Holding the heels in one hand, I tiptoe into the living room. A light shines from the side table. Luka is on the couch, Mr. Kibbles passed out across his lap. His phone is on the cushion next to him, an empty wineglass on the coffee table, some late-night TV talk show playing softly on the flat screen. I was sure he’d be sleeping by now. In fact, I’m not sure if he’s awake or if he’s fallen asleep sitting up until he clears his throat.
“Hey you.” I greet him with a smile as I pad over to the sofa.
The muscle in his jaw flexes, and he doesn’t look over. “Where have you been?”
He’s pissed. My stomach does a little flip-flop.
“I told you Mateo was in town,” I say, a little confused at his attitude.
“That wasn’t what I asked.” He turns to look at me, eyes blazing. Mr. Kibbles’ head pops up, and he looks between us now, his little doggie brow knit with concern.
Rolling my eyes, I try to deflect. I’m in no mood for this. “We went dancing, officer. It was no big deal. And now I’m tired, so let’s go to bed.”
“Yes, I know you went dancing.” Luka shrugs my hand off his arm, reaches for his phone, and shows it to me. “It’s all over the internet.Again.”
I scroll through the racy pictures of me and my bestie grinding on the dance floor; it’s nothing people haven’t seen before. There was a time when I would have felt bad about something like this, but not now. The world knows that Mateo is just my friend. If they think more than that, it’s on them.
“What’s the big deal? The paparazzi always take photos when I’m out with Mateo. In fact, they’re probably more interested in him than in me. This is a normal Friday night.”
“You didn’t ask me first.” He snatches his phone back.
“Excuse me? Ask youfirst? Like I need permission?” I cross my arms, furious. “I’m an adult, Luka. You don’t get to police what I do all the time and where I go and who I’m out with. If that’s what you expect from this marriage, you need to think again.”
I’m not trying to goad him, but dammit, I’m a grown woman and I’m standing up for myself. I learned early on in this relationship that when Luka has his hackles up, he tends to blow things out of proportion and say things he doesn’t really mean—but even still, I’m not going to turn the other cheek and just let him bully me. I’m his equal. He needs to understand that.
“Obviously you can’t be trusted to make your own decisions,” he says. “Look at this shit! Your ass is in his face. More than once. It sends the wrong message.”
“How do you know it’s not the right message?” I shoot back. “I’m young and I’m an up-and-coming model for a high-profile agency.”
Luka stands up now, sending Mr. Kibbles running off into another room, but I don’t move an inch.
“This isn’t all about you, Brooklyn. This is about our image—”
“I get that part of my job is making DRM look reputable, but I have my own image to cultivate, too,” I say, cutting him off. “Not just the image that we have together as a married couple—I want people to see that I’m bold and confident and fun, so stop walking all over that! I’m not that wholesome, goody-two-shoes you tried so hard to get me to be!”
“Try respectable! Tryuniversally appealing! There’s nothing wrong with those things.” There it is again. That tone to his voice. “Besides, the press will always be looking for any hint of exploitable drama, so you’re just setting yourself up to be their gossip channel fodder!”
I’m about to lob back a retort, but all of a sudden an epiphany hits me. This isn’t just self-righteous anger or concern over our public image.
Luka Zoric is jealous.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks, looking even more pissed off. My grin only widens.
“You’re jealous,” I tell him. “I finally get it now.”
“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, avoiding my eyes.
Nodding, I say, “I thought it was all about you and your image, but that’s just been an excuse this whole time. You’re jealous, and you always have been.”
And boy does that make me all warm and fuzzy inside.
“I have nothing to be jealous about,” he insists, sinking back down on the couch. “I just want you to think about what you’re doing, and the consequences.”
“Oh, I am. I’m thinking about it real hard.” I perch on the edge of the couch and take his hand. He lets me. “And the way I see it, you’re the one who benefits from my nights out with Mateo.”
“How’s that,” he asks, but I can hear the interest despite his cold tone.
“Well,” I say, running my fingers lightly up his arm, “the truth is, you do own my body.”