“I did a bit of redecorating today while you were at work,” I tell him, depositing a bowl of miso before him.
The kind of redecorating he’s definitely not going to like.
“You painted?”
“Of course.” I move to my place at the table and set the soup down before sitting too.
His expression shifts. “Which room?”
“Which one do you think? Your bedroom.”
“Our bedroom now,cara.” Enzo takes up his spoon. “Antonio said something about taking you to a home improvement store, but I didn’t know you were getting paint.”
Antonio was probably too scared shitless to tell his employer what his new wife was up to. But that worked in my favor.
I smile serenely. “Just wanted to put my mark on our home like a good little wife.”
He pauses with the spoon midway to his lips. “I’m glad you made yourself at home.”
As he says the words, his eyes travel over my shoulder, taking in the kitchen for the first time since he’s returned. A frown creases his forehead as he lingers on the open cabinets, but to his credit, he just stuffs the spoon into his mouth.
The instant grimace almost wrings a laugh from me, so I hide my amusement in my glass of sake. It’s a very good sake, but then, it should have been for the exorbitant price, charged to Enzo’s poor, smoking credit card. I have no idea if Enzo will dislike the wine as much as he apparently doesn’t appreciate delicious Japanese cuisine.
“You don’t like miso?” I ask with false concern.
“It’s delicious,” he chokes out.
If I weren’t so annoyed with him for the way he’s been icing me out of everything, I might be touched by his clear attempt at trying to avoid hurting my feelings. He hasn’t realized yet that this is all a deliberate plot on my part.
“I hope you like tuna roll,” I tell him, taking up a piece with my chopsticks and putting it on my plate. “There’s also salmon, eel, and shrimp rolls. I think there’s even a lobster tempura somewhere.”
He sets his spoon down in the bowl with a plink and coughs discreetly into his hand. “You’re a fan of sushi, I take it?”
“I love it.” That’s not a lie, at least.
I shove a bite in, and the delicious flavors explode on my taste buds—soy marinated bluefin.
He watches me chew with an expression that borders on disgust. “I’m not that hungry. I grabbed a bite earlier in between meetings. I think I’ll go check out the paint you chose.”
I swallow and chase my tuna with sake. “Don’t spoil the big reveal. Let’s have dinner first.”
I’m baiting him, and it’s really not fair. But also, he deserves it.
He manages a few more spoons of miso before he loses his patience and stands. “You enjoy,cara. I don’t like suspense.”
Then he’s sauntering off toward the primary bedroom.
I get up and follow him because I’m not going to lose the opportunity to see his reaction in real time. He opens the door and steps inside.
“Cazzo!” He turns back to me. “You painted my bedroom fuckingpink?”
I smile sweetly. “Technically, it’s called Flamingo’s Pink Paradise. What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?”
“Don’t I like it?” He casts an incredulous look around the room. “There’s paint splattered all over the furniture and the floor. Didn’t you put down a drop cloth?”
“Nope. Didn’t have one.”
He swivels toward me, all the lines in his handsome face hardening. I see realization clicking into place. He knows what I’m up to.