Page 83

Best to stay as honest as I can.

I pull back with a soft sigh. “I want to have you again.”

His pupils dilate, but he stays in control.

The employee interrupts us with a wide smile and a string of excited Greek utterances. "I found the perfect place for you." She holds up a binder to show off a listing of a large apartment. "It's only around the corner, and it's far more beautiful in person. Shall we look now?”

I jump on it. "Come on, baby. I want to see if it's a nice place for a family," I say, to push him.

Only it doesn't work.

He smiles and places his hand over my lower abdomen. "Only six months until she's here." His voice is all pride and joy, like he’s already the happiest father in the world.

My heart races.

We both agreed when we were together. We didn't want to have kids.

He didn't want them to inherit his addiction or grow up without a father.

And that's not how I imagined my life either. What am I going to do? Drop the kid off with the babysitter, go kill a corrupt politician, pick her up on the way home?

But there's something about the look in his eyes.

I can almost taste our life here.

The two of us coming home after a long day of surveilling a target.

Him, teasing me, even though I’m late for work. Even though I have some to kill. And, of course, me, going along with it, letting him do away with my panties.

Then killing some asshole without flashing him.

Or while flashing him. I might as well make the man’s last sight a good one.

So, yeah, if he wants to imagine our little slice of domestic paradise, I can do that too. “We don’t know she’s a girl yet.”

"Of course she is. I can feel it." He presses his palm into my nonexistent baby bump. He looks me in the eyes and he plays my game. "She's a fighter, just like her mother."

The apartment is gorgeous, for a soulless American style place.

Open floor plan, modern kitchen, hardwood floors, a cozy bedroom, and a terrace with a view of the Acropolis.

Despite the lack of furniture, I can picture our fake life.

My stolen art on the wall. His leather couch and coffee table. Shelves of his crime thrillers and my plays. Matteo, in our big bed, in furry pink handcuffs.

What the hell am I going to do with him?

"Come on, darling. Look at this view," Matteo says as he pulls open the sliding glass door to the terrace.

I follow him outside.

The breeze sends goosebumps over my skin.

Matteo wraps his arms around me and I'm instantly warm everywhere.

Fuck, I’m getting way too good at pretending.

"What do you think?" he asks.