Chapter 4

“The board oversees the hotel project I work on,” Adrian said. “The access card belongs to the owner’s office, not to me.”

I held up the card. “Are you more important at that company than you admitted?”

“My responsibilities are more complicated than my title.”

“That’s another way of avoiding the question.”

“I don’t own the hotel. I’m not in debt, and my work won’t endanger you or your bakery.”

Technically, he had answered everything covered by our agreement.

That didn’t mean he had told me everything.

“If your work affects my safety or property, you’ll be in breach of contract.”

“I understand.”

I returned the card.

“You ask a great many questions,” he said.

“I married a stranger this afternoon. I’m behind on questions.”

I opened the smallest box I had brought with me.

Inside were two mismatched mugs, a jar of strawberry jam, a loaf of bread, two pairs of slippers, and the rosemary plant from the bakery window.

Adrian watched me place the second mug beside his.

“You brought slippers for me?”

“I brought them because bare feet on cold floors are disgusting.”

“I see.”

He left his pair several feet from mine.

While I was putting the rosemary on the windowsill, his phone rang.

“The trust representative moved our household interview to tonight,” he said after hanging up.

“What household interview?”

“They need confirmation that the marriage is voluntary and that we share a primary residence. The family vote is tomorrow morning.”

I looked around the apartment.

Except for my open boxes, nothing suggested a woman lived there.

“When?”

“In twenty minutes.”

We worked quickly.

I hung my coat beside his, placed my apron over a kitchen chair, and set a framed photograph of Lily and me on a shelf.

Adrian studied it.

“Your sister?”

“Yes. Normal husbands know what their wives’ families look like.”

“Then normal wives should know their husbands’ families.”

“You have six months to find a photograph.”

The video call lasted less than ten minutes.

The representative asked whether we had entered the marriage voluntarily.

We both said yes.

Then she asked why we had chosen each other.

Adrian and I exchanged a glance.

Neither of us could say twenty thousand dollars and a family vote.

“We both needed someone who would respect a clear agreement,” I said.

The representative turned to Adrian. “What is one thing you know for certain about your wife?”

I expected him to invent something harmless.

Instead, he said, “Nora doesn’t abandon the people or things she loves.”

My throat tightened.

He had noticed more than I thought.

The representative approved our shared-residence record and ended the call.

Only then did I notice that Adrian’s slippers were beside mine at the door.

I said nothing.

At eleven, I carried my pajamas into the guest room and discovered it was freezing.

The radiator was cold. A thin stream of icy air slipped through the window frame.

Adrian checked the thermostat and called the building manager.

“Someone can come tomorrow morning,” he said. “You’ll take the main bedroom. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

I looked at the sofa.

His legs would hang over the armrest by at least a foot.

“I’m not throwing you out of your room.”

“You aren’t.”

“The bed is large enough for two adults who understand boundaries.”

His expression became unreadable.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” I rubbed my cold hands together. “But I’m freezing.”

He retrieved another blanket from the closet and carried it into the main bedroom. Then he placed a pillow down the center of the mattress.

“Your side. My side,” he said. “I won’t cross the line.”

I stood in the doorway, holding my pajamas against my chest.

Adrian lifted the blanket and waited.

“Your side, Mrs. Vale.”

I remained where I was.

One eyebrow rose.

“Are you coming willingly,” he asked, “or do I need to carry you?”

I had signed a marriage contract without trembling.

Climbing into my husband’s bed was apparently going to be harder.