Page 28 of The Ruin
Monica leans in as he sits. “You’re very chivalrous. It’s nice to see a gentleman at work.”
Luka just smiles as he dips a chunk of lobster tail in clarified butter and shoves it into his mouth. I know him well enough to gather that he’s trying to avoid further conversation with Monica. But she’s still watching him like a hawk, basically eye-fucking him right in front of me.
Grabbing my champagne, I take a nice long gulp, needing to lubricate my vocal cords for the sass I intend to throw Monica’s way. She side-eyes me as she pokes at her salad greens.
“That’s an interesting dress. So few people can actually pull off something like that.”
If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I look banging tonight. I don’t take her bait.
Instead I smile at Luka. “I’m sure Luka will do a fine job pulling it off later. Won’t you, honey?”
He takes a sip of champagne. Monica laughs like I’m hilarious and puts her hand on Luka’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“We had a great shoot today, didn’t we? You have a really good eye for what lingerie looks best on me. That thong was definitely the right choice.” Then she giggles again. I fight back my nausea.
“Wardrobe’s a talent of mine,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of practice at Brooklyn’s shoots.”
“So true,” I say sweetly.
Undeterred, Monica’s hand disappears under the table. Judging by the way he jumps a little, I’m certain she put it on Luka’s thigh. He clears his throat and drops his hand under the tablecloth, and I see her take her hand back with a pout.
Luka and I make small talk while we eat, and I share a story about Mr. Kibbles getting into a twenty-four pack of toilet paper and ripping up the whole thing all over the living room.
“And the second I walk in, he sits down and starts wagging his tail,” I go on, “with this one shred of paper still hanging out of his mouth.”
The shoot’s crew members around us are laughing along with me, and Luka most of all—probably because he’s visualizing that look of innocent confusion that Kibby gives us whenever he’s in trouble. Monica laughs as if we’ve included her, her hand going back to Luka’s shoulder. Then she fiddles with his lapel.
“You know,” she tells him, cutting in, “I was thinking you should arrange a nude shoot for me next. I’d really like your creative oversight on something like that.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says noncommittally.
She cocks her head playfully and toys with his hair, smoothing down a lock of it as if it were out of place. My anger is starting to bubble over, ruining my appetite.
It’s so natural the way Monica touches him, like she’s totally comfortable doing so. And his brush-offs have been nothing but gentle, almost as if he’s reluctant to reject her advances. Instinctively I want to claw her eyes out for acting this way with my husband, but I can’t help wondering what all that casual touching means about the two of them. Are my jealousies founded? Is it proof they’re sleeping together?
Finishing my drink, I signal the waiter for another one. By the time he brings it over, Monica has sashayed off to the dessert bar. It’s no wonder she’s still hungry—I’ve seen her eat about two whole lettuce leaves and a cherry tomato this whole time.
I turn to Luka and say, “Monica certainly seems affectionate tonight.”
He finishes chewing a bite of steak, then looks me in the eye and says, “You know Monica. She’s always like that, with everyone. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me.”
Reaching for my hand, he raises it to his lips and brushes them softly against my knuckles, giving me the shivers. Then he pulls me in close, kissing my cheek, my jaw, the soft spot behind my ear.
“I want to take you to bed,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I murmur, feeling my core go hot and tight.
“Should we skip the cake and get out of here?”
“You read my mind,” I tell him.
Luka pulls me up out of my chair and spins me so fast, my hair goes flying out behind me. As we practically bolt for the door, I don’t bother looking over my shoulder to see if Monica’s watching us, if she realizes she lost, that I’m about to go fuck the man she’s lusting after. To my satisfaction, Luka seems to have completely forgotten about her, too.
Was I seriously worried about the two of them? It’s obvious by the way he’s been looking at me all night that he only has eyes for me. He’s hardly spared Monica a second glance.
We hurry to the room, Luka pushing me against the wall of the foyer the second we’re inside so he can capture my lips. It’s a soul-deep kiss that I feel all the way down to my toes. I’m panting by the time he pulls away, exhilarated by how much I want him.
Luka kisses me again, and we stumble our way to the bedroom. But when we get there and start kicking off our shoes, he says, “Just give me five minutes to shower. I didn’t have a chance earlier since you monopolized the bathroom.” He shrugs out of his jacket, kisses me some more, and then tosses it on the bed. “Five minutes,” he repeats.
