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Mom and Evelyn are making eyes at one another, both melting into puddles over Arsen’s “generosity.” I’m tempted to ask for a time machine. Going to the boutique alone might have been the better call.
The owner leaves. Mom is still all smiles. “This was so generous of him.”
I’m almost tempted to tell her about the clothing clause in our contract, just to wipe the sly look off of her face. Technically, if he hadn’t done this, I could’ve taken him to court.
“That’s Arsen,” I mumble instead. “Generous to a fault.”
One look at the restaurant Arsen pulls up to, and I know I’m going to leave here hungry. The name is some Spanish-German fusion with both a tilde and an umlaut above the golden sign, and the women streaming in are wearing dresses tight enough I know they don’t plan to eat a single morsel. One breadstick and they’d bust a seam.
“Aaand… action,” I whisper under my breath, tugging at the empire waistband of the dress I chose.
“What?”
It’s the first thing Arsen has said to me since he told me I looked lovely back at the house. I might have believed him—I mean, the flowing white dress with gold stitchingdoesmake me feel less like a beached marine creature and more like a fertility goddess.
The problem is, Arsen looks like… Arsen.
He’s wearing a crisp button-down and fitted slacks, which is par for the course, but just the opportunity to look at him feels like a gift. Like this glimpse of gorgeous man is an apology for all the bad that exists in the world.
Expensive dress or not, I can’t compete.
“Nothing,” I sigh, looking through the window at the people waiting to get into the restaurant—my audience for tonight’s encore performance. “Let’s go.”
Arsen ushers me inside without a word, offering cursory nods to a few people, but the only person who gets his undivided attention is me.
His hand remains on my lower back as we’re shown to a table in the very center of the restaurant. Heads swivel in our direction; words are exchanged in hushed whispers. The table of women next to ours don’t even bother whispering.
“Are you seeing him?” one of them purrs.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” another cackles.
I think they lost volume control somewhere between chardonnays two and three, if the empty glasses on their table are any indication, but Arsen shows no sign of hearing them.
He slides my chair into the table and opens my menu for me, earning a chorus ofawwws from our onlookers. “What are you in the mood for?”
“A private room, to start.” He raises his eyebrows and I wave him off. “I know, I know. That would defeat the purpose of this whole farce.”
“Bad day? Feel free to vent.”
“Oh, don’t patronize me.”
He reaches out suddenly, brushing his fingers against my cheek. I have to swallow down the nerves lodged in my throat. “What are you doing?”
“Playing my part.” There’s a bite in his voice despite the adoration glowing in his eyes. “Parading around as a happily married couple only works if you aren’t looking at me like you want to eviscerate me with the butter knife.”
“Hm. Didn’t think I was being that obvious about my fantasies.”
He leans in, catching my attention with his green eyes. “Is that all you fantasize about?”
“No. The fork often plays a role as well.” I grimace and reach for the menu. “Let’s just order and get this over with, okay?”
He grabs my hand, rubbing my wrist with his thumb. “Come now, wife. I can’t make all of your fantasies come true if you don’t tell me.”
“Is having sex with me part of the façade?” I demand, ripping my hand away from his. “Unless you’re planning to release a sex tape, sleeping with me in private doesn’t really serve a purpose.”
“Oh, but it does,roza.”
“Yeah?” I snap. “What purpose is that?”
