Chapter 10
They ate at a bistro near the park. It was quiet.
Clarice cut Colton's steak into bite-sized pieces. She did it naturally, without asking, placing the plate back in front of him.
Colton 's hands tightened on the arms of his chair. He could have done it himself. Sterling usually did it before they went out. But he let her do it. It was... different.
"We need to talk about money," Clarice typed, after she had finished her own meal. "For the house. Groceries. Utilities. I will contribute."
Colton paused, a piece of steak halfway to his mouth. He looked at Sterling, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.
"I am your husband," Colton said. "I provide."
"No," Clarice typed firmly, pushing her phone across the table. "This is a business arrangement. I will not be a kept woman. I will pay for my own expenses from the contract fee."
Colton looked at her. She was serious. She was wearing a dress worth three thousand dollars and was arguing about splitting the electric bill.
"Fine," he said. "Sterling will set up a household account. You may contribute to it as you see fit."
They stopped at a grocery store on the way to the apartment. Clarice bought generic brand toothpaste and toilet paper.
When she wasn't looking, Colton signaled to Ford, who threw a jar of truffle pesto and imported olives into the cart.
Clarice frowned at the receipt later. She held it up, pointing at the twenty-dollar olives with a questioning look.
"Inflation," Colton said.
The car pulled up to the pre-war building on the Upper East Side.
They went up in the elevator. The apartment was massive. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, modern art. It was cold. Everything was black, white, or gray.
"It's... nice," she typed. "A bit empty."
"I don't need decorations," Colton said.
"Right."
He pointed down the hall. "That is the master bedroom. You take it."
"And you?" she typed.
"Guest room," he said. "Down the hall."
Clarice felt a pang of disappointment. She scolded herself. Rules. No marital duties.
She nodded.
She went into the bathroom attached to the master bedroom. It was luxurious. Marble everywhere.
She noticed something. There were no grab bars in the shower. No non-slip mat. The vanity was standard height, impossible to use from a wheelchair.
She frowned. How does he function in this apartment?
She walked out into the hallway. Colton was wheeling himself toward the kitchen. There was a suitcase Sterling had left in the middle of the floor.
He was heading straight toward it. He was going to get stuck.
Clarice opened her mouth to warn him.
But her warning died in her throat. She watched, her eyes narrowing.
His front wheels were about to hit the bag. At the very last second, he executed a flawless, sharp turn, his wheels missing the corner of the suitcase by less than a millimeter. It wasn't the clumsy turn of someone who almost made a mistake. It was the precise, fluid motion of a driver avoiding an obstacle he saw from a mile away.
Clarice narrowed her eyes.
"Colton!" she called out sharply, the sound rusty in her own ears.
Colton froze. Then, his chair jolted, as if he'd been startled. He fumbled with the wheels, making the chair bump clumsily into the wall.
"Damn," he muttered. "What was that?"
Clarice ran over. She put her hand on the back of his chair. Are you okay? I'm sorry, that suitcase is in the way.
She looked up at his face. His glasses were slightly askew. His eyes were a piercing, icy blue. They were focused directly on her, sharp and intelligent, before he quickly shifted them to look past her ear.
"I'm fine," he said. "Just... tired."
He pulled away and went into his room, closing the door.
Clarice stood in the hallway. Her heart was beating fast.
She looked at the suitcase. She looked at the closed door.
For a second, just a second, she could have sworn he saw it. And for a split second, she could have sworn his legs tensed under the blanket.
She shook her head. You're paranoid, Clarice. He's a paraplegic. He just has good spatial awareness.
She dragged her suitcase into her room.
Inside his room, Colton leaned against the door. He let out a long breath.
That was close. Too close.
She was observant. Dangerous.
He pushed himself up from his chair and walked silently to the window, his legs perfectly fine. He looked out at the city lights, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
You may also like
