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Not living with Nico until they were man and wife.
It might seem pointless to him, but to her, those things stood for something. She wanted to make this work.
“This is your room,” Nico said, pushing the door open to one of his many spare rooms. What did he even do with them? He didn’t seem like the type to have guests stay over, and he appeared to have no contact with his family…if he even had a family. Her suitcases were stacked neatly against one wall. “There’s a bathroom next door, and I’ve had it stocked with everything I thought you might need. However, if it’s missing anything I’ll have our house manager take care of it.”
“You’re putting me in a spare room?” She shook her head.
“It’s not spare,” he replied. “It’s yours.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You want to sleep in my room?” He raised a brow.
“I told you, I won’t be shoved into a corner. We’re married now, and when this baby comes I don’t want them growing up with parents who simply tolerate each other.”
“I can easily not tolerate you,” he said, frowning. “Look, I’m doing it already.”
Smart-ass. She was sticking to her guns, though. Whether he liked it or not. She would attempt to build a home with a real family, even if she had to drag Nico kicking and screaming into her vision.
Marianna marched into the spare room and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Her heels clicked on the floor as she wheeled it out into the hallway. “Let’s try this again.”
The muscle in Nico’s jaw twitched. “Are you purposefully trying to piss me off?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But it’s an added benefit.”
Rolling his eyes, he stood there for a minute and assessed her. For whatever reason—possibly that he’d determined stubbornness to be one of her more developed skills—he turned around and lead her to his room.
“I have the room set up a particular way,” he said as he opened the door to the master bedroom. A bright window faced the garden, and the room was sparsely furnished but still welcoming. “My home is my personal sanctuary.”
“Is this the adult way of saying ‘don’t touch my stuff?’”
What are you doing? You think sleeping in the same room is going to mean this is a real marriage? Think again.
Her subconscious was right, of course. But she had to start somewhere. Marianna wheeled her suitcase next to the bed and inspected the bedside table, peering at a photograph that looked to be very old. Two young boys with bronzed skin and ink-black hair. She reached out to touch it, but Nico cleared his throat.
“I like things a particular way,” he repeated.
“Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
“I usually eat in my office, so you can have dinner any time you like,” he continued. “Let the chef know, and I’ve already told him you might have strange food requirements.”
She raised a brow.
“Cravings,” he clarified. “That usually happens with pregnant women…from what I’ve read online. The fridge is well stocked, but the staff are under instruction to get you whatever you need.”
She watched Nico as he ran through the workings of his household. There was an army of staff to satisfy his every whim, and hers now, too. He spoke quickly, as though trying to get the “orientation” part of his day over, and conducted the whole speech with minimal eye contact. She wondered for a moment if this was as awkward for him as it was for her. Neither of them wanted to be in this position, tied to someone they didn’t care about. Tied to a mistake.
“Did you know the word ‘wed’ comes from the Proto-Indo-European root wadh-, meaning to pledge or redeem?”
“Is the phrase ‘did you know’ your favorite thing to say?” he countered.
“I think it is.” She grinned. “Is yours ‘I like things a particular way?’”
He made an exasperated sound, but amusement danced in his dark eyes. She would break him down, bit by bit. Quirky fact by quirky fact.
She’d wondered over and over if proposing to Nico had been the right thing to do. But her brothers had reassured her that nothing was permanent, not even wedding vows. She could try to make it work with him for the sake of the baby, but divorce was always an option.
Whenever she thought about that, however, fear gripped her chest. Any risk to her maintaining custody of their baby filled her with icy dread. She’d developed a fierce bond with the life inside her. Nothing would ever break that. Not Nico, not tradition. Nothing. If that meant she needed to live here endlessly trying to make this relationship work, then so be it.
“Is this your first time being married?” she asked, bending over to unzip her suitcase.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Sure. But I figure we should have our stories straight, and currently I know nothing about you.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She knew he was a fantastic lover and stubborn as hell. But that wouldn’t pass muster the second he wheeled her out at cocktail parties as his wife. “I’m assuming when I meet people I need to pretend like I married you for some reason other than getting knocked up.”
