ISABELLA
Christian’s phone buzzed just as I finished my dramatic declaration. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and sighed.
“I have to take this,” he said, already stepping away.
“Of course you do,” I muttered under my breath.
He shot me a look—half amused, half apologetic. “I have a meeting. It’ll take a couple of hours.”
I scoffed. “So let me get this straight. You drag me to your hotel, insist we play happy newlyweds, and now you’re abandoning me in this ridiculously over-the-top penthouse?”
Christian smirked, completely unaffected. “It’s our penthouse, Isabella. Make yourself comfortable.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already moving toward the door, rolling his sleeves up like he had much more important things to deal with than my irritation.
“I’ll
