ISABELLE
Matt led me through the house, his hand firm around mine, until we reached a set of double doors at the end of a hallway.
He pushed them open, revealing his bedroom.
Massive, just as I remembered. Dark sheets that looked impossibly soft on the king-sized bed, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, the lights twinkling in the distance. The memory of what happened here the last time; on the sofa, against the wall, the table, came rushing to me, sending shivers down my spine.
“Matt—” I started, but he turned me to face him, his hands cupping my face.
“Before we go any further,” he said, his voice low and serious, “I need you to understand what this arrangement means. What I expect. What I need from you.”
“We already discussed the terms—”
“I’m not talking about the
