“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 ou
t 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?
Had I really been about to take Lexi to my room?
How had it not once occurred to me that she would need a room of her own? Work must have had me more distracted than I thought. It wasn’t like we’d ever slept in the same room before, so of course, she wouldn’t be staying with me in the master bedroom.
And I didn’t want her to.
Fuck, no.
“Yeah, to your bedroom,” I answered her curtly. “But we can have sleepovers in my room anytime you want.”
I grinned to myself when she muttered heated Russian under her breath, no doubt cursing me backwards and forwards. I really needed to learn Russian.
I briefly paused at the top of the stairs, mentally cataloguing each of the five guest rooms and determining which would be the most appropriate for her. Remembering the way she’d marveled at the waterfront view from the living room, I chose one of the only two bedrooms that faced the water. The slightly more feminine one of the two. The color scheme of the bedding and décor was softer, paler.
Pale like Lexi’s skin.
Pastel blues and creams complemented the light streaming in through the windows, making the room bright and airy. When my mom and sister Gia helped me decorate the bedrooms, they’d argued that at least one room needed to feel slightly less masculine.
The only problem with this room?
It was right next to mine.
And why the hell did I even care to give her a room with a view? Why did I give two shits whether or not she was satisfied with her sleeping arrangements?
Because she’ll be easier to deal with and more likely to stay out of your hair if she’s happy.
Yeah, that’s what it was.
She gasped when I opened the door to the room. Practically knocking me into the wall, she pushed past me and twirled around in a circle. Pausing in the center of the area rug, she gazed up in awe at the crystal chandelier above her head. Yet another design choice from Mom and Gia. The armoire and small writing desk in the corner were both constructed of a light-colored wood. The nightstands were mirrored, a look that screamed femininity to me. And there was a beige sitting chair placed near the windows.
That was the first time Lexi ever hit me with a genuine smile. The very first one I’d ever received from her.
Something weird happened then.
An invisible fist sucker-punched me. The weird part was that it didn’t hurt or feel bad in any way. It felt similar to…relief.
I was relieved that she liked her room? I mean, it certainly hadn’t upset me that she’d gotten all googly-eyed over the living room and pool. Her pleased reaction just meant that we could avoid another fight, and that was a relief.
I shifted on my feet, waving around the room. “Does it meet your approval? I know it’s nothing compared to the luxury of your pampered mafia princess existence. But will it suffice?”
That bright, toothy smile vanished from her face so fast, you’d have thought I’d just kicked her puppy.
Now, it kind of hurt. That invisible fist.
And this time it was more of a gut-twisting sensation. As if someone had reached inside me, clamped their hand down on my intestines, and strangled them.
I don’t even know what made me say that. My natural instinct was to be a smartass to her. To be a dick. It was my default behavior toward women because it served to keep them at a distance. It ensured they would never want more from me, never ask too much of me. It was a reflex now more than anything.
Besides, keeping us on opposite sides of friendly seemed safer.
She pushed her shoulders back, the blue of her eyes noticeably dulling. Definitely not as luminous as it had been downstairs. “I suppose it will do.”
“Feel free to decorate it however you wish. Just run any major alterations by me first.” I ignored her stunned expression and pointed toward the en suite bathroom. “The closet is through there. I presume you’ll let me know if it’s not big enough.”
Brushing past me into the room, she said over her shoulder, “You’ll get a bill if I have to knock out a wall.”
I snorted. “Speaking of.” I leaned against the bathroom door frame, watching as she inspected the shower and vanity. “I’ll leave cash for you to buy whatever you need. Clothes, electronic devices…feminine products.”
I cringed at the realization that there would be tampons inside my house. Christ.
“You’re offering to buy me things?”
Why did she sound offended? “I assume you couldn’t fit everything into those three suitcases, however large they might be. Feel free to purchase whatever you’ll need for the next several weeks.”
“I don’t need your money,” she snapped.
I saw her jaw clenching in the vanity mirror’s reflection. “I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, but for the time being, it’s technically our money, legs.”
Spinning back around, she planted her hands firmly on her hips.
Ah, there’s the stubborn and sass. For a second there, I thought she’d packed them away for the winter.
“I won’t be kept by a man. You should know that right now.”
I scrubbed my hand down my face, weariness setting in. “Jesus, is that what you think I’m doing?”
“This isn’t a real marriage. There’s no need for you to pay for me.”
I pushed off the door frame on a surge of frustration. My long legs ate up the distance between us. I stopped just short of thrusting her up against the sink with my hips. “You’re no more or less trapped in this situation than I am,” I rasped. “Neither of us want it, neither of us are happy about it. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that we’re bound together for the duration of this deal. You’re my responsibility, which means I buy whatever shit you need. That’s part of my job here.”
“There you go again,” she mused. “Sounding almost honorable.”
I sneered at the implication. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn soon enough that it’s quite the opposite.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I pounded back toward the door. “I’ll leave cash and my business card with my cell number on the kitchen counter.”
“You’re leaving?”
Was that disappointment I heard?
No, never. Probably just nerves. She’d been trying to hide them all day.
“I told you I have business.”
“At seven o’clock at night?”
I glanced back at her, grinning crookedly. “Already the nagging wife?”
She looked away, pursing her lips, but said nothing.
“My business never stops, legs. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone too long.”
“Lucky me,” she retorted dryl
y. “Have a nice night, pretty boy.”
She flipped her blond hair and disappeared back inside the bathroom.
This having a wife business was a giant pain in the ass.
I didn’t have any business.
At least nothing that couldn’t have been handled over the phone or through email. After leaving Lexi at the house, I drove seven blocks and pulled up to Cris’s penthouse.
When he opened the door, I wanted to punch the smug grin right off his face. “Damn, you look like you’ve already been married ten years, bro. You definitely work fast.”
I stormed past him. “You have no idea. The woman is about to drive me fucking insane.”
He started humming the wedding march as I beelined for his liquor shelf in the kitchen.
“Kiss my ass,” I growled.
He laughed and accepted the glass of whiskey I poured for him before pouring double—triple—for me.
“Jaz here?” I asked, referring to his fiancé.
He shook his head, bringing his glass to his lips. “Had to work late tonight. Got Fall Fashion Week coming up. You showed up just in time, too, because I was about to go to her studio and keep her company.”
I swear, the man couldn’t go more than three or four hours without seeing his woman. And vice versa.
“But I’m sensing I’m needed here,” he added, studying me with a shrewd eye. “Rough day?”
The smooth burn of the whiskey sliding down my esophagus was a welcome feeling. “You might want to grab a cigar for this.”
Following our standard routine whenever we had shit to discuss, we went out to his balcony patio that overlooked the East River. The main difference between this view and the one from my house was the proximity of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was right in front of us, twinkling brightly, towering in the night sky like a Manhattan skyscraper.
Taking seats on opposite ends of the sectional couch, Cris clipped off the end of one of his favorite Cohiba Behike cigars, flung his arm over the back cushions, and crossed his legs. Waiting for me to unload.
Booze and Bullets (Brooklyn Brothers #3) Page 9