Heat and Humor
1037 Words
Morning sunlight slid across my face like a spotlight I didn’t ask for. I blinked, groggy and confused for a second, before remembering where I was.
The mansion. His room. His stupidly expensive bed.
And him.
The sound of running water hit me next. A man’s voice followed — low, smooth, and annoyingly amused.
> “Hot water’s running out, Mrs. Knight. If you plan to bathe today, you might want to join me.”
I shot up so fast the blanket nearly fell off. “Excuse me!?”
The bathroom door opened just enough for him to step out, towel over his shoulder, droplets of water sliding down his neck. He looked far too comfortable for someone tormenting me before breakfast.
> “We’re married now,” he said, deadpan. “Sharing is efficient.”
I stared at him. “Efficient? You think I’m stepping into that tub with you?”
He shrugged. “Saves time. Conserves water.”
I almost threw the pillow at him. “I’d rather bathe in bleach.”
That made him laugh — really laugh — the sound deep and unguarded. It was ridiculous how unfairly attractive it sounded.
> “You know, for someone who agreed to a marriage contract,” he said, “you’re surprisingly shy.”
“And for someone who runs an empire,” I shot back, “you’re surprisingly immature.”
He smirked. “Childish? That’s new.”
“Then put it on your résumé.”
His eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re dangerous before coffee.”
“And you’re impossible after it,” I muttered.
He just shook his head, that smug half-smile still playing on his lips. “Fine. You win, Mrs. Knight. I’ll have breakfast sent up. Try not to drown in modesty.”
When the house went quiet again, I exhaled for what felt like the first time all morning. “Unbelievable,” I muttered.
I went to the closet, found one of the dresses laid out for me, and started to change. I’d just unzipped my nightshirt when—
> Click.
The door opened.
“Breakfast’s—”
“Ethan!” I spun around, clutching the nearest thing in reach — his black suit jacket — and held it like a shield. “Get. Out!”
He froze, then raised both hands in surrender. “Relax, I didn’t see anything.”
“You saw enough!”
He blinked innocently. “I saw fabric.”
“Oh my God—”
> “Privacy’s overrated in marriage,” he said, voice light.
“Not in this marriage!”
He had the nerve to grin. “Noted.”
“Out!”
He turned, still laughing under his breath as he left, and I swear the air in the room heated ten degrees. My pulse was ridiculous. I pressed a hand to my face, groaning into his jacket.
“Why does he have to be so—so smug?”
And why, for the love of all things rational, was I blushing?
By the time I came down for breakfast, I had sworn a dozen oaths of silence. I was going to eat, avoid eye contact, and not murder him.
But of course, Ethan Knight had other plans.
The dining room looked like something out of a movie — sunlight through chandeliers, silver cutlery, and enough food to feed a small army. He sat at one end, perfectly composed, reading a newspaper.
I picked the seat at the farthest end.
He looked up, one brow raised. “You’re sitting halfway across the continent.”
“Good,” I said sweetly. “More oxygen that way.”
He chuckled — that dangerous sound again. “Couples usually sit together. Or at least in the same timezone.”
“Then maybe you should marry someone from another one,” I muttered, stabbing my toast.
“Unfortunately, you’re the only one I’ve got.” His tone softened, and before I could think, he added, “Come here.”
I froze. “What?”
“Come here. I won’t bite.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
He leaned back, eyes challenging. “Maya.”
The way he said my name—ugh. My spine straightened like it had a mind of its own. I scooted over three seats just to shut him up.
“See? Not so painful,” he said, pouring me coffee.
“Yet.”
He smiled faintly, and something in my chest did a stupid little flip.
The silence that followed was surprisingly… gentle. Until he spoke again.
> “Any plans today? Exploring the mansion again?”
“Maybe. Unless you’ve banned more rooms.”
“I could give you a tour.”
“I’d rather not end up arrested by my own husband.”
He looked amused. “You’d look cute behind bars.”
I choked on my coffee. “Did you just—?”
“I’m joking,” he said, laughing now, actually laughing. It was the kind of sound that could melt ice—if it wasn’t so infuriatingly smug.
“You’re impossible,” I said, tossing a napkin at him.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“You deserve worse.”
He smiled like I’d just complimented him. Then his gaze softened, the teasing dimming just a little.
> “You’re enjoying this more than you admit.”
The words hit harder than they should have. My pulse stuttered.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said quickly.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Well, stop. I’m not one of your business deals.”
Something flickered in his expression — guilt? amusement? I couldn’t tell. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
> “Point taken.”
He stood, folding his napkin neatly. “Finish your breakfast, Mrs. Knight. You’ll need the energy.”
“For what?” I asked.
He turned slightly, that infuriating smirk back on his face.
> “You’ll see.”
And just like that, he walked out — leaving me staring at my untouched coffee, my heart doing things I refused to name.
- Writer
