Chapter 2: I Like It

Natalie's POV

The next morning, I'm not wearing my usual conservative pajama set.

I'm digging through the bottom of my closet until I find it—a silk robe I bought before the wedding. Deep red, V-neck, stops mid-thigh.

I bought it thinking maybe we'd have a honeymoon or something. Then I remembered we don't do honeymoons. We do separate bedrooms and polite nods in hallways.

So it's been sitting there for nine months.

Not anymore.

I slip it on, tie the belt loosely, and head downstairs barefoot.

Adrian's already at the dining table, scrolling through financial news on his tablet.

He looks up when he hears my footsteps. Then freezes completely.

I pretend not to notice, walking toward the table like it's any other morning. "Morning."

"Morning." His voice sounds off. Tight. "You're not... hitting the gym today?"

Usually I'm on the treadmill by now.

"Changing things up." I shrug, and the movement makes the neckline slip lower. "Felt like taking it easy."

I pull out the chair next to him—not across from him like usual. For nine months, we've sat at opposite ends of this table like we're in a board meeting.

Not today.

"Can you pass the juice?" I tilt my head at him.

The pitcher's right there in the middle. I could totally reach it myself.

But I don't.

Adrian reaches for it the same time I do. I stand up, lean forward, and "accidentally" lose my balance.

Next thing I know, I'm sitting in his lap.

"Oh my god!" I gasp. "Sorry, I didn't see—"

His hands catch my waist on instinct. I can feel the heat of his palms through the thin silk.

His throat bobs.

We're inches apart. Close enough that I notice his eyelashes are actually really long.

"I should..." I make like I'm going to stand, and the robe's belt loosens.

Adrian's eyes darken, but he lets go quickly. His voice comes out rough. "Careful."

"I will be." I grab the juice and slide back into my chair—the one right next to him, not across the table.

His hand's wrapped around his coffee mug so tight his knuckles are white.

Mrs. Peterson walks in from the kitchen with breakfast plates, takes one look at me, and nearly drops everything.

"Mrs. Blackwood, are you... not getting dressed?"

"In a bit." I smile sweetly. "Breakfast first."

The entire meal, Adrian barely touches his tablet.

I can feel his attention on me even though he's pretending to read.

He glances over at least five times.

I count.

By the time I finish my coffee, I'm trying not to grin.

Around ten, I know Adrian has an important video call. Usually I stay upstairs, out of the way.

Today, I'm doing yoga.

In the living room.

Right where he can see from his study.

I change into workout gear—sports bra, tight leggings—and roll out my mat in front of the windows.

Adrian's study door is half-open. I can hear him on the call.

"Regarding the acquisition, we need to consider antitrust issues..."

I start with downward dog.

Then cat-cow stretches.

Then pigeon pose, where I have to fold forward with my leg at this really dramatic angle.

From his study, the view is... let's say, noticeable.

Adrian's voice cuts off mid-sentence.

"Mr. Blackwood?" Someone on the call sounds confused. "You still there?"

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "What were you saying?"

"The financing structure—"

I switch to bow pose, arching my back into a deep curve.

"Mr. Blackwood, is your connection unstable? You seem distracted."

"I'm fine. Keep going."

I move into dancer's pose—balancing on one leg, the other stretched high behind me, arms extended.

This one requires serious balance. Also really emphasizes, well, everything.

Then I hear rapid typing, followed by Adrian's voice, noticeably strained:

"Sorry everyone, something urgent just came up. Let's reschedule."

"But Mr. Blackwood, the board meeting is tomorrow—"

"We'll reschedule."

The call ends.

Seconds later, he's standing in the living room doorway.

I'm still holding dancer's pose. I turn my head. "What's wrong?"

"What are you doing?" His voice is low.

"Yoga." I lower my leg slowly, blinking innocently. "Why? Am I not allowed to work out?"

"You..." He seems to be searching for words. "You always do this in the gym."

"The gym's boring." I walk toward him. "Besides, this is my home, isn't it? Can't I exercise in my own living room?"

My home.

I've never said that before. Always called it "your place" or "the Blackwood house."

Adrian looks like he wants to say something, but finally just sighs. "Do whatever you want."

He turns back toward his study, but I catch it—his ears are red.

I bite back a laugh.

That evening, there's a business dinner. One of Adrian's partners is celebrating a new project launch.

Usually I wear elegant, understated dresses—beige, champagne, soft pink.

Tonight I'm wearing red.

Deep V-neck, open back, slit up to my thigh.

Standing in front of the mirror, I barely recognize myself.

Is this too much?

Screw it. Go big or go home.

I head downstairs in heels. Adrian's waiting in the living room.

When he turns and sees me, his car keys hit the floor.

"Well?" I do a little spin. "How do I look?"

He bends to pick up the keys, voice tight. "You sure about that dress?"

"Why? Is something wrong with it?"

"No." His gaze lingers for a second before he looks away. "You look good."

At the venue, I can feel every eye in the room on me.

The usual Natalie Blackwood is elegant and understated. Tonight's red dress is basically a declaration of war.

I stay glued to Adrian's arm all night.

We usually keep polite distance in public. Not tonight. My hand stays wrapped around his arm, pressed close to his side.

When women come over to flirt—and they always do, he's Adrian Blackwood—I hold on tighter.

"Adrian, who's this?" A blonde woman smiles at him.

"My wife, Natalie," Adrian says.

"Oh right, I heard." Her smile goes stiff. "You've been married almost a year now?"

"Nine months," I cut in before Adrian can answer. Then I lean up and kiss his cheek. "But it feels like forever."

Adrian looks down at me. There's surprise in his eyes. And something else.

During dinner, I'm sitting right next to him. I pick up my wine glass and bring it to his lips.

"Try this. You'll like it."

He hesitates, then drinks from my hand.

When his lips brush my fingers, it feels like an electric shock.

"Good?" My voice shakes a little.

"Good." He's still looking at me.

On the drive home, the car's quiet.

I'm leaning against the window, suddenly exhausted. Turns out performing all day is tiring.

"Natalie." Adrian breaks the silence.

"Yeah?"

"You've been... different today."

My heart skips.

Did he figure it out?

"Different how?" I try to sound casual.

"I don't know how to describe it." He pauses. "But..."

He turns to look at me, expression serious.

"I like it."

Three words. They punch a hole right through my chest.

I turn away, staring out the window so he can't see my face.

"I just figured," I force my voice to stay light, "since there's not much time left, I might as well do what I want."

"Not much time?" He frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

The car pulls into our driveway. I practically bolt out.

"Night, Adrian."

"Wait—"

But I'm already inside, up the stairs, bedroom door shut behind me.

I slide down to sit on the floor, back against the door.

He said he likes it.

He likes it.

But so what?

In three months, he's still choosing Sophia.

I close my eyes.

This game I'm playing—I think I'm only playing against myself.