Maybe the uncertainty was the point.
Fine. You?
Ronan
Loquacious as always. Hasn’t anyone ever told you to think before you speak, sweetheart?
I rolled my eyes. He liked to tease too, mostly about my buttoned-up personality. It was as if he’d made it his personal mission to bring back Not Laney Fisher. Probably because he knew if he hadn’t met her, he never would have liked her—or kissed her or married her—otherwise.
The thought stung. Maybe that’s why I dug in and replied with an especially prickly text.
Has anyone ever told you that we should be divorced by now? Can’t your billions get one little annulment in order?
Maybe it was a little unfair. He had assured me in Vegas that he would have it taken care of, and I believed him. Ronan Black had no more reason to stay married to an absolute nobody on the other side of the country than I had to stay married to him, and lawyers take time, right?
Considering I barely had enough to pay the electricity bill this month, I had no recourse but to let him figure it out.
Still, why wasn’t my billionaire husband more interested in undoing our little mistake? He clearly spent a lot of time in Vegas. Was the delay because he’d done it enough times that it wasn’t worse than spilled milk to him?
I didn’t think I wanted the answer.
Before I could ask him that or anything else, my phone screen lit up with an incoming call from the man himself.
Against my better judgment, I put it on speaker and answered. “Hello?”
“In a hurry, aren’t we?”
Oh, God. I’d forgotten that voice. Sweet and dark as maple sugar, that deep purr sizzled through the phone and down my spine.
Yeah, answering the phone was a bad idea.
“I have things to do,” I said a bit more curtly than necessary. “I thought you were taking care of it.”
“Well, I also have this little thing called a job.” I couldn’t see Ronan’s laughing expression, but I could imagine it clearly. He liked riling me up.
“You mean drinking and screwing your way through Vegas?” I countered before I could stop myself. “Or is it a different city every week?”
A low, sure chuckle echoed through the phone’s speakers, like he knew I was more irritated by my cutting remarks than he was. “Aww, are you jealous, Laney?”
“Not in the slightest.” I glared at the phone, happy he couldn’t see me. “Just annoyed that my fake husband can’t manage the one task he was given. I guess the marital labor gap applies to fake marriages as well as real ones. Though with you, I guess that’s to be expected with someone who gets married in a drunken spree and doesn’t even have the decency to be surprised.”
The chuckle stopped, and for a moment, I thought he might be angry. My sharp tongue had gotten me into trouble plenty of times. Mom always said it could slice better than her favorite knives.
“Is that what you think of me? That I’m just a drunk with no direction?” There was still a lilt of humor, but it was paired with something slightly more dangerous. A challenge, maybe. Or a dare.
“I don’t know. If the shoe fits… or the rings, I suppose.”
“I believe there were two of us who woke up hungover in that marital bed, Ms. Fisher.”
“True. But only one of us acted like it was an average Saturday morning.”
I braced myself for another comeback, though if I were being honest, I was enjoying myself. Ronan was smart, and unlike most men I knew, he could take whatever he dished out. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.
“What are you wearing?”
I frowned. The joking tone was gone, replaced by an overt demand. The man changed the conversation and his mood on a dime. It was yet another reason I felt so disoriented, even when we just texted.
I looked down at my jeans, the fisherman’s sweater Mom had knitted me for my twentieth birthday. “That’s none of your business.”
