“And I told you I don’t need any of that.”
He stuck a finger in my face. “That is my problem. How are we going to share a life together when you won’t even unpack your shit, Sloane?”
“Seriously?” I scoffed. “You’re mad because I’m not taking up enough of your storage?”
“You won’t unpack here. You didn’t make space for me in your place. I had to bring in a closet company just to make room for myself. You’re not committing to us.”
“Lucian, we haven’t even talked about being an ‘us’ beyond you stubbornly announcing that we were a couple.”
His scowl darkened. “You want to talk? Fine. We’ll talk.”
“You could have at least let me dry my hair,” I grumbled as Lucian stabbed the bell on a swanky three-story brick home on a tree-lined street in Georgetown. Every vehicle at the curb looked as though it cost somewhere in the six-figure range.
The door opened, and a white-bearded, bespectacled man peered out at us. “You’re early,” he announced. He wore a white apron over a black, orange, and neon yellow speckled cardigan.
“Emry, meet Sloane. Sloane, Emry,” Lucian said as he towed me across the threshold and toward a stately study.
“Sorry about Lucifer. I think he’s hangry,” I explained over my shoulder.
“Well, this should be fun,” Emry announced, rubbing his palms together and following us inside.
It was the office of a man with means, intellect, and great taste, I decided, scanning the titles on the dark mahogany bookshelves.
“Work your therapy magic and fix her,” Lucian announced, taking a stance near the fireplace.
“I thought we were going to dinner at your friend’s?” I pointed out.
“We are friends. He forgets that from time to time,” Emry added, crossing to a cabinet and producing a bottle of wine. He gestured toward one of two leather armchairs in front of the bookshelves. I sat.
“I don’t need your friendly advice. I need a therapist to talk some sense into this woman,” Lucian announced, crossing his arms and glaring at me.
I glared back. “Seriously?”
“This is highly unusual. Even for you,” Emry said to Lucian.
“Don’t look at me,” I said with a shrug. “One second, I’m enjoying the shower of the gods, and the next, he’s yelling about drawer space and closet organizers.”
Lucian pushed away from the fireplace and began to pace. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”
Emry looked amused. “I take it this is not about drawer space? Though if it is, I’m happy to call Sacha. She’s the expert in home organization. You should see her pantry.”
“She won’t commit,” Lucian announced, then winced. “Sloane, not Sacha. But you should burn that sweater before Sacha sees it.”
“I think it’s a lovely sweater,” I insisted.
“I’m trying to integrate our lives both here and in Knockemout, and Sloane is refusing to participate. The woman repacks her toiletries after every shower!” Lucian bellowed.
Emry looked as if he were trying very hard not to laugh as he poured three glasses of wine. “I see.”
I got out of my chair and stalked toward Lucian, interrupting his pacing. “And I told you, you don’t just get to order me into a relationship. A couple of drawers are not going to make me feel secure enough to even entertain the idea of dating you.”
“We’re not dating,” Lucian said. “We’re living together. We’re having sex. We’re getting married.”
“If that’s your proposal, it needs work,” I shot back.
I heard a crunching sound and found Emry settled in the chair I’d vacated, snacking on pistachios and watching us gleefully.
“Why can’t you just accept that I mean what I say?” Lucian demanded. He shoved both hands through his hair. His movements were jerky and frenetic, so unlike his usual animallike grace.
“Because past experience dictates I should run screaming into the night! You’ve cut me out of your life twice now—once for two decades—and you just expect me to forget about that? To trust you?” I was shouting now too. I definitely wasn’t winning any dinner guest of the year awards.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” Lucian said, frustration bleeding into his tone.
“I want everything you’re promising, but I don’t believe you’re going to deliver! Happy now?”