the kitchen, trying to psych myself up to finish the lasagna.
“Let’s go. You can do it, you can—”
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The smoke alarm sounded, and I cursed, running to my pot of tomatoes. The water had all boiled off and now the tomatoes were burnt to the bottom of the pan.
“Shit!” I cursed, swinging the pot filler to splash water in the pot. But it was too late. Black burnt bits floated to the top of the pot.
“Fuck my life.” I dumped the whole thing down the drain then opened the fridge. I found the lasagna in the back covered by two bunches of kale.
Would he notice? I chewed my lip. Hopefully not if he were drunk enough.
I snapped a picture of the wine in the wine cellar off of the kitchen.
Grace: Which of these goes best with frozen lasagna?
36
Chris
The most heavenly smell greeted me when I was finally off the phone. My grandfather’s friend Horace had asked for a conference call. He had talked me up to another of his buddies, who wanted me to potentially manage their family’s trust.
Between that, my inheritance, and Nancy Holbrook hopefully investing part of the Holbrook Foundation’s endowment with my firm, I was going to be one of the top hedge fund managers in the world.
And it was all thanks to Grace.
“Wine?” she offered brightly, handing me a glass. She still had the apron on, snug around her waist, accentuating her hourglass figure.
I accepted the glass with one hand while the other reached to untie the apron.
“We’re supposed to be having a nice supper,” she said.
“It’s ready in what, ten minutes? I can totally make you come in ten minutes,” I reminded her.
“Braggart.”
I grinned at her. “You know you want me.”
My heart felt like it was going to burst as she gave me a small little smile.
This whole thing—her making dinner, me coming back from work, the wine—it was like perfect married life.
“You’re amazing,” I told her. “Thank you for going to all the trouble for me. It’s”—I gave a small shrug—“probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“It’s just lasagna,” she said, picking at her nail.
“It’s nice,” I said sincerely.
She gave me a strange look.
“More wine?” She poured a generous amount in my glass. I sipped it as the timer rang and made appreciative noises as she pulled the bubbling pan from the oven.
“Need any help?” I asked, walking over.
“No!” she practically shouted. “Just need to add a little garnish.” She sprinkled fresh-cut basil over the top.
“That looks amazing,” I raved as she dished up the meaty, rich lasagna.
“Go sit,” she said, shooing me to the table. A few moments later, she slid the steaming plate in front of me and poured more wine. Then she sat across from me, watching intently as I took a bite.
Damn, it was good!
“And?” she prompted, twisting her napkin.
I wiped my mouth. “That is literally the second-best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh jeez, I’m sorry I—”
I smirked. “The first best thing I ever ate was you last night.”
“Oh!” Grace stuffed a large forkful of lasagna in her mouth.
“Hot! Hot! Hot!” She fanned her mouth, spit it back out on the plate, and took a gulp of wine.
“Sorry,” she said, chagrined. “That’s gross.”
I tipped back my head and laughed. “God, I adore you.”
“Heh.” She took another gulp of wine.
“It’s too bad we’re married,” I told her, “because I’d totally ask you out for another date.”
She drained her wineglass then poured herself and me some more.
“About that,” she said in a rush. “I think we need to remember where we stand on this whole marriage thing. You have your hedge fund. I have my wedding planning business. ‘Ne’er shall the two meet.’” She pressed her two index fingers together. “We shouldn’t complicate our fake marriage. We need to just get the annulment over.”
“The lawyers are working on it,” I lied.
In reality, I had told the Svensson brothers to have the divorce paperwork ready to file in four weeks.
But first I needed to nuke the annulment from orbit.
Grace was still going to fight me on this? Fine. I could wait. I just needed a little more time to get her so hot and bothered she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands out of my pants.
“Though I do want to throw you on my bed, spread your legs, and fuck that tight hot pussy of yours,” I said elegantly while Grace choked on another bite of lasagna. “I absolutely understand where you’re coming from. And I agree. We should probably