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“How do you know I would break your heart?”
“Let it go, Paige. It won’t happen. I’m sorry.”
Foster let my face go and slides back to his side of the bench seat. Nothing more is said between us until we arrive at our building. I shove my feet into my shoes while he gets out first. He offers his hand, but I wave it away, not caring if I end up in a heap on the sidewalk. The last thing I want to do was touch, Foster. He backs away, giving me room to push myself up from the seat, but I still cling to the car door to steady my body.
Foster puts his arm around me, muttering, “For fuck’s sake, stop being such a mule.”
Giving in, I let him guide me to the elevator. When we are inside, he lets me go, and I press my fingers to my eyes, hoping that when I release them, the spinning will stop. It doesn’t.
Foster leans against the corner of the elevator, a playful smirk on his lips. I want to slap him, but if I do, I’m going to end up on the floor. Instead, I glance down at my shoes and wiggle my big toe.
“That polish suits you,” I hear him say.
“It’s black, like your name.”
“Yours too.”
“For now.”
Foster sighs. “This would be easier if you weren’t so combative.”
I tighten my hold on the steel railing on the wall of the elevator car. “Why don’t we just live our own lives? we’re two separate people, and that seems to be the way you want it.”
He saws his teeth over his thick bottom lip. “Is that what you want?”
“I think so.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
The elevator dings as we reach the penthouse, and I stumble out. Foster brushes past me down the hall, still wearing his overcoat. I hear the slam of his bedroom door as I am struggling to take off my cape without falling. The next few months were going to be hell, but I’m determined to see this through.
I toss and turn most of the night, probably because of the pounding headache that started up before I slipped into bed. Aspirin only took the edge off, and it was a wonder I didn’t throw up. Opening one eye when I wake, I check and see the red numerals on my bedside clock, indicating it was well after nine.
Sitting up, I massage my temples. What I need is hydration. I slip out of bed and pass on putting on my robe. The refrigerator is stocked with several types of water, so I choose the first bottle I get my hands on and slurp, ignoring the liquid dripping down my chin and onto my long t-shirt.
Once I finish, I close the refrigerator and yelp at a sweat-soaked Foster standing behind it. His damp black t-shirt clings to his sculpted chest and torso. I gaze at his muscles for a moment before looking away as he wipes his face with a small white towel in his hand.
“I’m sure you’re hurting today.”
“What do you care?” I growl.
“I care.”
“Bullshit.” I back away and notice Foster staring at my legs. My t-shirt went down to my upper thighs, and I just remembered that I was only wearing a blood-red thong underneath.
He also grabs a bottle of water, pops off the top, and tosses it onto the counter. “Believe what you want.”
“I will,” I retort as I back up around the counter and rush down the hall.
“We’re having brunch at my parents today,” he calls.
I skid to a stop and back up to the kitchen.
“Make an excuse. I have a splitting headache.”
Foster shakes his head. “This is part of your duties as my wife. How would it look if I declined or came without you?”
He was right. It was part of the contract. As much as I didn’t want to spend time with Foster, I like his mother very much. She is the one bright spot in this deal, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. Laura honestly seems happy to have a daughter in the family.
