Chapter 1
Gray sweatpants clinging to my thighs, I run up the steps and enter my house, my butler, Gerald, quietly closing the door behind me.
I head straight for the kitchen, where my housekeeper is pouring milk into my coffee cup.
She places it on the table and pulls out a chair for me, her unruly hair tucked neatly under an elaborate wrap.
A strand escaped, and I tuck it under the scarf, then kiss her forehead. “You taking off?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Anytime.”
Mika’s husband’s cancer advanced rapidly, and she’s worked all through the year of it, never once mentioning she’s dealing with personal stuff. The second I found out, I placed her on leave until she’s ready to return. Unfortunately, it won’t be long before she returns.
“Call me,” I say, then hydrate after my run before sitting down for my morning coffee.
Mika’s already gone out the door, and I didn’t hear a response. I open the window. “Mika!”
She startles and turns.
I smile. “I said call me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t yes sir me and then not call.”
She salutes. I shake my head. Mika has a penchant for taking on everyone’s problems, including her son’s, daughter’s, and her niece’s daughter.
Case in point, she took custody of her niece’s five-year-old a few months ago.
I’ve taken it upon myself to take care of Mika.
It’s only natural. I’m her boss, and she’s worked for me for over a decade.
“She won’t call,” Gerald says from the counter as I sit at the table.
I eye him over my coffee cup and sip. Mmmm. Hazelnut creamer this morning.
“Do you want to cover the lawyer fees from the child custody mess?” he asks.
“Have I not offered to cover them?”
“Not yet.”
He takes care of the house and the people in it, making me look good and charitable.
Which I am for the right people, just not all the people.
I don’t have time for all the people requiring my time, and if it’s not related to business, I’ll likely forget and regret it later.
I don’t want to regret, and Gerald knows that. “Thank you, Gerald.”
He nods. “Anytime, sir.”
Opening my laptop, I sip my coffee.
Gerald clears his throat, folding his wrinkled hands in front of him.
“Is there something else?” I ask while checking my email.
“Ms. Hellway is well.”
I lean back, put the cup down, and cross my arms over my chest. “And?”
“And nothing, sir.” Gerald exits the kitchen.
“When does she normally come down?” I ask.
“Around eight.”
Good. I’ll get some work done before my wife of three weeks joins me. A day after our wedding, I left for Japan for a business trip I scheduled over a year ago, which gave her the house for herself so that she could enjoy it in solitude and get to know everyone.
For both of us, our wedding was sudden, and I felt we needed a bit of time apart to process and adjust, namely accept we’re a married couple.
Since she’s the Italian Mafia princess, used to luxury and people doing her bidding, I wonder if she found the house, the grounds, and my staff pleasing.
I check the time. Around seven in the morning. I move on to checking my emails, and because many of them are follow-ups that don’t require much thought, my mind scrolls through them while I’m actively thinking about eight o’clock and what the fuck I’m supposed to do with my wife.
She’s half my age.
We have nothing in common.
And I’m leaving for another trip tomorrow, a weeklong conference where I’ll network with other business owners and not actually attend for the wisdom of the conference. Most of us don’t.
Maybe I’ll have breakfast at home today.
Oh. I stop browsing my email. Good idea.
Maybe my wife and I can eat breakfast together.
One of us is gonna have to cook it. She’ll be sorry if it’s me.
I’ve not touched a pan or a spatula since I was eleven, when Mom left for a dentist appointment while my two younger brothers stared at me over an empty table.
I tried feeding them cereal, but they wanted eggs, and I didn’t have it in me to argue with a pair of whiny and hangry twin boys.
Hmm. Maybe my wife and I can go out for breakfast. Is there any business I can finish over breakfast? I check my emails. There’s one. A potential offer for a business I want to buy, repair, and then resell for at least ten times the original price.
I dial Bishop, one of my two brothers, who deals with acquisitions.
His face pops up on the screen, one eye open, the other still trying to unglue its eyelid.
“Rise and shine,” I announce.
“It’s six.”
“Seven. Listen, I’m gonna take over the seller I handed you last month.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Bishop is much more laid-back and easier to deal with than his twin, my other brother, Blake who hates any change of plans.
“How’s married life?” Bishop asks.
I wouldn’t know. “Good.”
“And the dog?”
I blink.
Bishop chuckles and scrubs his face. “You do know you have a dog now, right?”
“Fuck.”
Bishop shakes his head. “In the weeks you’ve been gone, have you called home?”
“Whatever for?”
“To ask your wife how she’s doing.”
“Gerald reports on the house daily, so I know she’s fine.”
“Hudson, she’s not your staff.”
I don’t need marriage advice from a bachelor. “Arrange a nine o’ clock at Sunrise with the seller.”
“Call your secretary.”
I lean in. “What’s your problem with me, Bishop?”
“Did you know Blake’s wife is pregnant?”
I grit my teeth. “No.”
“That, Hudson. That’s my problem. Paying attention to what’s going on with your family is what everyone wants from you. Not only when shit goes wrong, but also when shit is right.”
“Fine, I’ll call Blake.”
“And check on your dog.” He smiles. “He’s cute. Let me know if she named him yet. We were thinking Prince.”
Red alerts spin in my head. “We?”
“Benny and I.”
“Benny?” My wife’s name is Benedetta. I glare at the screen. Bishop glares back. I lean in, almost making contact with the phone screen. “The fuck you calling her Benny for?”
“That’s her name.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“She likes to be called Benny.”
“Why do you know this and I don’t?”
Bishop smiles. “You’ve walked right into this one.”
He doesn’t say it, though. I get it. I don’t know this because I have no idea who my wife is, and so I better find out before my fucking brother steals her right from under my nose. “You’re banned from my house until further notice.”
Bishop chuckles. The camera moves as he walks, and I hear him pissing. He sighs. “She invited me for lunch today.”
“At my house?”
“Duh.”
“What the fuck?”
“Probably didn’t know you’re coming back.”
Stunned, I stare. “Bishop,” I say, my voice a warning. “Better tell me you’re joking.”
He shakes his head, purses his lips, and strokes his five-o’clock shadow. “Gotta shave for my lunch date.”
“You come here, I’ll pop you in the forehead.”
He laughs and ends the call. I stare at the phone in disbelief. Bishop’s messing with me. He wouldn’t touch my wife. Would he?