14
DALLAS
It was to my great disappointment that Romeo wasn’t here to admire my handiwork.
I’d stained his two-hundred-year-old restored sofa with French dip while watching pay-per-view. I didn’t even like boxing, but I was fond of wasting his precious money.
I hadn’t planned on messing up his place.
Truly.
It was never my intention. Then I saw how awfully clean it was and couldn’t help myself.
Where the heck was he, anyway?
It wasn’t like I had anyone to ask. I didn’t even have his phone number.
What I did have was his Centurion card, which I’d found on the kitchen island, along with a business card for a chauffeur.
Since I was one hundred percent sure the bastard hadn’t made a pit stop here, I gathered the elusive Cara was responsible for this sliver of humanity.
As a matter of principle, I didn’t buy anything wearable. I continued prancing around in my sleeping gown, even as it began to smell.
Hettie scrunched her nose, abandoning her fruitless attempt to erase my French-dip stain. “There’s a laundry room upstairs.”
“I know.” I spiraled my fork, reeling in pappardelle noodles. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I ate dinner with you two hours ago.” Her eyes followed the arrabbiata sauce as it splashed onto my gown, followed by the wool upholstery. “Aren’t you worried Romeo will flip out when he sees”—she twirled her finger—“all this?”
“Nope.”
“Are you guys in a fight?”
If this is a fight, World War II was a neighbor dispute.
Sensing my mood, she stood, returning with an expensive bottle of champagne. “We can get drunk to forget about our woes.”
I shoved pasta down my throat. “So, I can continue to remember them tomorrow, but with a hangover?”
“Point taken.”
At midnight, Hettie left me to simmer in my thoughts.
Violent fury eclipsed the relief of not having to deal with Romeo. How dare he lock me in his mansion and continue to live his best villainous life?
In lieu of a fiancé to take my anger out on, every single item in his bedroom and office was at my mercy.
I left no stone unturned in my bid to discover more about the man who had waltzed into my life in an expensive tux and turned it upside down just because it suited him.
I spent the entire night sifting through paperwork in his study, going item by item, and putting it back in non-chronological order, just to mess with his psyche.
By the time the sun crested the sky, I’d learned a few things about my future husband:
1) He was exceptionally, alarmingly, obnoxiously good at making money. His talent of turning a dime into a Benjamin was unmatched.
2) For the past few months, Senior had pressured him into marriage in exchange for the CEO position at Costa Industries, following Senior’s impending retirement.
3) The unfriendly, terse email exchanges between Romeo and his father also included harsh words about the Licht family. The Costas were intimidated, and I was their way to up the ante in the battle.
Satisfied that I’d put a dent in my research, I stopped by the kitchen to inhale Hettie’s blueberry and pecan waffles before retiring to my room for a nap.
The following evening, I sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Hettie, slurping Chai tea she’d brought from Darjeeling.
“Does he usually sleep out of the house?”
In front of us, a news segment danced across the screen. Something about a ring of brazen daylight robbers, who crashed restaurants and luxury stores, robbing the DMV’s wealthiest.
“Not usually.” Hettie sank into the cushions. “Sometimes, when he pulls really late nights, he stays in his Woodley Park penthouse. But he doesn’t like his schedule out of whack. He’s kind of peculiar about his meals staying the same.”
So…Romeo had an apartment in D.C. Another piece of information certain to come in handy.
“Why?” Hettie grinned, bumping our shoulders. “Missing your dreamboat?”
If by dreamboat you mean the Titanic, then…still no.
I hadn’t confided in Hettie about the nature of my relationship with Romeo. Though it didn’t take a degree in neuroscience to put two and two together.
I smiled at her question. “I can’t wait to see him again.”
This part wasn’t even a lie.
Next time I met Romeo, I’d remind him of my existence.
Loudly. Messily. And unapologetically.