Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Isla
“No!” I hurriedly say, but I’m blushing at almost being caught talking about him.
“Isla didn’t eat,” Brennan supplies easily. “Discussing food.”
“I’m fine.” I give Brennan a reassuring smile. “Really.” And since we’re going to my place, I can grab a couple of protein bars.
While Dorian turns down his shirtsleeves, slides his cuff links into place, then pulls on his suitcoat, I grab my small purse from the sideboard.
Moments later, a knock is followed by a female voice calling out, “Bell service!”
Brennan answers the door, and the young woman grabs the two bags that he points out.
I give a last, wistful look at the coffee pot before moving toward the exit.
“Need another cup?”
“I’d kill for one. ”
“There are to-go cups over there,” the woman says, pointing to the bar. “The cupboard right above your champagne bottle.”
I smile my gratitude.
Brennan follows the woman outside, and Dorian waits for me. “You can go ahead,” I tell him. Having him so near always rattles me.
“I’ll wait for you.”
Arguing will waste my breath, so I shrug.
Without being asked, he finds the cup and a lid and brings them to me. “Would you like me to pour it?”
“You’ve already done enough.” When he raises an eyebrow at my tone, I force a tight smile. “Thank you, though.”
Once I have my coffee in hand, extra creamer splashed in, he opens the door for me.
Brennan is standing next to a ridiculously large luxury SUV. When we approach, he opens the door.
I’m not sure I’ll ever figure out the relationship between the two of them.
Brennan takes the coffee from me. With his free hand on my elbow, he helps me slide into the back seat next to Dorian.
The interior swallows me whole, a cocoon of extravagance that presses in from every side.
Midnight black leather gleams under the soft sunlight, and its rich scent fills my senses.
The plush seat molds to me like it’s trying to hold me in place.
On the far side, there’s a sleek console that holds a chilled bottle of champagne in a silver bucket. As if I have anything to celebrate.
Despite the SUV’s size, the space inside the passenger compartment seems tight because of the way Dorian’s broad frame fills the seat next to me.
His thigh is mere inches from mine, spiraling me back to the way he felt when he was on top of me last night.
Suddenly the air is thick, and I feel trapped, like there’s no room for my thoughts to breathe.
Once I’m situated with my bag beside me, Brennan gives me back my to-go cup. “Thank you.”
After reaching across my body to fasten my safety belt, he climbs in after me, settling across from us in a rear-facing seat.
His knees nearly brush mine as he leans forward to pull the heavy door shut. The solid thud echoes, and I clutch my drink more tightly, feeling as if I’m suffocating in this ridiculous luxury.
I’m not accustomed to this. My family has plenty of money, and on rare, special occasions, my father would rent a limo. But we’ve never had a vehicle like this with a driver just sitting and waiting for us.
“Is this the way you always travel?”
Dorian glances up from his fancy-schmancy Bonds device. “It is. You’ll have a driver assigned to you. Just let them know if you need to go somewhere.”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. I have my own vehicle.” I’m sure it will look ridiculous in the driveway of Dorian’s home, but I don’t really care.
“Not optional.”
I clench my jaw. “I prefer to go places by myself.”
“Was there a part of not optional that you didn’t understand?”
So far, I haven’t been given a moment of privacy, making me wonder if they want me to give up my autonomy completely. “Listen, Dorian?—”
“Isla,” Brennan interrupts softly, leaning as far forward as his safety belt will allow. “There are reasons.”
I sigh. Of course there are. Related to Brennan’s jail stint? Or maybe because of their Mafia ties?
“Your destination, sir?” the driver asks .
Dorian looks to me.
How ridiculous that we’re married and neither of us know where the other lives. And I have no idea where Brennan resides. With a small shake of my head, I give him my address on Wheeler Street.
Thankfully Dorian returns his attention to his phone and begins to tap out curt replies to email. Brennan has his device in hand, but since he’s across from me, I have no idea what he’s looking at.
Because everyone else is occupied, I dig my phone from my purse. The battery is dangerously low, but it should last until I make it home and grab my charger and backup battery.
There are a couple of texts from my sister and Evelyn. And there’s a long list of messages from colleagues and friends from school. All of them are filled with surprise and demanding to know why I hadn’t said anything. And I’m sure a few might have liked an invitation.
On the other hand, they’re not the only ones who were surprised by my marriage.
I scroll through everything that’s unread. There’s nothing from my parents. My shoulders slump a little.
Instantly Brennan looks up. “Everything okay?”
Since I don’t want to explain, I fake smile. “Yes.”
He continues to look at me for a couple of moments before returning his attention to his phone.
How ridiculous am I for hoping either of them had wondered how I am.
Shoving away my disappointment, I read the messages from my sister.
Scandalicious has a whole exposé about you!
I’m not sure I have the stomach to read it.
Hope last night wasn’t too awful. I really am sorry .
At some point, I really need to understand what made her run. What does she know about the men I married?
I’m still lost in my own head as we turn into the small parking lot for my apartment on Wheeler Court.
As the driver parks in front of the two-story, faded 1970s red-brick building, my two men exchange glances.
“Are we in the right place?” Dorian asks.
“Yes.” No doubt they expected I’d live in a much nicer part of town.
But Wheeler Court is close to the University of Houston.
On nice days, I even walk to campus. Best of all, the small, one-bedroom unit is affordable.
“I research relentlessly and teach part-time,” I say, trying not to sound defensive.
When they continue to look at me, I go on. “This is what I can afford.”
“Your fucking father doesn’t help?”
“I’m over twenty-one.”
“No trust fund?”
I scoff. “For a woman who doesn’t do what her parents want her to?” My grandparents might have left it to me, but my parents have control over it until I’m thirty.
“You do seem to have a mind of your own.”
Is there grudging respect in his tone? Or am I making things up? Not that it matters. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, and frankly I don’t give a damn if no one else thinks so.
“You’ll be breaking your lease.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Arguing won’t get me anywhere. And he doesn’t have to know that I have no intention of doing as he says. I need the escape hatch, so I’m keeping my apartment, no matter what I have to do to make that happen. “You’re pretty dictatorial, Mr. Vale.”
“I most certainly am when it comes to my wife, Mrs. Vale. ”
Brennan exits first and helps me from the car.
The elderly couple from 1A are heading out for their Sunday morning walk to the bakery, and they stop to stare.
I drive a thirteen-year-old car with plenty of dings in it. And it looks right at home in the complex’s parking lot.
I wave to them, but I can’t force even the tiniest of smiles.
Everyone here knows me for who I am, not who my parents are. And this display of wealth is embarrassing.
I’ve been so caught up in my own head that I hadn’t noticed that Dorian is standing next to me. Surprising me, he acknowledges the couple. “Morning, folks.”
His words seem to jolt them into action, and they continue on their way.
I close my eyes for a moment. For the hundredth time, I wonder how the hell this can possibly be happening.
The men follow me toward the building, and the heel of one of my sandals catches in a crack in the asphalt of the parking lot. Before I can sprawl face first on the ground, Brennan catches me and holds me until I’m steady.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Christ,” Dorian bites out.
“I’ll be more careful.” Since I’m usually in sneakers, nothing like this has ever happened before. And of course it does while my husband is already being critical of where I live.
I gently extract myself from Brennan’s grip and continue to the metal steps with their chipped paint that’s curling at the edges.
Since I’ve almost fallen once, I grip the handrail. The same as always, it wobbles under my touch.
“Damn it, Isla. This isn’t safe.”
Ignoring Dorian, I start climbing to 2B. Behind me, his polished dress shoes tap a steady rhythm. Brennan’s heavier footfall is right behind .
They don’t belong here, any more than I belong in their world.
In front of my apartment with the faded red door, I fish my keys from my purse.
After I jiggle the finicky lock a couple of times, the door finally swings open into my narrow living room.
Inside, I’m greeted by the familiar, comforting scents of old paper and coffee grounds. The place is humble and worn, but it’s mine.
“Make sure Cally doesn’t get past you,” I warn them.
“The cat?” Brennan asks, closing the door and turning the lock.
“Don’t say that out loud,” I warn. “She thinks she’s a princess.”
Brennan grins. “She probably gets treated like one.”
I place my purse on a nearby coffee table, just like I always do, and I glance around, a little embarrassed by the chaotic mess strewn everywhere. When I’d dashed out the door to my wedding, I had no idea I’d be coming back with two billionaires.
My secondhand sofa sits against the far wall. My mismatched bookshelves tower beside it. There’s a TV on the wall, but I have no idea the last time I turned it on.
Do they see my sanctuary as something beneath me? Or just a grad student’s cave?
A blur of smoke-gray fur darts from the kitchen nook—Calypso, my little tabby rescue. She’s about eight pounds of power, and her fur has lovely, swirling stripes. She barrels toward me, her purrs rumbling loud enough to drown out the hum of the window-unit air conditioner.
Her soft head brushes my calves as she weaves between my legs.
I crouch to scratch behind her ears, and her pale green eyes half-close in feline bliss .
“She seems harmless enough,” Brennan observes.
But then those sharp eyes flick up, narrowing at Dorian and Brennan crowding the doorway. Her tail puffs, a bristly bottlebrush, and a low hiss grumbles through the air, as wary as it is sharp.
I freeze, half-expecting her to bolt, but she holds her ground, glaring at these strangers who’ve invaded her kingdom.
She’s been with me since the rainy spring that I found her, scrawny, alone, crying beneath the steps. I’ve only ever had women in my apartment, except for the building’s handyman. And when he visits, she hisses from beneath my bed.
Dorian comes closer, his broad frame shrinking the space. He glances around then crouches and extends a hand toward Calypso.
Calypso tenses, just like I do.
“Hey, little one.” His voice is surprisingly low and almost gentle.
Her whiskers twitch, but she doesn’t hiss again.
With patience that stuns me, Dorian remains where he is, waiting for the cat to approach.
Slowly she inches forward. After sniffing his fingers, her tail lowers, and the puff smooths out. She nudges his hand once, as if in a cautious truce. Then she retreats, still on guard but softening.
Traitor.
Without an invitation, Dorian enters the living room, and Brennan follows.
When Calypso spies him, her ears flatten, and she lets out another hiss. He moves toward the bookshelves, and she tracks him with her gaze. He doesn’t try to win her over, just stands there, studying the titles like they’re a puzzle.
After a moment, her curiosity seems to win out, and she pads closer to him. She sniffs his boots, then butts her head against his shin, a grudging acceptance.
I couldn’t be more surprised or happier. The fact Dorian and Brennan tolerate her and she seems to accept them makes life a little easier.
I straighten and brush the cat hair off my dress. Absently I wonder if she’s mirroring me—wary but bending to our new reality.
“Shall we get your belongings?” Dorian asks. “We have a plane to catch.”
“I didn’t ask where we’re going.”
“New Orleans.”
“Really?” I expected something extravagant, and I wondered if I’d need to grab my passport.
“We’ll take a longer trip when we’re settled as a couple, but I want to keep up appearances.”
Of course he does. The happily in love future senator.
Again, without an invitation, he continues toward my bedroom. With as tiny as my apartment is, he has no trouble finding where he wants to go.
“I’ll pack myself!” I call, chasing him down the hall.
When I arrive, he’s already there, with the top drawer of my dresser open.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He digs through my underwear and bras and pulls out one of each. “These will do for now. We’ll go shopping when we get to New Orleans.”
“Shopping?” I scowl. “For what?”
“Clothing. Lingerie. Swimsuits.”
Annoyed at his high-handedness, I prop my hands on my waist. “There’s no need. I’ve got plenty of things.”
“Not that are suitable.”
“Suitable?” How dare he? “I happen to like everything I own.” And I’ve worked hard for the money that bought them. When I moved out, my parents didn’t allow me to take anything that had been purchased with their resources.
“My wife will wear clothes befitting her station. That includes underthings.”
The man infuriates me. “It may have escaped your notice…but I’m not built like a model.”
He meets my eyes and seems completely unconcerned by the anger that’s flashing at him. “I’ve seen every inch of you, Isla. And I can guarantee you that I think you’re better than any damn woman in a catalogue.”
My breath vaporizes.
“And I will most certainly have…” Slowly, lingeringly, he sweeps his hot gaze down my body, then back up again. “Requirements of you.”
“Requirements?” I manage.
“That are enhanced by beautiful undergarments.”
“Are you saying I can expect a repeat of last night?” I’m not sure which incident I’m referring to.
His nostrils flare slightly. “The first time we were together? Yes. You most definitely can.” He drops my bra and panties on the unmade bed and closes the distance between us.
Suddenly he’s in front of me, and I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze.
When he speaks, his voice is low and lethal. “Would you like me to give you an idea of what I expect? Now’s the perfect time.”