Chapter 10
LOCHLAN
She's quiet in the elevator as it creeps up to the penthouse.
But it’s not the angry silence from earlier. This is different. It’s the kind of silence that tells me she’s exhausted. Shell-shocked. Like the weight of becoming my wife finally landed on her shoulders and she's still figuring out how to carry it.
I don't try to invade her headspace by talking. My words can’t possibly help with whatever is clouding her mind.
She looks at me. “I just realized I don't know anything about where you live. What floor. If you have roommates. If you're a serial killer with bodies in the freezer.”
“Penthouse. No roommates. And the bodies are in a storage unit across town. The freezer's reserved for ice cream.”
Her lips twitch. The corner of her mouth lifts just slightly before she catches it.
She gives me a sidelong glance. “That's not comforting.”
I wink. “Just trying to be transparent.”
Adriana rolls her eyes and I can tell she wants to chuckle. But she doesn’t. Damn, I want to crack her so badly. I want to hear belly laughs, legit guffaws. Maybe I need to change my approach.
She twists that ring, faster and faster as the elevator climbs.
The doors open directly into the penthouse. I pick up her bags. She only brought two suitcases and a garment bag. Enough luggage for a week, maybe two. The rest of her things will come later.
I set her bags down and step aside to let her in first.
She stops two feet past the threshold and looks around.
“This is… not what I expected.”
I look around. It’s a bachelor pad for sure. Minimalist with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. No clutter. No photos. No evidence that anyone actually lives here. It pretty much looks like it’s been staged for a real estate showing.
“What did you expect?”
“I don't know.” She takes a tentative step forward. “Weapons hanging on the walls. Taxidermy. A throne made of skulls.”
“Oh, yeah, the skull throne is on backorder.”
She snorts. It's the most relaxed sound I've heard from her all day.
“I can give you a tour—"
Then I hear it. Claws on hardwood. The thundering gallop of eighty pounds of pure enthusiasm.
Shit. I forgot to warn her.
Reaper, my German shepherd, rounds the corner like a freight train. He's all muscle, with scars and one torn ear. His previous owners used him for fighting before I pulled him out of that hellhole three years ago. He looks like he could tear through a car door.
He's also the world's biggest marshmallow.
Adriana freezes. Her whole body goes rigid as he skids to a stop right in front of her.
“What. Is. That.” She barely moves her lips, staring at Reaper like he’s going to chew off one of her limbs.
“That's Reaper.” I step between them, not because he'd hurt her, but because she doesn't know that yet. “He's harmless.”
“He looks like he eats people for breakfast,” she whispers.
“Only the ones who deserve it.”
Reaper sits at my feet, tail wagging so hard his whole back end wiggles. He stares at Adriana with pure adoration. Love at first sight, apparently.
“Does he bite?” she asks.
“Only his toys. And the occasional pillow.” I crouch down and scratch behind his ear. “He's a rescue. The scars are from before I got him. He's been nothing but a pile of mush since.”
Adriana hasn't moved. She still stands near the elevator like she's calculating escape routes.
Reaper jumps to his feet, walks past me, and stops right in front of her. Then he sits. Looks up at her with those big brown eyes. Wags his tail hopefully. Adriana looks more horrified than I’ve ever seen her.
“He wants you to pet him,” I say.
“I'd rather not.” She clears her throat. “I don’t do the whole pet thing. Never really been into being licked or jumped on.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Sounds like we might need to work on those things.”
She shoots me a warning look. “Trust me, there was no innuendo in those sentences.”
Recoiling, I say, “That’s very presumptuous of you. I just meant that we need to get you acquainted with your new family member.”
“Sure, sure,” she huffs.
Reaper inches closer. His tail is going so hard his whole body shakes.
“He's not going to give up,” I say. “Just saying. He’s a persistent one. He’ll do the work to make sure you fall in love with him.”
"There is no amount of work he can do to make that happen. He's going to be disappointed.” She continues to stare at him without making a move to touch him.
But Reaper has no concept of rejection. He pushes his scarred head against her knee, whining softly.
She sighs, reaches down, and gives him exactly one pat on the head. “There. Happy?”
Reaper immediately collapses at her feet and rolls onto his back, showing his belly.
“No.” She steps back. “Absolutely not.”
“Looks like he's in love,” I say with a smile.
“Well, it's not mutual.” She eyes him warily, like he’s a ticking bomb about to explode. “Does he do this to everyone?”
“No. Just you, apparently.” I lean against the kitchen island. “He's usually shy with strangers.”
Her jaw falls open. “This is shy?”
Reaper wriggles on his back, tail still going.
“I’ve never seen him do this before. There must be something about you.”
She shakes her head and steps around him. “Maybe your dog is defective.”
“I think he prefers ‘enthusiastic.’” I nod my head behind me. “Come on, let me show you around.”
The tour doesn’t take long. We walk through the kitchen first.
“This is a professional-level kitchen,” she says, sounding somewhat impressed. “Wolf stove and oven, Viking fridge.” She glances at me. “Is it just for show?”
I give a half-shrug. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”
We leave the kitchen and head down the hallway. As we walk past a closed door, I say, “This is my office, which is off-limits.”
“Why?” she asks.
“I keep all of my work files here. All under lock and key to preserve client confidentiality.”
She nods. “Understood.”
“There’s a half bath here,” I say, pointing to a slightly open door. And each of the bedrooms has an en suite. “Here’s the guest room.” I open the door at the end of the hall and flip on the light.
With a hand on the doorframe, she looks inside. It’s simple with only a queen bed and a dresser. Clean but impersonal, like the rest of the place.
“This will be fine,” she says.
“The master is bigger. Better bathroom. Better view.” I nod toward the other end of the hall. “You should take it.”
Her eyes narrow. “And where would you sleep?”
“Here. Or the couch. I'm not picky.”
She folds her arms over her chest, her expression shadowed by suspicion. “Why would you give up your bedroom?”
“Because you didn't ask for any of this, and the least I can do is make sure you're comfortable.” I shrug. “It's not complicated.”
She studies me, like she's waiting for the catch.
“There's no angle,” I say. “Take the room or don't. It’s up to you.”
A long second stretches between us before she finally says, “Fine. I'll take it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See, that was easy, right?” I head back to the foyer to grab her bags, then carry them to the master bedroom. She follows, standing in the doorway as I put them down.
The room is sparse, like the rest of the place. King-size bed with gray sheets and matching comforter. A stack of books about car restoration sits on the nightstand. Nothing personal.
“You’re not really into decorating,” she says, her eyes sweeping around the room.
“I'm not sentimental. And I don’t like a lot of clutter.”
“There are no photos or art. Nothing that gives any indication about who you are,” she says.
I run a hand through my hair. “Maybe that says everything about who I am.”
She's quiet for a moment, still staring at me, still trying to figure me out. “I don’t know if I believe that. I think there might be a lot more there, things that you don’t like to share. Things that it feels safer to keep buried.”
“I thought you were a business phenom, not a shrink,” I say.
She shrugs. “I’m pretty observant. And I’m a master at analyzing people. It’s kind of an occupational hazard. Winning deals means you have to know how to read people.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have ulterior motives. Or agendas. I’m just me. A low-maintenance kinda guy.”
“If you say so,” she says.
I grab a pillow and a blanket from the closet, knowing she’s right and hating that she could see through me so easily. “Bathroom's through that door. Towels are in the cabinet. Help yourself to whatever you need.” I turn to leave, looking everywhere but directly at her.
“Lochlan.”
I stop, take a breath, and turn.
She roots me to the spot with that sharp gaze, the one that probably terrifies people in boardrooms.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she says. “For you to turn into whoever you really are when no one's watching.”
I hold her gaze. “You want to know who I really am?”
“Yes.”
“I'm a guy who was forced into this just like you.
Who doesn't want to be his father. Who's trying to figure out how to protect people he doesn't even know yet because that's apparently what the universe decided I'm supposed to do.” I pause.
“And right now, I'm a guy who really wants to eat ice cream on his couch with his dog and pretend this day didn't happen.
That's it. No grand agenda. No secret plan. Just me, ice cream, and denial.”
She stares at me for a long minute, then nods. “Mint chocolate chip?”
“Obviously.”
The suspicion on her face dims, just a bit.
“Goodnight, Lochlan,” she says.
“Goodnight, wife,” I say, testing the waters.
Her lips twist. “I hate when you call me that.”
I grin. “I know.”
Hours pass, but I don't catch a wink of sleep.
The guestroom bed is comfortable enough. Reaper is curled up at my feet. His breathing is even, his big body warming me. The city quietly hums outside the windows.
But my brain is a frenzied mess of thoughts. And I can’t do a damn thing to silence them.