Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I headed inside, bypassing the man at the front who greeted me. I already knew which table Camden had claimed. The one where we were most visible.
And there he was.
He was seated at the center table against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The panoramic view was stunning. Nearly as stunning as my husband.
He was pure control. It was outlined in every inch of his Savile Row suit. The broad sweeps of his shoulders, the tight lines of his muscular thighs, the sharp cut of the suit to his narrow waist. His hand cradled a glass of red wine with all the delicacy of a newborn baby, but I knew that his proclivities leaned toward destruction rather than comfort.
I forced myself to keep moving as his keen eyes landed on me in my skintight black Elizabeth Cunningham dress. They crawled over my long, lean legs; my slim hips and waist; and my perfectly perky, fake breasts—the best money could buy. Then finally—finally—to my face.
He was blank. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. What went on in that head of his. He was calculated and strategic in every aspect of his life. But I never actually knew what he was thinking. He never yielded an inch.
When I reached him, he stood and wrapped a possessive arm around my waist. “You made it,” he said as he pressed a kiss to my cheek.
I swallowed. “I said I’d be here.”
“Nice dress.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s new.”
“I like it.”
I stepped out of his grasp. What was he playing at? I couldn’t read him. I had no idea if he was just making fun of me. He’d made fun of my shopping habit enough over the last year. I didn’t need it on the night of our anniversary, too.
“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the table. “I ordered your favorite wine.”
The sommelier poured me a glass, and it was my favorite. I was surprised. He didn’t normally bother. Just let me order for myself. Usually vodka because being in his presence after the shit from the last year was excruciating in so many ways. I wondered what the catch was.
“You’re late,” he said after the sommelier left.
“Traffic.” I raised one shoulder and glanced down at my menu. A hundred-dollar steak sounded appetizing with mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. Too many carbs. I’d be sick as a dog if I ate any of that.
“I could have picked you up.”
“We’ve already been through this,” I said, scanning the menu for the salads.
The waiter appeared then with a warm smile to take our order.
“I’ll take the twenty-two ounce forty-five-day dry-aged rib eye, medium rare, with béarnaise sauce,” Camden ordered without even looking at the menu. “Scalloped potatoes and green beans.”
“Yes, sir. Excellent,” the waiter said, taking his menu. “And you, miss?”
“Greek salad. Dressing on the side.”
I offered up the menu. Camden’s eyes smoldered.
“A salad?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m not that hungry.”
He looked up at the waiter. “Bring her a steak, too.”
“Yes, sir,” he said before departing.
“I don’t need you to order for me,” I growled.
“You need to eat. You look like you’ve lost more weight.”
I rolled my eyes and flung my hair over a shoulder, taking a long sip of my wine. “Most people think that’s a good thing, Camden. I’ve been working out with this trainer, who coaches dancers from New York City ballet. It’s clearly paying off.”
“Well, I’m sure your trainer will tell you that you need to eat more calories to make up for the deficit.”
“I do protein shakes,” I said dismissively.
“Katherine…”
“You know I didn’t come here for you to be an ass about my eating habits,” I said evenly.
“Fine,” he snarled.
The conversation lapsed as we waited for our food. But I helped myself to more wine. I was into my third glass, feeling the first hints of a buzz when our food showed up. I accepted the salad first and let them put the steak down next to it. It did look good, but fuck, it was so much food. No way was I going to finish that.
“Are you excited about the resort?” Camden asked.
“Yes,” I said flatly. “I’d already be there if I wasn’t here.”
Camden’s face hardened into stone. “Poor thing.”
“I’m almost used to it.”
“Could you cut the attitude for one night, Katherine?”
“Me?” I asked with a half-laugh, stabbing my fork into my salad.
“Yes, you. Do we have to fight each other through this entire dinner? Can we not just enjoy ourselves?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Camden. Can we? Have we ever?”
“We did in the Maldives.”
I pointed my fork at him. “That was different, and you know it.”
“Why does it have to be?”
“You know why,” I ground out.
“Because you ran back to Penn?” he spat.
I stopped breathing. “And you ran back to Fiona,” I challenged. “I haven’t forgotten Halloween.”