Annabelle

Just as I hit send, the door opens and Elliot walks in.

His clothes are the same ones from last night—a dove-gray shirt and black slacks—only they’re rumpled now. His dark hair is mussed, like it’s had fingers tunneled into it—his or the brunette’s? I can’t tell. An ugly feeling unfurls in the pit of my belly, but I rein it in as viciously as I can.

Tight lines bracket his mouth, but that doesn’t detract from its sensual fullness. Dark stubble shadows his strong jaw.

It doesn’t matter what he’s wearing or how unhappy I am with him. The man is simply gorgeous. No, not just gorgeous. That would be his brother Ryder. Elliot radiates a sexual magnetism that short circuits my brain and heats me from the inside out. Whenever he looks at me, I feel like I’m melting while a fine electric charge ripples across my skin.

I’ve never hated his effect on me more than now. Why couldn’t he just be some disgusting asshole?

Wordlessly, he grabs a cup of coffee. Tired lines crinkle around his dark eyes. In spite of myself, I allow myself to feel concerned.

“Where were you last night?” I ask, my tone neutral.

“At Ryder’s.”

I start to cross my arms defensively then stop. I haven’t done anything wrong. “Who was the woman?”

He takes a sip from his mug, his dark gaze watching me over the rim. Wariness fleets through his eyes, as though he’s regarding a dog of uncertain temper. “Nobody you need to concern yourself with.”

His words are like a slap, and I feel my face turn red. If he wanted to make it clear what a temporary fixture I am in his life, he couldn’t have done a better job. But until the year is up, I am his wife. “I’m going to ask again. Who is Annabelle Underhill?”

“Nobody.” He places his mug in the kitchen sink.

“Really?” And I’m the queen of Egypt. “Then why won’t you call me by my name?”

His face impassive, he doesn’t answer.

His calmness only fuels my anger. “Who’s Gigi?”

“Just a name I like.”

“I don’t like it. I want you to call me Annabelle.”

“No.” He speaks that one word like it’s the only answer.

“I’m calling you A for Asshole until you acknowledge me by my real name.”

“You already agreed to be called Gigi. It’s in the contract, if you’ve forgotten.”

“How can I forget? I’m reminded every time I hear the name.”

He scowls darkly. “Why are you being confrontational? You didn’t object when you signed the damned thing.”

“Because you’re trying to change the deal too.”

Sharp lines appear between his slanted eyebrows. “How?”

Furiously emotional words choke me, all trying to get out at the same time and failing. He’s supposed to be a self-centered rich jerk who couldn’t accept the idea that I didn’t want to get on my knees and suck him off like he ordered me to. But that’s not all of him. He’s sweet to his siblings, especially his half-sister. His kindness to Nonny and being considerate of my future after the divorce have been beating at the thick wall around my heart. I can feel cracks forming and widening, and I don’t want them. Not when he won’t call me by my name or acknowledge that I have the right to ask him about the woman who called him “love” in front of me. Our marriage contract may come with a one-year expiration date, but until our divorce, I am his wife.

Stop wasting your energy and rebuild the wall. Make sure it’s so strong that nothing can break it. That’s the right path. But I can’t seem to focus when he’s in the same vicinity.

“Just remember, the only thing you’re getting out of our deal is my body.” I opt for the safest of the things I want to hurl at him, my voice taut.

A small muscle by his left eye ticks. “I won’t.”