The door to Room 10 hadn't even fully settled into its frame before the "Sweet Wife" mask dissolved. Brianna pushed Lucian's arm as if he were made of spiders and began frantically trying to smooth her hair in the cracked vanity mirror.
Lucian, meanwhile, walked to the sagging queen-sized bed, tossed the yellow file onto the nightstand, and sat down. He began unbuttoning his coat silently.
"I'm taking the bed," he stated dryly.
Brianna spun around, a tuft of static-charged hair still sticking up. "Excuse me? You're taking the bed? I am the wife here, Lucian. In what world does the lady sleep on a floor that looks like it hasn't been swept since the nineties?"
Lucian stopped mid-button, looking up at her with his dark eyes. He didn't look guilty. He didn't look like a man who had just been caught with a "mistress." He looked tired.
