Poles Apart
Page 45
I smiled wickedly to myself. Sasha is going to have a field day smashing up all his expensive crap!
Carson cleared his throat behind me, setting my bags down. “I’ll give you a quick tour now, and I’ll sort out keys and passwords and stuff for the doors later. Other than vehicle recognition, the main entrances are opened by keypad, so if you forget a key then you can still get in. Handy really, considering I’ve almost locked myself out tons of times,” he joked, smiling weakly.
“Great,” I mumbled, trying to fake interest.
He sighed and a frown creased his forehead, which I longed to smooth away with my fingertip. “You could at least smile or something. This place is infinitely better than the shithole you were living in. At least here you can step out the front door without the fear of being gang-raped or shot for sport.”
I scoffed and shook my head incredulously. “Oh, I’m sorry, you were expecting me to fall at your feet and thank you for letting me live in your incredible house? Was I supposed to take one look at your stupid, elegant sweeping staircase and be all grateful you’re making me marry you under threat of losing my daughter?” I retorted sarcastically. I made a show of patting my jeans’ pockets before I shook my head. “Nope, sorry. Looks like I’m all out of fucks to give.” If he was expecting me to be impressed by the fact he had a nice house and suddenly love the idea of being married against my will, even though he thought I was some kind of tramp, then he would be sorely disappointed. No one had ever hurt me as much as he had. It had been the look in his eyes. If it had been someone else that had said it then maybe I could have shaken it off, but seeing that look from the man I loved had crushed my soul a little. I’d never forget it.
His frown grew more pronounced as a muscle in his jaw twitched. His eyes told me he wanted to say something nasty back, but he was obviously choosing his words carefully. Instead, he said nothing and turned his back on me, stalking up the long, marble hallway toward the door at the end.
I chewed on my lip in anger. Maybe we needed to have a good argument, a good airing-out session before we could then talk about it and reason it out – but it appeared Carson wasn’t the arguing type. After hesitating for a few seconds, I finally followed him, leaving a big gap between us. He stepped into the room at the end and held the door open for me, not looking at me. As I stepped through, I came face to face with the most beautiful kitchen I had ever seen. My stomach instantly growled at the thought of cooking in a place like this. The cupboards were white, sleek and shiny. There were no handles, so it was extremely sophisticated-looking. The built-in appliances were stainless steel, and the worktop was black granite. It looked like something out of a celebrity magazine.
“Obviously, this is the kitchen. You can use anything you want. There’s not much food in at the moment, I don’t think, but I’ll fix that. You’ll have to write me a list or something of stuff you three like and I can order it in.” He pointed to the oven and frowned. “I don’t know how that works. There are probably some instructions around somewhere.”
I raised one eyebrow. “You don’t cook then?”
He shook his head in answer. “No, I have a housekeeper. I pay her extra to cook for me.”
“I guess this is how the other half lives,” I muttered under my breath, touching the cold granite surface, still awed over how stunning it was.
“I’ll show you the rest.” He didn’t wait for me as he stalked from the room and down the hallway. I followed behind him like a wounded puppy. After looking in the dining room, the games room, the conservatory, the study, the TV room, and then the formal lounge, I came to the conclusion that I would never, ever feel at home in this place. It was all too clinical, too white, no colour or personality. It was like Carson had a designer come in and set the house up just for show. He probably didn’t even spend that much time in any of these rooms. With a two-year-old living here, it wouldn’t stay this beautiful for long. Once sticky fingers touched the walls and juice cups were carelessly abandoned on the cream carpets, the place would certainly feel lived-in then.
Just as we were about to head upstairs, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and stopped walking. “I have to take this. It’s Mason.”
I nodded, folding my arms across my chest while he headed into the lounge. I tried not to listen to him talking to his press agent, but I couldn’t exactly help it. His voice was getting louder as he spoke; they were talking about Sasha and me. He was telling Mason about how it was true and how we were moving in with him and getting married. The way he explained everything so calmly made it all sound so incredibly normal, and a little shiver ran through me. Mason obviously wasn’t too sold on the idea, though, because Carson was getting angry. I could hear him telling Mason it wasn’t a mistake, that he wasn’t going to brush it under the carpet and he wasn’t going to pay us off and deny everything to the press just to make his life easier.
Figuring the tour wasn’t going to resume anytime soon, I sat on the bottom step and rested my head on the wall. Carson was getting even more passionate in there as he talked about wanting to get to know his daughter, and how he would take care of her – her and me. I couldn’t help the little smile, which tugged at the corner of my mouth when he lumped me in with Sasha. Then they were down to planning, statements which needed to be drafted, and when we were going to pick up Sasha. Carson wanted something called a blanket order put on both Sasha and Rory. If I remembered correctly, that meant no one would be able to print a picture of their faces in the papers or magazines.
Carson cleared his throat behind me, setting my bags down. “I’ll give you a quick tour now, and I’ll sort out keys and passwords and stuff for the doors later. Other than vehicle recognition, the main entrances are opened by keypad, so if you forget a key then you can still get in. Handy really, considering I’ve almost locked myself out tons of times,” he joked, smiling weakly.
“Great,” I mumbled, trying to fake interest.
He sighed and a frown creased his forehead, which I longed to smooth away with my fingertip. “You could at least smile or something. This place is infinitely better than the shithole you were living in. At least here you can step out the front door without the fear of being gang-raped or shot for sport.”
I scoffed and shook my head incredulously. “Oh, I’m sorry, you were expecting me to fall at your feet and thank you for letting me live in your incredible house? Was I supposed to take one look at your stupid, elegant sweeping staircase and be all grateful you’re making me marry you under threat of losing my daughter?” I retorted sarcastically. I made a show of patting my jeans’ pockets before I shook my head. “Nope, sorry. Looks like I’m all out of fucks to give.” If he was expecting me to be impressed by the fact he had a nice house and suddenly love the idea of being married against my will, even though he thought I was some kind of tramp, then he would be sorely disappointed. No one had ever hurt me as much as he had. It had been the look in his eyes. If it had been someone else that had said it then maybe I could have shaken it off, but seeing that look from the man I loved had crushed my soul a little. I’d never forget it.
His frown grew more pronounced as a muscle in his jaw twitched. His eyes told me he wanted to say something nasty back, but he was obviously choosing his words carefully. Instead, he said nothing and turned his back on me, stalking up the long, marble hallway toward the door at the end.
I chewed on my lip in anger. Maybe we needed to have a good argument, a good airing-out session before we could then talk about it and reason it out – but it appeared Carson wasn’t the arguing type. After hesitating for a few seconds, I finally followed him, leaving a big gap between us. He stepped into the room at the end and held the door open for me, not looking at me. As I stepped through, I came face to face with the most beautiful kitchen I had ever seen. My stomach instantly growled at the thought of cooking in a place like this. The cupboards were white, sleek and shiny. There were no handles, so it was extremely sophisticated-looking. The built-in appliances were stainless steel, and the worktop was black granite. It looked like something out of a celebrity magazine.
“Obviously, this is the kitchen. You can use anything you want. There’s not much food in at the moment, I don’t think, but I’ll fix that. You’ll have to write me a list or something of stuff you three like and I can order it in.” He pointed to the oven and frowned. “I don’t know how that works. There are probably some instructions around somewhere.”
I raised one eyebrow. “You don’t cook then?”
He shook his head in answer. “No, I have a housekeeper. I pay her extra to cook for me.”
“I guess this is how the other half lives,” I muttered under my breath, touching the cold granite surface, still awed over how stunning it was.
“I’ll show you the rest.” He didn’t wait for me as he stalked from the room and down the hallway. I followed behind him like a wounded puppy. After looking in the dining room, the games room, the conservatory, the study, the TV room, and then the formal lounge, I came to the conclusion that I would never, ever feel at home in this place. It was all too clinical, too white, no colour or personality. It was like Carson had a designer come in and set the house up just for show. He probably didn’t even spend that much time in any of these rooms. With a two-year-old living here, it wouldn’t stay this beautiful for long. Once sticky fingers touched the walls and juice cups were carelessly abandoned on the cream carpets, the place would certainly feel lived-in then.
Just as we were about to head upstairs, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and stopped walking. “I have to take this. It’s Mason.”
I nodded, folding my arms across my chest while he headed into the lounge. I tried not to listen to him talking to his press agent, but I couldn’t exactly help it. His voice was getting louder as he spoke; they were talking about Sasha and me. He was telling Mason about how it was true and how we were moving in with him and getting married. The way he explained everything so calmly made it all sound so incredibly normal, and a little shiver ran through me. Mason obviously wasn’t too sold on the idea, though, because Carson was getting angry. I could hear him telling Mason it wasn’t a mistake, that he wasn’t going to brush it under the carpet and he wasn’t going to pay us off and deny everything to the press just to make his life easier.
Figuring the tour wasn’t going to resume anytime soon, I sat on the bottom step and rested my head on the wall. Carson was getting even more passionate in there as he talked about wanting to get to know his daughter, and how he would take care of her – her and me. I couldn’t help the little smile, which tugged at the corner of my mouth when he lumped me in with Sasha. Then they were down to planning, statements which needed to be drafted, and when we were going to pick up Sasha. Carson wanted something called a blanket order put on both Sasha and Rory. If I remembered correctly, that meant no one would be able to print a picture of their faces in the papers or magazines.
