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I think about how hurtful it must have been for him to have proposed to someone only to have them turn him down because of money and fame.
“Stay with me tonight,” he says. “I've been gone three days.”
“I’m on my period.”
“Good. I love shower sex.”
I blush a little at the fact that Ryker isn’t squeamish about my time of the month.
“I don’t think tonight,” I say.
“Then just sleep next to me.”
I look over the bed.
“It's tainted.”
Just saying the words makes me feel silly.
Makes me feel like a jealous wife.
But that's what I am and there's no point in hiding it. I'm a jealous wife who’s jealous of the woman who was here before me. If I didn't care for Ryker at all, it wouldn't bother me. But our wedding night changed so much.
He walks over to his bed, flipping the sides of the comforter inward toward the rose petals and pulls it all up and off his sheets and then flings his comforter out into the hall.
“Please stay with me. We don’t have to fuck, just lay next to me and tell me everything you did while I was gone.”
Coming home to find a woman in my husband's house hit a little too close to home for me.
“I think I just need this one to air dry overnight. I'll see you in the morning, ok?”
He stands there with his hands on his hips, studying my facial expression.
I can see the disappointment on his face but I need the night to regroup my thoughts and bring me back to what we’re doing this all for.
Chapter Eighteen
Ryker
Last night was shit.
I didn’t sleep more than a few hours, too busy debating whether I should knock on Juliet’s door and try to talk this out with her or leave it be.
I came home looking forward to spending the night with my new wife and instead got blindsided by my ex-girlfriend dressed in lingerie in my kitchen and looking to burn the penthouse down… in more ways than one.
A pop of bacon grease hits my bare stomach, but it’s a small price to pay for not ruining every shirt I cook breakfast in. I swat at the grease and wipe it off my skin with one hand as I hold my phone to my ear talking with security downstairs.
“Yeah. Can you just make sure that when the moving company gets here, they bring the bed up?” I ask.
I’ve called security downstairs about the new king-sized bed I just ordered. If Juliet won’t sleep with me because of the bed in my room, then it has to go.
I can’t blame her for feeling like the bed is “tainted”.
If I had to sleep with her in a bed that she’s had for over six years and several boyfriends, I’d probably take a chainsaw to the damn thing.
I want Juliet in my bed as often as she’ll allow it and if a new bed eliminates undue strain, it’s a small price to pay. The cost for the new bed set won’t make a dip in my bank account, anyway. And even if it did, she’s worth the investment.
“No problem Mr. Haynes. You want to make sure the bed goes to your master bedroom?” he asks to clarify.
