Chapter 3
“Delicious,” I compliment her eggs and bacon and fresh-cut tomato and mozzarella breakfast she put together in the time it would take me to find a pan.
Benedetta lifts her gaze from her plate and waits to chew and swallow before speaking while dog drool drips on my shoe.
He’s already feeling me, and I’m feeling him, and the dog and I will be friends.
I fed him half my eggs. Good thing Benedetta made me eight eggs, though I’m not sure if she’s trying to tell me I look like I can eat eight eggs.
I was born broader than both my brothers, more like my uncle, John, who got me into playing football. In college, after I tore my ACL, I quit and shifted my mind to business school so I could run my own company someday.
Turns out Dad had plans for the three of us, and now we run our own things under one umbrella, Hellway Corp.
“It’s in the mixing,” Benedetta says.
“How so?” I wipe my mouth and put down the utensils.
“I beat the eggs a lot so they’re fluffy.”
“Is that why they’re perfectly yellow? No white in sight.”
She nods. “Juice?” She pushes orange juice toward me.
I lift a palm, shaking my head.
She sips hers, watching me.
“Gerald,” I call when I hear him near the kitchen.
He pokes his head inside. “Yes, sir.”
“You can go home now.”
My wife pales visibly.
Gerald walks up, looking confused, a dog leash in his hand.
I explain. “I declared war on my wife’s vision. This is a battleground. There will be naked bodies. You understand?”
Gerald nods. “Call me when you have declared a victory, sir.”
“Certainly.” I extend a hand, and Gerald puts a heavy leather leash in my palm. “Have a nice mini vacation. This won’t take long.” I glance at my wife. I think she might faint.
After I hear the house is empty of all other people including Ilona, the temporary maid, I grab my phone.
My wife hasn’t said a word. She’s quiet, asking nothing, only watching. I knew she would be. Quiet. Submissive. I could tell from the picture and from how her father described her. She’s perfect for me. “Wife, is there something you’d like to say?”
“I’ll walk the dog,” she says.
“We will walk the dog together. From this moment on, we are superglued.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
“But it’s Friday.”
“So?”
“Don’t you have work today?”
Smiling evilly, I show her my phone screen, which reveals that I’m dialing Karen, my assistant.
She picks up on the fifth ring. “Crazy morning to you, sir. Shoot.”
I chuckle. “Send the people waiting in the conference room home. I’m canceling work today and for this weekend and maybe for a year. Depends on my wife.”
“Oh, wonderful. I’ll let Jesus know you’re going to be a proper husband now.”
“Thank you, Karen.” She’s sixty-three and talks to me however she wants.
“Anytime, sir. Blake’s going to be upset.”
“Invite him over for barbeque. And Bishop. Maybe my parents too? Whoever you want. Make it happen.”
“When?”
“Next weekend?” I prompt my wife.
She blinks. “Sure.”
My wife will do whatever I ask of her. My balls are so tight and bloated, I’m gonna self-detonate and impregnate myself.
“Next weekend,” I tell Karen and disconnect, then gather up the dishes and put them in the sink.
I stare at them for a few moments before opening the faucet and rinsing.
“Do we have a dishwasher?” I ask. I’ve lived here for three years.
It’s my permanent residence, though one wouldn’t know that if they watched me in my kitchen while I try to be more domestic and therefore more approachable.
Benedetta stands, but I lift my palm. “Sit. I got this.” I find the dishwasher that I swore was just another cupboard at the bottom and load the dishes, then stare at them again before closing the door. There’s buttons. I press On.
“You should wait until tonight so it’s full.”
I press Off. “Got it.” Though, I think I might take my wife to dinner tonight. I’ll decide later.
“Let’s walk the dog,” I announce, feeling accomplished. I’ve spent over an hour with my wife, and she hasn’t stabbed me yet.
“Um, he doesn’t like to be walked.”
“What kind of a dog doesn’t like to be walked?”
“The kind that’s lived on a short metal leash with barbed collars, and the only time the previous owners walked him was when they wanted him to breed a bitch.”
“He had a problem breeding females or…?”
“He’s seven months old, and the females were much older and aggressive. They’d bite him, and when he couldn’t breed them the owners beat him.”
“Do we know who these owners are?”
“We do.”
“Who are they?”
She clears her throat. “Maybe if you try, he’ll walk with you.” She hands me the leash.
She evaded my question. I’m gonna leave it be and find the owners myself. “Let’s try, then. No leash. Our dog can do whatever he wants within the property.”
“I’ll be a sec,” she says as she walks out and climbs the steps.
“Where are you going?”
“To get dressed.”
Why? lingers at the tip of my tongue. As I had just pointed out, we live on private property where a dog or any humans can do whatever they want. But I sit back down at the kitchen table and decide I’ll wait.
I can’t believe my wife wants me to get a mistress.
Most guys might’ve been thrilled. I’m not thrilled.
I’m offended. Unless…unless she thinks I’m ugly, or maybe, and this one is likely, she thinks I’m too old.
Since my wife isn’t looking at me the way most women look at me—with lust or, at the very least, admiration of my handsome older-dude looks, my bet’s on old.
It doesn’t help that I look slightly older than I actually am.
I stride to the bathroom and lean in over the sink. Gray hairs show above my ears. There’s two wrinkles at the corners of my eyes when I smile. But I have a prominent dimple on my chin that women tend to notice first and fixate on. My wife hasn’t once looked at it.
My green eyes look almost gray, making me feel too old, even though I’m definitely not. Thirty-eight is practically the start of life for most guys.
The ones who married earlier than I.
The ones who already have kids in their teens.
The ones who have one or more mistresses and are “happily” married until they’re not married anymore.
Benedetta’s youth is affecting my self-image.
That’s not her problem but mine, so I’m gonna work extra hard for her affection.
I pull back my shoulders. “You are a sexy beast, Hudson.” I take off my shirt, flex my biceps, kiss one.
“Super sexy.” I hit my chest. “Smooth hard abs. The Manchester not United.” Women love the chest. My wife is a woman; therefore, when she comes down those stairs, she’ll stare straight at my chest, maybe want to touch said chest.
I leave the bathroom and stand by the door.
I keep standing there, starting to tap my foot, and check the clock. What the fuck is taking so long?
I wait. I’d rather not have to wait right now, but it’s not like I’m going places or having things to do. Jesus, this time off is gonna take some getting used to. I check the clock. It’s ten ten.
Wow, I can’t remember the last time I lingered in my house after seven.
Maybe a few years back when I caught the flu and Mika had to take care of me.
She told someone on the phone I had the man flu.
I googled the term. It meant I whined like a little bitch from my permanent position on the couch down here.
Oh hey, if I pretend to have the flu and get my man on, maybe my wife will take pity on me and take care of me. She’d make an excellent caregiver. I think she would actually give a shit when I’m down. Look how she adopted the dog, who’s eyeing me from the kitchen, tail wagging from side to side.
The second our eyes lock, he finds something to look at on the wall, but I keep staring and catch him side-eyeing me. I sit and tap the couch. “Come here, boy.”
Unlike a healthy dog, he approaches slowly, as if unsure why I called him. Most dogs I’ve had growing up loved lounging on the couch.
And leaving hair everywhere, but that’s neither here nor there.
I don’t gotta pick up the hair. Poor maid. I bet she hates that Benedetta brought the dog.
I check the clock and glare up the stairs. Do I hear a shower? I tilt my head. The dog stops and tilts his. Why yes, we hear a shower. What the fuck? My wife said “I’ll be a sec.” Sec is short for a second, as in a single fast unit of time.
I blink. It takes me a second to blink. What’s happening upstairs doesn’t take a second. More like half an hour.
I tap my knee for the dog. “Come here.”
He places his head on my lap. I pet him. “We are young and handsome,” I tell him and lean in. “We have the same color eyes. Bro,” I add to sound more hip. Hm, I like bro. “Gonna name you Bro. Not Prince. That’s gonna be my son’s nickname when I have one.”
Startled, I lean back. I want a kid. A boy, I guess. Some people don’t care, but I guess I do. Why do I want a boy?
I want to teach him things, like how to play football or run a large corporation or, well, how to live better than I have so he doesn’t regret not marrying sooner, not making time for his wife and leaving her alone for almost a month. A mistake on my part that I’m going to rectify.
As soon as my wife makes it downstairs.
I check my watch again. Forty-five minutes since the “I’ll be a sec.
” This is unreal. I tap the couch, but the dog won’t climb, so I pick up the heavy thing and plop him next to me.
Ears down, head lowered and lying gently on my lap, the dog’s trying to make himself small and unobtrusive.
My heart fucking bleeds for him. And when my heart bleeds, someone’s gonna bleed alongside it. I dial my driver.
“Welcome back, Mr. Hellway.”
“Hi, Jerry. How’s it going?”
“All smooth. No problems.”
“Good to hear. Listen, do you remember where you picked up the dog from?”
“Which dog, sir?”
“My dog. The gray mastiff.”
“I didn’t, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
A pause. “Sir, I never picked up a dog of any sort. Mastiff or otherwise. I worked at the office with Karen.”
I don’t know what to say, but I’ll come up with something. “My wife has not left the property since she came?”
“She has, sir. Just not with me.”
I lean back on the couch, and the dog jumps off but doesn’t run. He must sense the shift in my mood. I’m seeing red. “Who did she leave with?”
“She has a security team, sir. Run by her cousin, a man named Brando. She keeps him close, and frankly, sir, he’s acting like her enforcer. Most of our regulars have been recalled off the property.”
“Is Gerald aware of this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why hasn’t anybody told me this?”
“Threats, sir.”
“And you are telling me now because…?”
“You’re back in town, and I believe you’ll sort it out.”
“Thank you, Jerry. Stay at the office until I call. I will be needing your services as per usual.”
“Thank you for the reassurance, sir.”
“You did not lose your job. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” He clears his throat. “What about Nick and Laurence?”
My regular security. One of them is his nephew. “Call them back, of course.”
“Of course.”
Seething, I hang up and pet the dog again. The motion calms me, and it’s a good thing my wife takes her sweet time upstairs, because if she showed up right now, I’d have words to say I’d likely regret.
Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just fucking say them to her. No wonder she suggested I get a mistress and go live in a different zip code. She’s got her lover running my household.