Sydney
My apartment in Washington, DC isn’t really my style. It’s in a modern building with a doorman who actually bows when we pass through the lobby. But my dogs are there to greet me so the apartment feels like home as soon as I walk in.
Frank rears up on his hind legs and lets out an almost pained bark of excitement, then loses his balance and falls over. Nila, who’d been standing next to him, scoots out of the way, having to tuck her tail to avoid being landed on. She releases a low growl of warning as Frank flops around, trying to right himself.
Blue presses his forehead into my stomach and I drop to my knees, throwing my arms around his neck. He puts his chin over my shoulder and squeezes, giving me a solid hug.
“I missed you,” I whisper into his fur, breathing him in. He smells like soap. Robert took my dog to the groomers, or had someone do it. That’s not thoughtful; he probably just didn’t want a dirty dog in his place. My place.
Frank prances behind Blue now, whining, desperate for his turn to say hello. Robert takes pity on the giant-pawed youth and pets his head. Frank flops against Robert, his back leg thumping with delight.
I stand up and Blue fits himself to my side. I feel complete again with his solid warmth next to me. When Blue isn’t there, it’s like a piece of me is missing.
Nila moves in and I greet her with a ruffle of her fur and a nose kiss. Frank wags his way over to me, his thick tail thunking into the pier table. Robert puts out a hand to steady the lamp wobbling on its surface. I laugh and let Frank wriggle himself between my legs so that his head is pressed against my belly, his body framed by my knees. He closes his eyes and sighs as I pet him, staying still for the first time since our arrival.
“Good to see you too, boy,” I say.
“May I take your coat?” Robert offers, having hung his own up in the hall closet. He’s wearing dark slacks and a white button-down shirt that has a subtle ribbed texture. It felt good against his body in the car. Shut up, pregnancy hormones. Just shut the front door.
I slip out of the parka and Robert hangs it in the closet. “You must be hungry,” he says, turning back to me. “I make an excellent grilled cheese.” My mouth waters at the thought. “Come.” He holds his hand out as if he will lead me further into the apartment.
“I’m not going to hold your hand,” I say.
He drops his arm, his expression a mix of humor and excitement—as if I’m a challenge he looks forward to overcoming. I am a person.
Frank runs ahead, his giant tail circling with excitement, managing to hit both walls of the hallway but miss the table this time. Staring back at us, Frank walks into the living room and smacks into the couch. He turns to bark at his “attacker” then looks back to us, his tongue hanging out, an expression of accomplishment on his face. He put that couch in its place. Robert laughs. “I really like him,” he says, passing Frank, headed for the kitchen.
I follow, incapable of resisting my grin. Frank is hysterical. We pass through the living room with its leather couch, club chairs, and modern art. A wall of glass frames dark rain clouds hovering above the buildings across the way, giving the whole view a gloomy gray mystique. A black upright piano, shiny and reflecting back the cloudy day, waits by the window to be played. A copper bust of a woman sits on a stand smiling down at it. Is that Robert’s mother?
My thumb rubs against the base of the engagement ring…this is just weird.
Blue and Nila flank me as we enter the kitchen—it’s long and narrow with the same view as the living room. Robert is already pulling cheese and butter out of the fridge when I slip onto one of the barstools. Nila and Blue settle at my feet while Frank noses Robert’s elbow, trying to get a scent of what he’s making.
Robert looks down at the young dog. “Go lie down,” he says. Frank backs up and knocks into the kitchen island before turning himself around, making it to the other side, and lying down next to his sister.
Robert pulls a cast iron pan from the cabinet and places it on the fancy ass stovetop—it’s six burners and sleek. Robert hums quietly as he slices cheese and butters bread. “Tomato?” he asks me.
“Sure.”
With his head bent over the cutting board, the concentration on his face is something I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen Robert intent, thoughtful…conniving is his resting state…but this is domestic. He’s enjoying the simple act of cutting a tomato. There is a very subtle smile on his face as he lays a thin slice on top of the cheese.
The sandwich assembled, he turns his back on me to place it in the pan. The knife sits on the counter between us, shining steel stained with tomato juice. When I lift my gaze, Robert is looking over his shoulder at me. He raises a brow. “Considering stabbing me in the back?”
I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t use that knife, it’s serrated, not the right tool.” I grin at him and he laughs.
Just some witty banter between future husband and wife.
He pulls out a plate and starts humming again as he gets a glass and fills it with seltzer, placing it in front of me. I take a sip, realizing how thirsty I am. “Should we discuss the wedding plans?” Robert asks casually as he turns back to the pan.
“Wedding plans?” A new dread fills me. “You want, like, an actual wedding?”
Robert flips the sandwich before he answers. “We need to make it look real, Sydney. I can’t refuse to testify against you based on marital privilege unless we can show that we are truly married, not just a pretend marriage for your safety.” I huff a laugh. Robert turns to me, the black spatula he’s holding glistening with butter. “I will keep you safe,” he promises, his voice a low rumble of male protection.
What to say, what to say? “Look, Robert, I know you want to go all caveman on me here and protect,” I sit back to expose my body and gesture to the length of it, “all this feminine productivity over here, but let’s not forget that you are the one who set me up.”
He frowns. “We went over this in the car. There was no way to take down your enemies without exposing you—but I also covered you.”
“Without discussing it with me. Can you see how that could piss a person off? Me specifically? I am the pissed off person in this conversation. I feel the need to point that out because you’re frowning like somehow you are the injured party.”
“I have granted you power over me.” He waves the spatula around. “You have my possessions.”
“You have my freedom, Robert.”
An expression flitters over his face so fast I am not sure if I even really saw it. Was that…no…it couldn’t be. Regret? Robert Maxim regretting his behavior. Impossible.
He turns back to his pan. The scent of the grilled cheese is filling the kitchen. My stomach rumbles. “As I was saying, the wedding plans.” He clears his throat. “It will be a small gathering. I’ve invited your friends. Would you like to choose your own dress or should I?”
Robert turns back to me, holding the pan in his hand now. “You can choose the dress,” I say, all of my attention on the sandwich. My hunger is not to be fucked with.
“You’ll have to lie to your friends, the council, Mulberry,” Robert says as he slides the grilled cheese onto a plate.
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t tell them the true nature of our marriage. It’s okay to say that I’ve arranged everything, but you must let them believe you are choosing this.”
“Robert, they are not going to believe that.” I let out a laugh.
“You’ll have to make them.” He says it quietly.
“And why is that?”
“Because they will try to kill me, otherwise.”
I raise one brow. And I give a fuck because?
Robert places the sandwich in front of me. The melted cheese is slipping out of the sides and the scent of buttered bread makes my mouth water.
“Sydney.” Robert draws my attention away from the ridiculously good-smelling sandwich back to his face. “If they try to kill me, they will fail. And they will die. And it will be your fault.”
Ah, yes, there you are. I smile, relieved that the old Robert is still inside this new, softer version of my arch-nemesis.
“Gotcha,” I say, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. He watches with a satisfied smile. “Delicious,” I say around the food in my mouth.
“I’m glad you like it. I want you to be happy.”
Oh, I will be, Mr. Maxim. You don’t need to worry about that…but you should worry about me. I take another bite of the grilled cheese to suppress the maniacal laugh bubbling up in my chest.