Nicholas’s POV
When I woke up to the smell of crackling bacon, I knew I should be grateful, but all it made me feel was a mounting distrust towards my new wife.
As the eldest son of the Devereaux family, after all, the wealthiest and most influential family in the city, I knew I was honour-bound to fulfill this arrangement with the Sinclair family. The Devereauxs had made the deal before I brought us to this status of wealth, after all. But even though I’d done so much already to keep my true identity as heir of the Devereaux family and CEO of Empire Threads hidden, women had continued to try and pursue me for their own gain. Money, power, the prestigious name of Mrs. Devereaux…
I’d learned to be cautious around anyone who isn’t family.
I’d keep my true identity hidden from Lacey, because I knew there was no woman in the world who could resist the allure of being affiliated with the Devereaux name. If she found out who I really was, she’d never agree to divorce me once our year together was up.
Further, thanks to my own idiocy–that damned overpriced watch I forgot to take off before the wedding, a clear indication of the power I hold–I couldn’t trust Lacey. What if she knew already? What if she was just another gold digger, another mistress of deception? The towel, the nightgown, the offer of a midnight snack–she was reckless. Shameless. We may have been married in name, but I refused to let this become anything more.
She was making breakfast. She was making me breakfast.
I rolled over in bed and dragged a hand through my messy hair. I couldn’t get the image of her in that nightgown out of my head–the way the silky fabric fell across her body, how she looked like an angel swathed in blush pink. She was a foolish woman. If I’d had any ill intentions toward her, she’d be helpless. And if she was actually trying to seduce me, that would be even more ridiculous, considering my own personal standard of moral unrighteousness. I’m a good man. She’d be wasting her time.
I got out of bed and walked over to my closet. I had work to do that day. It was possible, maybe, that Lacey was different. What little I knew of her background, some of the experiences she must’ve had–women in stable situations didn’t respond to noises near their front door with a baseball bat in hand. But I’d learned from my own experiences too. I always had to be skeptical of the people around me. Every woman could be a gold digger, and every man could be an enemy.
I got changed, then made my way into the kitchen. Lacey–appropriately clothed for once in a sundress and denim jacket–was scrambling together a heaping skillet full of eggs, bacon, and potatoes. The ease with which she moved around the kitchen reminded me unexpectedly of my late mother. She’d always made me breakfast in the morning.
“Breakfast?” Lacey asked, turning to me with a bright smile. Her auburn hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Loose strands of hair wrapped around her face.
Just then, the toaster popped. She whirled away from me, wooden spoon still clutched in one hand, and placed two slices of toast on a plate.
Cold. I had to keep my tone cold. “Why have you made breakfast?” I asked her. “I thought I made myself clear last night.”
A flash of annoyance briefly twisted her features. “You did. You don’t have to eat anything. I made breakfast out of habit–this is what I do every morning. I have to take care of my sister, remember? Besides, I still need to eat.”
I blinked, dumbfounded. “Oh. Right.”
Lacey added a handful of grated cheese to the skillet. “You’re welcome to eat if you want to. Or not. But I’m hungry.”
I fell silent, watching her cook for a few moments. It was like an art to her, the way she moved about the room, the way she measured out spices not with any sort of utensil but with her heart–
Maybe I was being too harsh on her. Every time I tried to respond with coldness, she only met me with softness in return. It was like punching into cotton.
“Breakfast would be lovely, thank you,” I managed to say.
She looked up at me and smiled. “Great. That plate’s for you.” She jabbed a thumb towards the plate with toast on it. “Bring it over here?”
My eyes widened slightly. I wasn’t used to being told what to do. Still, I walked around the kitchen island, picked up the plate, and set it down next to her. Lacey spooned out a large scoop of the breakfast hash, then popped a slice of toast into the toaster for herself. I realized with some wonder that she’d put coffee on, too. I poured myself a full mug, grabbed my utensils, and sat down at the kitchen table.
She joined me a moment later, with a brazenness I found almost off-putting. I watched as she stirred cream and sugar into her coffee–I always take it black. She poked at the food on her plate with a fork, not taking a bite.
“So,” Lacey began slowly, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh?” I tried the hash and was almost disappointed to find it one of the most delicious breakfasts I’d had in a long time. Because of course it would be. “What about?”
“Seeing as we’re going to be living here together, and seeing as Tiffany’s going to be moving in here soon, too, and–I mean, you’ve done a wonderful job decorating on your own, don’t get me wrong…” she trailed off, seeming to grow more unsure of herself the more she spoke.
It dawned on me after a moment. “Do you want to decorate the apartment?”
“Yes!” Lacey smiled at me gratefully. “Yes, thank you. I just figured I could bring a little more… life to the place. Again, you’ve done a lovely job already. I was just hoping I could make this apartment feel a bit more like a home. I want it to feel like a home.”
“Okay. And you’re telling me this because…?”
She tilted her head. “Well, you live here too, don’t you?”
“You want to buy some household items for the apartment?” I stood up from the table and walked back to the kitchen island, grabbing a pen and a pad of paper. I could feel the weight of Lacey’s gaze upon me, tracking me as I moved about the room. I jotted down numbers on the little notepad. “Those are decisions you are more than capable of making yourself.”
“I don’t have to do anything you don’t want me to–”
I snagged my wallet off the island and thumbed through it. The cards inside glistened and gleamed importance, status, and wealth. I selected a more down-to-earth card instead, linked to a much more common chain of banks. So I’d been correct after all. She was a gold digger, just like every woman before her. She wanted things from me, and that was all.
A sting of disappointment tugged at me. I tamped it down. I’d expected this, after all.
I returned to the table, bank card and password-containing paper in hand. She could have what she wanted, then. For a little bit.
“You should do some shopping today,” I suggested, keeping my tone lighthearted and casual. “Spruce up the apartment. It’ll be good for the place.”
Would she ask about the money? I studied Lacey’s expression carefully, but couldn’t quite read her.
“I definitely will, yeah,” she agreed. “And I’ll pick up Tiff, too, if you’re ready for her to move in.”
“Of course.”
“Again, thank you so much for–”
With a flick of my wrist, I slid the credit card across the table. The item bumped against her plate.
I laced my fingers underneath my chin, watching her expression.
Will you take the money?
Are you exactly who I thought you were? If she…
