Brooklyn, New York. My new home.
How was this even real? How was this happening? I felt like a bloody a mail-order bride, being delivered to my new life like an Amazon package. Guaranteed two-day delivery.
Nico and I were back to non-speaking terms. He’d had one last business meeting earlier that morning before we left Istria. Then he’d whisked me away on his private jet where we once again flew in stoic silence for most of the trip.
He’d conducted business, I’d tried to read. He’d made phone calls, I’d attempted to sleep. He’d looked too temptingly handsome in his tailored suit, I did my best not to notice.
As far as I was concerned, the night before at the club never happened. He seemed to be on the same page. I mean, I wanted to punish the hell out of him for his presumptuous, domineering behavior. But I knew that today marked the beginning of something we’d need to join forces in order to undertake. We didn’t have to like each other to remain married for the next couple—hopefully not more than that—months. We just had to be civil and stay out of each other’s way.
And not kill each other.
Me sulking over his crass words would do nothing to help the situation. When I stepped off the plane at the private airport just outside of Brooklyn, I decided I needed to put on my big girl panties and deal with my new circumstances.
I cleared my throat as we left the airport in the back of another town car. “So, uh, are we heading to your home now?”
He lifted his gaze from his phone to toss me a side glance, seeming baffled that I was even speaking to him. And rightly so. “Yes,” he answered, sounding a tad wary. “I live in an area of Brooklyn called Bay Ridge.”
I perked up a little. “It’s near the water?”
His finger paused over his phone’s screen. “Yes. Right on the East River.”
I’d always wanted to live near the water. I didn’t know why. The ocean, a lake, a river, hell, I’d take a pond. I’d just always liked the idea of looking out my window to a view like that.
I did my best to conceal my nerves as we traveled closer and closer to our destination. I didn’t want him to see how out of sorts I was, but I couldn’t deny my level of anxiety had risen ever since we’d touched down on U.S. soil.
“I hope you have enough room for me.”
Silence. “Sorry?”
Just as I’d watched the Russian countryside flash past the windows as we’d left my father’s estate, I took in my new surroundings. And the cityscape of Brooklyn couldn’t have been more different from Batya’s sprawling country property.
“Your house,” I clarified. “You weren’t expecting to bring someone back with you. Will there be enough space so that we won’t be stepping on each other’s toes?”
I wasn’t about to apologize for being an inconvenience. He’d agreed to my father’s stipulation of marriage—no one had forced him into that. It was really his fault we were even in this mess. Screw him if he was inconvenienced. I only meant that I wanted enough space away from him, and I hoped his house was big enough for that.
His mouth tipped up in the corners. “I think space is the one thing we won’t have to worry about.
Because God knows we have enough issues already was the unspoken part of that statement.
“Good,” was all I said, even as my hands continued to fidget in my lap.
I couldn’t help but be curious about what kind of life he led in the States. All I’d seen so far was that he clearly kept himself busy with his job. But that couldn’t be all he did. I knew he at least had some spare time because one thing I had managed to do on the plane was plug his name into a search engine and troll for him on social media.
Social media came up with nichego. Nothing.
He didn’t have a single account anywhere.
The Google search, however, had been far more informative. Apparently, what Nico did during his free time was date. Or at least, be seen with dates. Who knows, maybe he just screwed them after flashing a quick smile for the cameras and never saw them again.
Either way, there were hordes of women in his past.
Actresses, models, TV personalities, socialites, business executives…
You name it, Nico Rossetti had apparently done it.
Okay. So, my new husband was a manwhore whose only preferences seemed to be that the woman be beautiful and breathing.
Maybe he hadn’t been lying about his skills in the bedroom. I wasn’t a virgin by any means, but I had nowhere near the level of experience he seemingly did.
Not that I was planning on venturing into his bedroom anytime soon.
Or ever. Certainly not.
But it did make me wonder how he thought I measured up to all those other women. What his standards were and if I met any of them.
You don’t care. It doesn’t matter.
Before I knew it, we were pulling into a driveway and stopping in front of an absolutely breathtaking mansion.
Da. Yeah. I wouldn’t have to worry about space.
The place was huge. A cross between country French and Mediterranean architecture, the exterior had a combination of stucco and stonework that blended beautifully together. It looked surprisingly homey, which was entirely unexpected. I’d pictured him in a top-floor penthouse, bachelor style. A place like this required maintenance, upkeep. And it was completely impractical for a single man who traveled all the time.
When I followed Nico out of the car toward the front door, I realized I was actually excited to see my new home. I guess if I had to be kept in matrimonial bondage for a while, there were far worse places to be held prisoner.
“This is really beautiful,” I found myself saying because I couldn’t not. I was too jet-lagged to act petty anyway.
He looked like he didn’t know how to respond to that as he typed away on his phone. “I’ll get you the codes for the security system and the gate. There’s an app you can download so you can do it all from your phone.”
I frowned. He assumed I’d be regularly coming and going? “How am I supposed to get anywhere? I don’t have a car.”
Nico canted his head, appearing to mull something over. “I have several cars that will be at your disposal whenever you want to go somewhere. My driver can drive you around, of course. But if you wish to drive yourself, there are a few options to choose from in the garage.”
That lifted my spirits a tad. Maybe my confinement wouldn’t be as solitary as I feared.
Once he opened the door and led us inside, I couldn’t have been more taken aback. After learning of his male sluttery, I’d been imagining something akin to an 80s porno set. Tacky red carpet, animal print bedding and furniture, garish gold décor, and his personal brand of male everywhere.
But his home was…stylish. Relevant. Comfortable.
It looked like something I would design, honestly. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that I’d picked out many of the furniture pieces myself. The hardwood floors were of the contemporary rustic style, wide planked and weathered. The living room with large windows overlooking the bay was decorated in attractive grays and nude tones with notes of rustic orange. The décor was minimal, yet tasteful. Few personal touches adorned the walls and surfaces, but there were some framed photos that I’d have to closely examine later.
And…the view.
“Spectacular,” I whispered to myself.
I felt Nico’s presence beside me at the windows, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the sight before me. The skyscrapers lining the horizon and bordering the bay. The Brooklyn Bridge bisecting the river, dividing the city. How often was he here to appreciate this view? Did he even appreciate it? Or did he take it for granted?
“This place must have cost a fortune.”
“Not as much as you might think,” he murmured. “I bought it just before rates started climbing back up after the housing market crash. It had been foreclosed on, so I got it for a steal.”
A steal that had probably still been several million dollars.
“Follow me.” He pivoted on his heel. “I have business to attend to, but you at least need to see where you’ll eat and sleep.”
I rolled my eyes.
What a prince I’ve nabbed myself.
The kitchen was a dream, of course. My eyes went wide when they fell on the industrial-sized oven, spotless and gleaming as if it were brand-new. Did he have a chef or housekeeper who did his cooking for him? Or did he except his little wifey to make his meals from now on?
Because that so wasn’t going to happen.
Not just because I refused to play that stereotypical role. But because I was no gourmet chef. I wasn’t terrible, but I guaranteed I wouldn’t be able to cook most of his preferred American dishes. I’d mastered various Russian recipes, but it was nothing fancy.
“I stocked the fridge before I left for Moscow,” he explained, opening said appliance and glancing inside. “If you’ll make a list of what you prefer to eat and drink, I’ll be sure to get it the next time I go to the store.”
He went to the store? Himself?
Why I found that so hard to picture, I couldn’t say. He always looked the flashy businessman in his immaculate suits who flew on private jets and rode in the back of town cars. I just couldn’t imagine him pushing around a trolley, throwing deli meats and laundry detergent inside as he read off of a handwritten list.
That was far too domestic for the Nico Rossetti I’d seen.
“Don’t forget to include any food allergies,” he added, slamming the fridge door shut.
I ran my fingers over the cool granite surface of the countertops when my eyes caught on something through the back windows.
“Da idi ty!” You’re kidding me! I rushed over to the French doors that led outside to the back patio. “Oh, my God, it’s gorgeous out there.”
The kidney-shaped in-ground pool was a sight to behold in itself. But the opulent grotto that surrounded the majority of it was simply magnificent. Rocks and stones lined the edge, piling up into a waterfall marvel that spilled out into the pool. There was a raised jacuzzi area separated by more stonework. And the patio itself was surprisingly spacious, especially for what I would have expected in a city like this. A dining set sat off in one corner, a large conversation set in the opposite corner, and a fire pit in yet another corner. Lounge chairs with umbrellas were interspersed throughout the space.
It was a haven in the middle of Brooklyn.
“It ought to be,” he commented. “I designed it myself.”
“You designed that?”
His chest puffed out a little. “You haven’t learned by now? I have a varied skill set, legs.”
I turned away before he could see the heat rise on my cheeks. If he was about to bring up the incident at the club, I’d be forced to claw his eyes out. I didn’t need to be reminded of how it’d felt to have his impressive manhood pressed up against me.
“When I bought the house, there was nothing there but the pool, which needed a lot of work. There was a ton of space being wasted, so I decided to make better use of it. It’s heated, by the way, so you can use it year-round.”
“Do you go out there a lot?”
He shrugged. “Whenever I can. Unfortunately, work precludes a lot of leisure time for activities like swimming.”
I caught a hint of something in his voice. It sounded almost regretful, maybe even a little wistful?
He shook his head, turning to leave the room. “The guest house has towels and whatever else you might need. Upstairs is this way. I’ll show you to your—”
He paused halfway up the stairs.
I froze a few steps below him, my hand stilling in its slide up the sleek wooden banister.
I frowned, confused. “To my bedroom?”
Because he surely couldn’t have been foolish enough to assume we’d be sharing one…
Right?