“Fucking thin-ass man,” I grumbled.
I laid down on the bed and sucked it in, but it was no use. My hips were too wide for the slim-waisted pants this man apparently owned. That meant I’d have to jimmy rig the jeans to work. I stood to my feet and huffed with frustration. I’d never had to do this with my own clothes before. Did other women have to do this? Figure out ways to keep their not-really-husband’s pants up just so they could go out undercover and talk to businesses about betraying their owners?
Yeah, no one deals with this Bonnie.
I waddled into the bathroom and pulled out a hair-tie before wrapping it around the button. Just because I’d never had to do this before didn’t mean I didn’t know how. I’d seen my cousin struggle with clothes all the time when we were younger. I’d never wrestled with my weight much, but Brianna had been a different story. I could remember all the times she told me she was envious of my body and how I could eat anything without gaining weight while she could ‘stare at a piece of cheese and feel her thighs widen’.
If she could only see me now.
After threading the other end of the hair tie through the buttonhole, I wrapped the opposite end back around the button. That gave me a flexible waistline while still keeping the things up so I could focus solely on talking to people instead of wondering when my pants were going to drop to my ankles.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. “Now, for a shirt that covers all that.”
I found a gray tunic shirt stuffed at the back of my pajama closet. I couldn’t believe I still owned this thing. I hadn’t seen it in years. I held it up to me before sliding it over my head, and —damn it—the thing still fit. It was tight in the chest but was flowy around my waist. Perfect for covering up the jimmy-rigged jeans without drawing attention to me.
I sat down and rolled up the cuff of the pants before slipping into some flat boots.
With my sunglasses and my silk headscarf, I meandered into the hallway.
“Bonnie,” Israel called.
I pressed myself against the wall. “Yeah?”
“Can you get us some more seltzer water, too?”
I sighed. “Of course. Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s it.”
“Any limes or anything?”
He paused. “Yes. We need more limes, too.”
Of course he did. “Why don’t you just go into the kitchen and make me a list. Then, I can order all of it at once, so we don’t forget anything.”
“That could take a while. We haven’t done a grocery run in a few weeks.”
Perfect. “I’ll put on something nice for you tonight if you make me a list.”
He chuckled. “No need to bargain with me. I’ll do it. Just give me some time.”
“You can have all the time you need. I’ve gotten into reorganizing the closet anyway.”
I heard him laughing as his footsteps fell away from me. I slowly crept down the stairs and peeked down the hallway.
His shadow danced in the kitchen. This was my shot. But when I looked at the elevator, I knew damn good and well he’d hear those doors opening and closing.
Until I heard him put on some music in the kitchen.
Perfect.
I pressed the elevator button, and the doors opened. But I peered down the hallway one last time. It almost looked like he was dancing in the kitchen by himself, and part of me was envious at that. I’d love to dance in the kitchen with him. It sounded so romantic. Me, barefoot and pregnant with his child. Him, doting on me and giving me kisses as he bent me over.
I almost forgot what I had set out to do.
Until I hear the doors closing.
“Shit,” I whispered.
I snatched up my purse and slipped through the doors before they closed. I slid on my sunglasses and wrapped myself up in the silken headscarf, knowing damn good and well I’d also have to dodge and dip around guards once I got to the main lobby. I had to keep an eye out, too. Without Israel at my side, I had to keep a lookout for men that seemed suspicious.
Because without Israel beside me, I was taking my life into my own hands.
Israel
I danced around in the kitchen as I opened the fridge and took stock of what we needed. I opened pantries and cabinets as Renata Tebaldi’s voice filled the corners of my penthouse. My word, what a hefty voice that woman had. I remembered listening to her a great deal growing up whenever my father had wanted to listen to music in his study. I’d seen my mother and my father dancing to her songs many times in the kitchen while cooking together. And one day, I hoped to do the same with my own wife.
With my Bonnie.
I shook the thought away from my mind and finished scribbling the grocery list down. How domestic this all felt. And yet, I didn’t hate it. It shocked me, in all honesty. I always assumed settling down with a woman made someone weak. Made me weak in the eyes of my enemies. And yes, in some ways, it did. I’d seen my father miss out on plenty of opportunities in his lifetime because people had threatened Mom, had threatened my brother and me, had threatened people he loved and cared for.
But I never perceived that as a weakness.
“You hold yourself against too many standards,” I murmured.
A statement my mother had always made whenever we sat down to have lunch together.
“Bonnie? I have the grocery list for you!”
I picked up the piece of paper from the kitchen counter and walked down the hallway.
“I’m not sure what kind of tomatoes you got the last time you shopped, but they were amazing. Let’s get more of those, yeah?”
But I wasn’t greeted with the sound of her voice as
