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Her eyes widen with fury. “I was not jealous.”
“You met Chantelle.”
“Yeah, I met your fuck buddy.”
“She’s not my fuck buddy. She’s tried, but I’m not interested.”
“Then why did you keep her here?”
“She is the daughter of a business associate. She’s had some troubles. I offered her work. She’s a terrible housekeeper, but I was helping the kid out.”
She scoffs. “You expect me to believe that? You really think I’m that stupid.”
“No, I don’t. It’s the truth.”
Something inside me twists at how easily she thinks the worst of me. But then I shut it down, because I put a gun to her father’s head and forced her to marry me. Of course, she is going to think the worst. I gave her every reason to believe she should.
She shakes her head. "The lasagna was a mistake. Don't expect another one."
She disappears down the hall and into her bedroom. The door closes and the lock clicks.
I close my eyes.
Down the hall, behind a locked door, my wife hates me.
I realize it’s probably better that way.
35
SUNNY
All bets are off.
That's what I decide the following morning, standing at the kitchen counter, drinking my coffee in peace because Dante has already left.
If he wants to play dirty, then challenge accepted.
I'm angry and frustrated, and because I obviously know nothing about the man I'm married to, how could I possibly know for sure which parts of last night were him and which were the point he was making?
Which means if I'm going to survive this marriage, I need to understand who I'm dealing with.
And I know a good place to start looking for answers.
The forbidden room.
I put down my coffee, and before I can tell myself it’s a bad idea, I'm standing in front of the door.
I check the handle, but it's locked.
So I reach up and pull two bobby pins from my hair.
This is absolutely not a good idea.
But fuck good ideas.
I need information.
I bend the pins and insert them. I know how to pick a lock thanks to Matthew Dean, who taught me in the back of his mother's Camry when I was fifteen and thought bad boys were cool.
