Could you still get an annulment if we had technically consummated the marriage?
I decided it didn’t count if no one could remember the details.
Unfortunately, the plan disintegrated when I found Ronan lounging on the sofa, flipping through the TV channels with an array of silver-covered plates in front of him that smelled like breakfast.
Good God. The man looked indecent in boxer briefs, but he really was absurdly hot in casual clothes. How could anyone make jeans and a T-shirt look pornographic?
His eyes sparked with interest before he seemed to remember himself (or maybe my heart issues), and a blander, somehow distinctly platonic mask shifted into place as he sat up. “You want anything? Crepes? Maybe eggs and bacon if you’re carnivorous, vegan stuff if you’re not. Coffee—there’s regular and decaf. I also ordered tea.”
Every square inch of the large coffee table was covered with food, which on top of the dishes he offered, also includeda selection of pastries, a fruit salad, what looked like a tofu scramble, along with yogurt, granola, and French toast.
“I—no, thank you.” Really, I should have probably eaten something, but my appetite had deserted me. There were too many mixed signals happening, and this man was too good-looking and far too smooth for his own good. I wasn’t equipped for this.
I needed to get out of here and get on with my walk of shame. Then again, what did I know about walks of shame, considering this was my first one?
Besides, there was a conversation I needed to have. I just had no clue how to start it.
Ronan swept a hand toward the spread. “Sit down. Eat.”
I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, so I took a seat at the opposite end of the couch—as far from my husband as possible while still being on the same piece of furniture. He watched over the rim of his coffee cup, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his full, wicked mouth.
Before my stomach did a full somersault, I decided to look over the food.
“So. You faint when you’re stressed.” It was a casual observation, like he was talking about the weather.
I examined a croissant with far too much intensity. “Sometimes, yes.”
“Any other stimuli I should be aware of as your next of kin?”
That did it.
I put the croissant back down and turned. “We should get some things straight.”
“As your husband, I completely agree.” His eyes gleamed with something that wasn’t quite amusement. Something darker. More dangerous.
The expression should have sent me running. Why, then, was I fighting the urge to scoot across the couch right into his lap?Like my body wanted to return there for something it knew in its bones but not conscious memory?
He grinned, like he could read every confused thought.
I scowled. “Stop that.”
“Stop what? Telling the truth?”
“Goading. Do you do that to everyone when you’re uncomfortable or just me?”
For a moment, those dark eyes dropped to my lips before coming back up. The desire in that expression hadn’t abated, but at least the cockiness had. A little. “Astute, aren’t you? The few who know me would say everyone.”
“Well, stop it.” I did my best to sound firm. “We have some things to figure out, and the jokes are just making it harder.”
“Harder.” Something in his tone made my thighs clench together. “That’s for sure. Though by ‘things,’ I assume you mean this.”
He produced the marriage license I’d spotted on the desk earlier. There were our names in looping script. Ronan Black. Delaney Fisher.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, God.
Immediately, he tucked it away and grabbed my shoulder, his hand warm on my bare skin. “Note to self: legalese is another fainting trigger.”
I batted his hand away, though the rest of me ached for more of that strong touch. “I’m not going to faint again.”I hope.The pills were working, but they weren’t always a guarantee. “I suppose we need to discuss what happens next. Obviously, we can’t stay married.”
