The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) by Cassie Alexander

watching her – that or guilt was prickling her neck at every turn.
    And
then they wound up in the library.
    Richard
made an approving noise at seeing his neatly alphabetized books, but frowned back
at the portrait staring down from above the fireplace. He leaned against the
massive desk that, along with a couch, was the library’s only other furniture,
and shook his head at the portrait.
    “That
has got to go,” he said.
    “What?”
She’d been looking at the shelves where the ghost had ravished her after her
realization of Richard’s betrayal. Would the ghost think she was betraying him,
now?
    “That
painting. It’s hideous.”
    Daphne
drew up straight. “It is not. It’s an antique. It’s part of the house’s
history.”
    Richard
gave her a disbelieving look. “I thought you had more taste than that, pet.”
    “I
think it goes perfectly well in here. The shelves even go around it – if we
take it down, it’ll look out of place.”
    “We
can fix the shelves, or hang another portrait. One of me, perhaps,” he said,
sliding his hand into his robe in the style of Napoleon. Daphne snorted.
    “Or
just leave that one there, where it belongs.”
    Richard
opened his mouth to say one more thing. He hardly ever gave her ground, but
this time he closed his mouth again and shrugged. In its own way it was one
more small sign that he’d cheated on her.
     
    They
both got dressed for dinner that night, Arthur presented it right at seven, and
they sat across from one another, as though they were out on the town.
    “So,”
Daphne began, holding her glass of wine conversationally. “How was Tokyo?”
    Cutting
a piece of steak, he paused in thought.
    Times
like these she thought she could actually see the calculations running behind
his eyes. He was a banker, he couldn’t help himself.
    “Hot.
Miserable. Certain investments we’d made there’ve dried up – the firm’s pissed
off. International things always have a large amount of risk involved –
different cultures, different ideas.” He shook his head, bringing his fork up,
staring her directly in the eyes. “It was a bad idea and a waste of time. I
won’t be going back.”
    Daphne
pursed her lips. Even if she were to press Richard for a million years, that
might be the only admission of guilt she ever got – and also the only apology.
    “Never
again?” she asked, torn, and feeling small.
    “Never.”
He planted the bite of steak into his mouth and chewed vengefully.
     
    After
dinner, Richard excused himself and Daphne followed him upstairs. They got
ready for bed like they always did while he was in town, brushing their teeth
beside each other in the sink, and she saw him reach into his shaving kit for a
prescription bottle.
    “Sorry
pet – I know you were hoping for another round, but I’ve been up for two days
straight, what with travel and fighting jet-lag,” he explained, pouring a pill
out into his palm. “I’m scared I’ll go to bed for three hours and then wake up
at dawn in Japan time.”
    “It’s
all right, that makes sense,” she said, watching him swallow it. Each with
pajamas on, they crawled into bed for the night.
     
    Daphne
lay there for an hour listening to him breathe. His weight in the bed felt
good, as did his heat, and the way he’d reach out for her if she rolled too far
away. When he was sleeping it was easier to remember what she loved about him
and the way it used to be.
    She
was almost asleep herself when she felt the covers on the bed shift in the
dark, as though someone were joining them. She opened her mouth up in a gasp,
and felt it covered by a hot hand.
    She
could breathe through the hand, it was a reminder, not a punishment – but even
if she could speak, what should she say? That there a ghost was in the bed, haunting
them? Even if she woke Richard up right now he wouldn’t believe her.
    Instead
she arched back a little, feeling the heat of the ghost press up against her
back – and one warm hand dart