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She smiled then, a small, genuine smile that lit up her face. "Join the club. Isn't that how you Americans say it?"
I felt my heart lighten a little. I wasn't the only clueless one in this marriage. "Do you know whatyouwant?"
She put a hand on her stomach, and I felt something pulse inside me, something I recognized as possessiveness. I wanted to put my hand on hers, on her stomach. I wanted to feel our baby.
"Can you feel her?" I whispered.
"Her?"
I shrugged. "When I think of the baby, I think of a mini you. Pretty and cute, with curly hair and dark eyes."
"Oui?" Her eyes lit up. "I think of a miniyou."
"Let's hope not," I replied honestly. "I'd much rather our baby be beautiful like you."
"You think I'm beautiful?"
I blinked. "Stunning," I revealed.
"I think you're very handsome," she said shyly.
Me?I was a son of a bitch and a hard ass. I was a nasty piece of work. No one had ever called mehandsome. Well, except for escorts, but I paid them, so what the hell else would they say.
"You moved your things into my…ourbedroom." My heart was beating fast now. Did she want a real marriage? Probably. It was just that I hadn't given it much thought. I was marrying the woman pregnant with my baby whose father was a criminal with a gun—but I hadn't considered the ramifications of a marriage.
She seemed uneasy, and I wondered if I'd said the wrong thing. "It needs…a little color."
"The bedroom?"
She nodded.
I sighed in relief. "You can decorate it any way you want. Whatever you want is fine with me."
"Our styles are very different."
"I have no style," I blurted out. "This is all Madame Lefèvre and some interior designer Mom hired."
"You can't have no style." She furrowed her brows.
"I guess. I just I don't know what my style is. I grew up in my parents’ home and then lived in furnished apartments and hotel suites. This is the first place I've owned. Not the company, just me." I looked around and felt no connection to this apartment at all.
"What do you like?" she probed.
I thought about it and shrugged. "Hotels."
"Your place looks like a hotel." She looked through to the formal dining room past the wide doors of the kitchen.
I drank some wine. "Elsa, I don't spend a lot of time here. I travel a lot. I usually stay at the Ritz where there's room service and—"
"Escorts?"
I nodded. "Yeah, that too."
"Will you…ah…still…ah—"
"No," I immediately said. I was all kinds of an asshole, but I wouldn't cheat on my wife. Hell fucking no. "I haven't been with anyone since you."
Her eyes went wide. "What? Why? You got hurt or something?"
