She didn’t look up. “Have we.”
He leaned against the counter. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He watched her for a moment. “You really want to blow everything up over this.”
Carissa finally lifted her eyes. “You’ve been lying to people for ten years about who your wife is.”
“It was stupid. Fine. But it’s not worth ruining everything.”
“You already ruined everything.”
“No, I made a mistake.”
“A mistake,” she repeated. “Like buying the wrong wine. Like texting the wrong person. Not like putting your mistress in my place and asking for my blessing.”
Damen’s face tightened at the word mistress.
“Don’t call her that.”
Carissa held his gaze. “What would you prefer? Sister-wife? understudy? replacement model?”
He pushed away from the counter hard enough to rattle the fruit bowl. “You know what your problem is? You make everything uglier than it has to be.”
“No,” she said. “I remove the flattering lighting.”
He left before he could lose.
Men like Damen hated rooms where language belonged to someone else.