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I excavate a set of keys from my pocket and select the right one. As I insert it into the door lock, I mumble, "This is how I live."
"No, honey, this is how you hide from life."
I stand frozen with the key in the lock, my fingers holding it there, and my gaze veers to my wife. For a moment, I can't move. My eyes start to burn because I'm not even blinking. She thinks I'm hiding from life. Perhaps I am, but I'm too old to change now. Too old, and too damaged.
Unlocking the door, I ease it inward just enough to accommodate my body. "Good night, Emery."
I shuffle into the bedroom, keeping the door mostly shut so my wife won't see inside the room. It's a bloody stupid impulse, but I can't help it. Privacy matters to me, and now that I've taken another wife, my options for solitude have dwindled to one. Emery invaded my office sanctum earlier. My bedroom is my last bastion.
"Good night, Rory." Emery hops up to kiss my cheek. "Sleep late for once. You need the rest."
Uttering a noncommittal noise, I shut the door.
*****
The next morning, I rise at five o'clock as usual. Emery will be disappointed that I haven't heeded her advice and slept late. I don't do that. Not ever. Not even the slight hangover I'm experiencing can make me sleep past five. Today, I do have legitimate work to handle. That gives me an excuse to avoid my wife. I hide—ah, remain in my office until lunch, at which point I ring Mrs. Darroch on the house phone and ask her to bring me lunch.
Occasionally, I get up from my desk to stretch and look out the windows. Once, I see Emery walking into the garden. She seems to have decided to explore the castle compound, and I'm glad for that. At least it will distract the lass from her barmy mission to improve my life. Later, I observe Emery inspecting the garage, which used to be a carriage house back when this castle was a fortress. Now, I keep a Range Rover in the garage, though I park my Mercedes in the drive.
What does Emery think of my wealth? She'd been stunned when I told her I'm a multimillionaire, and now she lives in my castle and sees all the things I've bought. The Mercedes alone costs more than a computer programmer could hope to earn in a year. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable, but I can't change the fact I have money.
Maybe I'm the one who's uncomfortable. Cannae figure why.
I spend the rest of the afternoon working. The sun sinks below the horizon, and I keep poring over documents that I've already examined twice before. Anything to avoid my wife. I've become a bloody coward.
Someone knocks twice and pushes the door open.
My wife traipses across the room with her head held high, as if she is the lady of the castle. Her confidence and the way her hips sway make my cock twitch. Though I've lifted my gaze, I keep my head bowed as I observe her approach. "What are you doing?"
"You ask me that a lot." As she comes up alongside my chair, Emery drops into a deep curtsy and speaks with mock graveness. "Your presence is requested in the dining hall, my laird."
My cock jerks again, though I doubt she can see that. I slap my pen on the desktop and battle to restrain a smile. "I eat in here. Mrs. Darroch will bring—"
"Not tonight." Emery grasps the top of my chair and forces it to rotate toward her. "I'm tired of eating alone. We're having dinner together, in the dining room, like normal people."
With my head at the height of her tits, I can't resist admiring them. "I take my meals here."
She bends from the waist to level our gazes. "You take your dinners with me from here on. No arguments. Listen to your therapist, Rory baby."
"You called me that last night, but I assumed it was sarcastic."
"It was—then." She brackets my face with her hands. "I've decided this nickname's a keeper. Rory baby."
"As I've told you before, I don't need a nickname."
"Yes, you do." She straightens and holds her hands flat, palms up, bouncing them in the air. "Get up. To the dining hall with you."
Grudgingly, I heave myself out of the chair and skim my gaze over her body while the blood in my brain swiftly pours down into my groin. "Why are ye barefoot?"
"I don't wear shoes at home, inside the house."
"You have no socks."
"How observant. I like being as naked as possible at all times."
Though I give her a look that implies I think she's barmy, I give in because I know my wife will not relent. I do need to eat, anyway. So I let her lead me downstairs to the dining room and take a seat at the head of the table where Emery has laid out my meal. She settles her bonnie erse onto the adjacent seat where she's laid out her dinner. A bottle of red wine sits stationed between our plates, uncorked, waiting for one of us to decant it.
I pick up the bottle, pouring wine into her glass first, then mine. I set down the bottle. "I see you found the wine cellar."
