Page 12 of The Wrong Husband

Devi and I both looked shocked at that statement.

"And, don't send Bianca in without checking with me first. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Devi looked at me with puzzlement. I gave her a 'beats me, I don't know what's happening either' look.

Damian's office was large and beautiful. Two walls were glass. Corner office on speed! But it was the exposed brick walls that thrilled me.

"Is this an original?" I stood in front of a Picasso.

"Yes," he said absently.

Archer Galleries was a premium art and antiques company, so it wasn't surprising that the CEO's office was filled with treasures.

To my left, there was a striking Monet, its vibrant hues of water lilies evoking a sense of tranquility that was a signature of the artist. Adjacent to it, a rare Degas ballet dancer seemed to leap off the canvas, her delicate form captured in mid-motion.

The far corner housed a majestic Rembrandt. Its dramatic chiaroscuro drew my eye into a world of shadow and light. Below it, an intricately carved mahogany cabinet displayed a collection of Ming dynasty vases.

A large, ornate Persian rug covered the floor and on the opposite wall, a Warhol portrait added a burst of contemporary flair, its bold colors contrasting with the classical elegance of the gilded Louis XV mirror beside it.

An antique oak desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with a mix of modern technology and historical artifacts. A 19th-century brass telescope stood proudly by the window.

But the most beautiful thing in his office was an exquisite antique pocket watch, displayed in a glass case on his oak desk.

"This is…is this a Patek Philippe?"

Damian nodded. "Nineteenth century."

The pocket watch featured a finely engraved gold case with intricate floral patterns. Its front cover opened to reveal elegant Roman numerals and delicate blue steel hands on an ivory-colored dial.

"It's exquisite."

"Why?" he queried.

I looked at him quizzically.

He shrugged. "People say that and I'm always curious to learn why they think something is beautiful or in this case exquisite."

He seemed curious, yes, but there was also a challenge in his tone that I didn't understand.

"It exudes timeless elegance. It's a testament to the precision and artistry of a bygone era. In my book, all that together equals exquisite."

"You like antiques, Emilia?"

"Like is a mild word. I'm in awe of them. I respect them," I murmured, running my fingers lightly over his desk.

Damian looked up, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that matched the art surrounding us.

"Yes," he breathed.

Something sizzled between us but just like he had that night after we made love, his eyes shuttered.

"Sit down, Emilia," he snapped.

Like an ingenue who asked how high when her master said jump, I did as he ordered.

"I'm sorry you had to wait long," he continued. He looked angry and I didn't blame him. I'd be enraged too if I found myself married to me instead of Bianca.

"That's okay." I swallowed. Better to get it out in one go. "I'm so sorry, Damian. I knew you were drunk and…I wasn't. I should've stopped it."