Mom scoffs. "Our usual place, of course. Have you hit your head or something?"
My chest flutters in mild panic. I have no idea where their usual place is, but I can't miss the chance to grab onto this echo of my parents. "Right, of course," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Dad, can you pick me up?"
Thank you, brain, for braining. If he picks me up, I don't need to know where I'm going. Mental fist pump!
"Of course, pumpkin!" Dad's enthusiasm is palpable. "I'll be there at 9:30 sharp."
"Perfect." My limbs go weak when my ruse works without issue. At least they know where I live. I have no idea how long the original kept her distance from them, but maybe it was only recently.
"Hmph," Mom grumbles. "Don't be late this time."
"I won't," I promise, even as I wonder how often the other Vivienne was late. "I'll see you on Saturday."
"How cozy," a now-familiar voice declares, disapproval underscoring every syllable as I hang up the phone.
My heart leaps into my throat as I spot Knox's imposing figure in the doorway. The phone slips from my fingers, landing with a soft thump on the bedspread.
"Knox! I thought—didn't you say you were working late?"
He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe with a casual grace that belies the tension in his shoulders. The movement draws my eyes to the breadth of his chest, the way his shirt stretches across well-defined muscles. He's in a suit, but the jacket is missing and his sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled over his forearms, leaving him looking downright delectable.
What the hell. This is so unfair.
A strange flutter tickles my belly, and I swallow hard.
Is this nonchalant pose a habit of his? It's unfair if it is, because I'm over here trying to plot our divorce while he just waltzes around looking like a living sex symbol.
The doorway frames him perfectly, its height accommodating his towering stature with room to spare. I'd never realized how tall the ceilings were in this house until now, seeing Knox fill the space so effortlessly.
His amber eyes, cool and assessing, lock onto mine. The color is startling, inhuman in the soft inner glow. Must be the werewolf blood.
Then again, Vivienne has blue eyes… oh, forget it. It's a book world. Some things are just different.
"Wouldn't I be a terrible husband if I didn't finish work early to take care of my exhausted wife?"
His words drip with honeyed venom, each syllable a barb wrapped in false sweetness. My breath catches, and my heart performs an acrobatic routine in my chest. What is this feeling? This mixture of fear and... something else?
Hmm. Yep. According to my calculations, Vivienne is straight-up horny for her husband.
I shift my weight, yanking the comforter over my legs as I squirm beneath the weight of his regard. There's a lot of tingling in places I have no business tingling. Prior Vivienne needs to retract her sphere of influence, please and thank you.
"You said not to wait up," I mutter, unable to form a coherent thought under his intense gaze. I glance away, focusing instead on the wall. Nothing sexy about a wall.
Knox pushes off from the doorframe, taking a step into the room. "Clearly. Tell me, Vivienne, who were you talking to just now? Your voice carried all the way down the hall."
My mind races. Should I lie? No, he probably heard enough to know it was my parents. Besides, why would I hide them? There's an odd feeling leaving me unsettled, rolling my shoulders restlessly.
"My parents," I admit, deciding honesty might be the safest route. "They were worried about me."
His eyebrow arches, skepticism etched into every line of his face. "Your parents. The ones you swore you would cut ties with?"
Shit.
That doesn't sound good.
But—if I'm cutting ties with my parents, why would my sister be the doctor allowed in the home? And who the hell told my parents I overdosed on sleeping pills?
The gaps in my knowledge yawn wide, threatening to swallow me whole. I grasp for something, anything to say.
"Plans changed," I say, my voice weak.
Knox's laugh is sharp, cutting through the air between us. "Do they? In my experience, people are remarkably consistent in their disappointments."
He moves further into the room, each step predatory. I resist the urge to shrink back against the headboard, forcing myself to sit up straighter instead.
"You're feeling better, I take it?" he asks, his tone deceptively light. "Well enough for family reunions?"
There's an undercurrent to his words, a hidden meaning I can't quite grasp. Is he angry I'm talking to my parents? I really need to figure out more details behind this marriage before I bungle something.
Damn it, this life is nothing but a giant bucket of questions and no answers. I'm surrounded in opulence and can't even relax to enjoy it.
"I'm fine. No side effects."
"You need rest," he growls. "And yet, here you are, making plans."
My heart rate kicks up a notch. I'm right; this must be about the coffee meet-up. "It's just coffee," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I thought some fresh air might do me good. I miss my parents."
Knox's eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see something flicker in their depths. Couldn't possibly identify it, but there's something.
"Fresh air," he echoes. "Is that what you're calling it now?"
I blink a few times, at a loss. "What else would it be?"
He moves closer, until he's standing at the foot of the bed. His presence looms large, filling the room with an energy I can't quite name. It's not threatening, exactly, but it's... intense. Overwhelming.
If I didn't know better, I'd swear he's trying to seduce me.
"You tell me, Vivienne," he says, his voice low. "What are you really up to?"
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications wasted on someone who doesn't know our history. I search his face, looking for clues, for some hint of what he's thinking. But his expression is a mask, revealing nothing.
"I'm not up to anything." Frustration creeps into my words. "I'm just trying to figure things out. I want to see my mom. A girl needs her mom sometimes, okay?"
Something shifts again in Knox's eyes, and his brow smooths over. Even the tension in his jaw disappears. But the relaxed look is gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by cool detachment.
"Figure things out," he repeats. "And what, exactly, needs figuring out?"
I open my mouth, then close it again. How can I possibly explain? That I'm not the Vivienne he knows? That I've somehow been transported into this life, this body, with only fragments of knowledge about who I'm supposed to be?
Yeah, right. The man's cold-blooded. I've read the book, cover to cover. Every damn word. Alphaholes are great in fiction, because they treat the heroine with care and tenderness. But they're terrible to everyone around them.
Entrusting him with the truth is the worst idea I could ever have.
"Girl things," I say, not sure what that even means.
Knox's eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise breaking through his carefully controlled expression. For a moment, he looks almost... human. Vulnerable, even.
But then the mask slips back into place, and he's once again my detached, uncaring husband.
"Girl things," he says, his words neutral. He looks me over, from the top of my head down to the toes hidden beneath my blanket, and heat fizzles against my skin, like he's touching me instead of staring.
He nods, slowly, in understanding, even as his gaze pauses in the general direction of my chest. To be fair, this body's chest is fantastic, so I get it.
But what the hell is he understanding? Because I'm thinking he's going the wrong way on my one-way street. I might be a little slow to understand this world, but at this point there's absolutely no doubt about his intentions anymore.
Abort! Abort this entire scene! Author, take over!
Knox takes the last few steps separating him from the bed. His knee dips the mattress, and my heart leaps into my throat again, intent on obstructing my breathing. His fingers work at his shirt buttons, each movement deliberate and unhurried. The soft rustle of fabric fills the silence between us.
"My apologies, wife. I've neglected my half of the contract."