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“I-is it too much? Too sappy?” I wince. “I knew I should’ve gone with?—”
He cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” Immediately, he replaces the Rolex on his wrist with the one I got him. “I love it. And I love you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and fall into his arms. It’s the first time he’s ever said it to me.
Instead of replying, I just sink into him and savor the feeling.
I was not prepared for that, either.
39
ARSEN
“I can hire people to do this shit, Laila.”
My wife turns to me with paint splattered across her face and the front of her overalls hanging off her small frame. More paint snakes across her tight white tank and the tanned skin of her exposed midriff. I want to follow the trail with my tongue.
“I know,” she replies, “but this ismystudio.”
“This isn’t a ‘painters, keepers’ situation. It’ll still be yours even if we get professionals in here to do the dirty work.”
She sighs. “That’s not the point.”
She’s spent every spare second for weeks inside these four walls—late nights, early mornings. I’ve had to deliver lunch more than a few times just so she won’t forget to eat.
Laila is pouring her heart and soul into this studio, and I don’t want her to be the only one.
“Okay, then.” I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over the only piece of furniture in the place: a stone table that’s been put towork propping open the back door. “I guess we’re getting our hands dirty.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m going to help you get this place painted.”
She looks me over from head to toe, eyebrows raised nearly to the smudge of paint along her hairline. “You’re wearing Tom Ford.”
“Your point?”
“I won’t be responsible for ruining those shoes.”
I shrug as I roll up my sleeves. “If I ruin them, I’ll buy another pair.”
“For the price of those shoes, we could pay to get this whole place painted twice. You can’t ruin them forthis.” She gestures to the wall she’s painting.
“‘This’ just so happens to be my wife’s passion project,” I say coolly. “And I want to do my part. Now, stop bickering and hand me a roller.”
She crosses her arms, smudging more paint on her elbow in the process. “Fine, but first, you have to take off your shoes. And your shirt. Also, how expensive are those pants?”
“Mrs. Adamov, I believe you’re trying to seduce me.”
She giggles as I stalk closer, already unbuttoning my shirt. “You tried to seduce me first. Who walks around looking like that for no reason?”
“Now, you’re questioning my integrity? I came here to help my wife—nothing more.”
“Oh, in that case—” She presses a hand to my bare stomach as she reaches around me for a roller. “Let’s get to work.”
I swat the roller back to the plastic-covered floor. “I can’t work now. You’ve stripped me out of my painting clothes.”
“That’s not a problem.” In a flash, she swipes her roller down my chest, leaving a streak of blue paint in its wake.
