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“I know who it is, Stella. What’s up?”
“I was wondering what time you’re going to be home.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m cooking dinner.”
She was playing the wife role, and it didn’t sit well with me.
“Honestly, I have no idea what time I’ll be home. I have a lot of work to do.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you when I see you. Bye, Miles.” She hung up.
“I heard that,” Isla said, standing in the doorway. “Maybe she wanted to do something nice, and you just dismissed it.”
I cocked my head at her.
“She doesn’t need to cook me dinner. I can get my own. Shut my door.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled the door shut.
Sighing, I picked up my phone and texted Stella.
“I can be home by seven o’clock.”
“Okay. Dinner will be ready at seven.”
* * *
I climbed into the back of the Escalade, and Sean drove me home. It was seven-thirty when I stepped off the elevator and into the penthouse. Setting my briefcase down, I walked into the kitchen.
“You’re late.” Stella smiled, holding a glass of wine.
“It was a busy day. I’ll go change, and we can sit down to dinner. Unless you already ate.”
“No. It’s in the warming oven.” She smiled.
After changing out of my suit and into more comfortable clothes, I poured myself a bourbon and took it over to the table.
“I made chicken marsala, risotto, and grilled asparagus.” Stella smiled, setting my plate before me.
“This looks wonderful. Thank you. You didn’t have to cook me dinner.” I picked up my fork.
“I know, but I wanted to. Besides, I thought we could get to know each other better. I am your wife and barely know anything about you, Miles.”
I stared at her from across the table. She looked beautiful like she always did.
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“Anything you’re willing to share.”
“Well, I’m a workaholic. Bradshaw Capital is the reason I get up in the morning.”
“I already knew that.” A smirk crossed her lips. “I saw the piano upstairs. I assume you play?”
“I do. This is delicious, Stella.”
“Thanks. Who taught you?”
