“THIS IS THE GPS DEVICE we discussed.”
Gypsy glanced at the silver band and wrinkled her nose. “A watch?”
I edged my fingers over the metal, unlocking it before I secured it on her wrist. “Don’t bother tampering with it. If you do, our deal is void.”
“It’s ugly.” She poked at the links, moving it around her delicate wrist.
“Well, if that doesn’t work for you, there’s always an ankle chain.”
“Funny,” she snapped.
I got out of the car and left her to open the door and follow me inside. My bride was distant and quiet as I introduced her to our home. The four-bedroom fortress was nestled into the gated community of Diamond Bay, an exclusive retreat in the suburb of Desert Shores, but Gypsy didn’t seem impressed.
“Did you just move in?” She glanced around the crisp white space, taking particular notice of the cathedral ceilings and Roman columns. The place was probably a little too decadent for my tastes, if I were honest, but at the time I’d purchased it, I was in a hurry and it was available.
“No. I’ve lived here for five years.”
Her dark eyebrows shot up as she surveyed the open floor plan. “It’s so empty. And white.”
She wasn’t wrong. The furniture and decorations were sparse, consisting only of the necessities since I was seldom home. I rarely had visitors, except for Nolan and Ace, but I considered how she might see the space from her perspective.
“Ace will bring whatever furniture you’d like from your apartment.” I observed a few empty spots she could fill. “And if you’d like to redecorate, that’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
Gypsy shot me a look that proved she found the idea amusing. She didn’t seem like the homemaking type, considering she rarely ever had a place to call home for very long.
“The entire upper level consists of the master bedroom,” I explained as we walked upstairs and opened the French doors. “This is our room.”
She looked around the space, her face absent of emotion. “You want me to sleep in here with you?”
There was a softness to her voice that betrayed her nerves, but I chose to ignore it. Nothing I said would ease her fears, and there was no point wasting my breath. “There is space in the closet for your things. The bags are already in there, so you can unpack.”
She swiveled away from the closet, completely disinterested. “Don’t you have someone who can do that for me?”
My dick swelled at her bratty behavior. Gypsy had been living the high life for the past few years, but she was in for a surprise.
“I have a housekeeper,” I answered. “But she isn’t here to do you any favors, she comes here to clean. And besides, I gave her the week off. Remember?”
She crossed her arms and it pushed her breasts up between them. They were soft, natural, and huge, and already, I’d had too many indecent thoughts about them. Thoughts I shouldn’t have entertained at all.
“I’m not cleaning your house,” she insisted.
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
In the interest of establishing the rules, I decided it would be best to marry on a Friday so I had the weekend to play house, so to speak.
Already, Gypsy seemed to be settling in and attempting to exert her control over the situation. In the three hours she’d been here, she’d complained about the lack of cable TV, demanded the Wi-Fi password, and whined about my comment that she’d be responsible for making her own meals when I was gone.
“So you can have meals prepared for you?” she asked as she eyeballed the containers in the fridge, “but I can’t?”
“No,” I answered. “Marisa isn’t here to serve you. Although I’m certain it will be a real hardship, you are capable of making a sandwich.”
She slammed the fridge door and glared. “Fine, I’ll just eat out. No big deal.”
“Not likely.” I turned my attention back to the yellow legal pad in my lap, attempting to read over the notes I’d made today.
“What does that mean?” she questioned. “Not likely? I have my own money. I can do whatever I want with it.”
Exhaustion settled into my body as I put my work away for the evening. I’d been hoping to avoid this conversation until she was tired too, but even after unpacking her belongings, she showed no signs of slowing down.
“I made it clear that you’d be cleaning the house for the week,” I said. “And you refused. Which means you’re grounded.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she laughed. “Grounded? What, like I’m five?”
“Yes, grounded,” I repeated. “You won’t be leaving the house until you’ve performed the task I’ve given to my satisfaction. It’s a rather simple concept.”
“And what, you’re just going to stay here and make sure I don’t run off?”
“It’s not necessary,” I assured her. “I can lock every door in this house from my phone if I want to. And even if I couldn’t, you’re wearing that watch. Failing all that, there is one last thing you seem to have forgotten already. I own you, Gypsy. And if you want to fuck with me, be my guest. See how far that gets you. Already, I’m beginning to wonder if prison would be a better alternative.”
Her cheeks flushed red, and her nostrils flared. “You are unbelievable. Do you get off on this?”
“Do I get off on dealing with an overindulged princess who thinks the world owes her everything? The answer is no.”
“You know nothing about me.” She sliced the air between us with her hand, as if to cut any invisible connection we might have.
“I know a lot more than I care to admit,” I replied. “And the first thing you should know is how sorry I am for what happened in your past. But it doesn’t mean that you get to go through life punishing every man who crosses your path for the sins of your father.”
Her fingers curled inward, nails biting into her skin as she turned away to hide the rare display of emotion. “You don’t know anything about my past. I don’t care what you read or who you talked to.”
I let her have that statement because it was the only thing she had right now. The room was quiet, and I needed to establish her boundaries, but my phone alarm went off, signaling it was time for dinner.
I silenced the alarm and walked into the kitchen, retrieving the meal from the fridge that Marisa had prepared for tonight. Gypsy sat at the table, texting her sister while I assembled dinner. When I placed the salad and bread in front of her, she dismissed it with a shove of her hand.
“I’m gluten free.”
“If that were true, then you wouldn’t have eaten the breadsticks at Sinatra,” I said. “But regardless, the choice is yours. You don’t have to eat. You can just sit here while I do.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She stood and straightened out her dress. “I think I’ll take a shower so I can wash this awful day off me.”