All This Time

21 ⦿ in which i share a smile

Ten minutes later, we're bending over my desk. And not in the pervy way my mind flicks to when I see him lick his lower lip as he scrutinizes what I've written. His mouth drops open ever so slightly before he leans back in his chair, flabbergasted. "What is this?" Wolf asks, confusion clouding his features as he recites what I've written. "Charlotte Wright is under no obligation to fulfill her wifely duties?"

I scrawl something else below the first bullet point, violet ink searing the pristine white page of my legal pad. "Before we draw up the contract," I inform him, "we should define exactly what my role is going to be. My lawyer will want to know."

Wolf scoots forward, peering at the legal pad again. His attempt to read backwards is painstaking and I'm already on the third bullet when he interrupts my train of thought. "Charlotte Wright will not have to share a bedroom or bed with Wolfram van der Waals," he reads out, enunciating each word with excruciating slowness. "You're kidding me with this, right?"

I can sense that I've offended him, but I plough forward. "I'm not getting screwed over because you decide I haven't fulfilled the terms of the contract down to the letter," I reply.

"I'm not going to take advantage of you, Charlotte," he says, a frown creasing his forehead. "Jesus." He reaches out and catches my hand, halting the pen's purple crusade across the page. "Can you at least move over here so I can read the hogwash you're writing?" He doesn't remove his fingers.

This is the first physical contact we've had in five years. It's paltry and impersonal, but alarm bells are ringing faintly in the back of my mind even as my spine liquefies at his touch. My gaze stutters upwards, meeting his eyes. I count each and every one of his lashes in the span of silence that follows. Neither of us moves, unwilling partners in this newest game he's started.

I clear my throat and the moment is broken. He retracts his hand, letting it fall into his lap. There's no way I'm sitting next to him. With the desk separating us, there's a modicum of power that I still wield. I have to remain in control, I convince myself. The moment I falter, I will be lost.

Silently, I spin the page and slide it towards him. He takes it in, then calmly extends his hand for the pen.

Head bowed, he scribbles something in tight, slanted cursive. Wolfram van der Waals will not be subjected to chick flicks, rom coms, or heartfelt Lifetime movies.

Despite myself, my lips quirk upwards. "Seriously?"

He shrugs and cross his legs, setting the pen on top of the pad with a casual elegance.

"Are you taking this seriously?" I demand, frowning at him. He doesn't look like he is. He looks the same as he's always looked - indolent, reserved, indifferent.

Without waiting for an answer I snatch the pen and write down another line. Charlotte Wright will not be required to attend any business or social events on Wolfram's calendar.

He combats me with equal swiftness. Wolfram van der Waals will not be obliged to redecorate his very tasteful apartment to suit Charlotte.

I smile sweetly at him, getting into the game. Charlotte Wright will not have to cook, clean, or pander to Wolfram.

With a glint in his eye, Wolfram adds to the end of my sentence unless Wolf is sick and has no one else to take care of him, in which case he would humbly like to request soup of the homemade variety and hot lemon tea.

At this, a laugh bursts out of me. Making a grab for the pen, I poise it over the page. Then, I glance up, wondering if his icy exterior has chipped away. My jaw goes slack as I realize he's watching me laugh with soft, crinkled eyes and an indulgent smile. It's the kind of smile that Xander has when he looks at Graeme, the kind of fondness that doesn't fade even after two years of dating.