not later. Not ever.”
“And why not?”
Surely, I hadn’t heard him correctly.
Forget the poor manners, absence of conscience, and general assholery. This was my dealbreaker.
In fact, I wanted just one thing in life.
Kids.
Four of them.
I loved children. Loved everything about them. The chubby cheeks, rolling laughter, and pure adoration.
Even on that Sunday Romeo had snatched me from my house, I’d spent my time at church playing with the little ones outside.
Grandmamma always said a house without a child was like a body without a soul. I didn’t disagree.
Romeo piled foie gras on his spoon. “Because I don’t want them.”
“But I do.”
“Good luck conceiving them by sucking my cock and having your pussy licked, because that’s about the only sexual encounters you’ll be having.”
A woman behind him choked on her pickled mackerel.
My cheeks flamed. “You mean you don’t want to have sex with me?”
“I want to have sex with you. There are few things I want more, Shortbread. Coincidentally, not having children is one of them, so the answer is no. We won’t have sex.”
I was so speechless, I didn’t even care that half the people around us had stopped eating and chosen to watch us like we were a movie premiere.
“Never say never.”
“That might be the silliest saying I’ve ever heard in my life. People say never to many things. Bungee jumping without a rope, hard drugs, pineapple pizza—”
“I like pineapple pizza.”
He downed half his drink. “Christ. It keeps getting worse.”
I sat back, trying to figure out what I found more unappealing—my husband’s personality or the snails on my plate, which tasted like they were 3D-printed.
“Why are you so against children?”
“Other than the fact that I detest them personally? They interrupt your sleep, lower your quality of life, demand every moment of your time, and are generally a crushing disappointment when they reach adulthood.”