Page 53 of Secret Husband
“I can cook! Don’t you like knowing I can still surprise you?”
“Sure. And don’t worry, I won’t mind something simple. I’ve been wining and dining clients all week and I am done-zo with rich food.”
“Just a light pasta dish. Nothing complicated.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He looked around the kitchen. I had sectioned off a part where I could cook, but it was still a bomb site with floorboards unfinished, paint peeling, cupboard doors hanging off the hinges. Never mind the construction site gauntlet through which he’d passed.
“Not much progress here, huh?”
Well, if you helped …
That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t expect Thad to give up his weekends to work on my dream. Maybe when we were engaged, he might feel differently.
“Tell me all about your trip. Who did you meet?”
He launched into a detailed breakdown of his various meetings and how amazing it was, working with all these rich oil sheikhs in Dubai, who were interested in investing in cryptocurrency. Half-listening, I added salt to the pot followed by the linguine, then olive oil to the pan with half a teardrop of finely chopped garlic.
“Not too much, babe. You know I hate when the kisses are too stinky.”
I didn’t enjoy that either, but I wasn’t sure I needed to be told.
I added a little extra. “I’d love a glass of wine, too.”
“Oh, of course, where are my manners?” He placed the half-drunk glass he’d poured a moment ago down on the counter and grabbed another stemmed glass from the rack. “Can I help with anything?”
“I’ve already set the patio table. You can bring the wine out there, if you like. This’ll just be a couple more minutes.” I threw the shrimp into the pan and attacked a lemon with a grater, imagining it was Alexei Nazarov’s superhero jaw.
As soon as Thad left the kitchen, I relaxed. These days, I was so stressed.
After dinner, Thad brought the dishes in while I sat on the patio and watched the sunset. The sky was a heady mix of vibrant oranges and glorious pinks, with ribbons of yellow fighting to get a look in. Better to peer up than down at the old deck, which was in serious need of repair. Once I had the kitchen sorted, I would start on this, or maybe the gutters, or the roof shingles. The metaphor for my disaster of a life was a little too close for comfort.
A pop that sounded like champagne being uncorked echoed in the kitchen. A few seconds later, Thad appeared with two flutes of bubbly.
“Did you open the bottle in the fridge?”
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
I had been holding onto that for when I signed Riley Thorne.
“But we still have wine here.” It’s not what he did, it’s why.
My anemic objection couldn’t stop what was happening. In freeze-framed horror, I watched as he set the full glasses on the table.
Moved his hand to the pocket of his Tommy Hilfiger shorts.
Extracted the ring box with a flourish.
I broke out into a cold sweat. Not now, not now …
“I thought about doing this at a nice restaurant, but you went to all this trouble, and the sunset is beautiful and …” He got down on one knee, which was a terrible idea because, splinters. “Lauren Yates, would you?—”
I held up both hands. “Thad, I have to stop you there.”
“W-what?”
“I have something to tell you and it’s important you know before you go any further.”
