MONROE’S POV
8 years after she and Hyde met
My husband isboth the best man I know and the most infuriating man I know.
Actually, no, that’s not quite true. My brother infuriates me more than Hyde does. And so does King. So, technically, my husband is the third most infuriating man I know. But boy, when he pisses me off, he does a great job at it.
I watch him in our bedroom from the en suite mirror while I complete my night-time skin care routine. He’s been sitting on our bed watching TV for the last half hour and I’m almost certain he’s barely aware of my existence right now. I have a mind to cancel our Netflix subscription this very minute so he can’t watch that show he’s addicted to.
It’s been a long day and I’ve come this close to wanting to stab him at least three times. The first being this morning when we fought over the near-empty bottle of milk in the fridge. Thebottleheput back in there. Like, why the fuck put a bottle of milk back in the fridge that has only one sip left in it?
The day was all downhill from there.
We argued over my roof at work when he came to pick me up this afternoon. I could quite happily have hurt him when he went on and on about me not telling him about the roof last week. And then, when we got home and he said something about my shoes being left at the front door for everyone to trip over, he came close again to suffering pain at my hands.
Whoever said marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person, was right. Eight years of being married to Hyde and I’ve had to fall in love a few times. I only want him, but some days, loving him requires me to make that choice over again.
“Red,” he calls. “You almost finished in there?”
I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Oh, so you do know I’m in here.”
He lifts a brow. “How many days you planning on throwing me this attitude?”
Oh no he doesn’t. “That depends on how long you plan on being an asshole to me.”
That gets him off the bed and coming my way. I try not to let my gaze drop to his impressive body, a useless mission even when I’m angry with him. Forty-four looks damn good on Hyde, something I bemoan when he’s pissing me off.
“When the fuck was I an asshole to you?” he demands when he reaches the en suite doorway. His eyes are all over me in the same way mine were on him a second ago. It’s almost enough to throw me off my game. Almost.
“You want me to count all the times from today? Or shall I just tell you it was often enough for me to not want you anywhere near me tonight?” That’s a lie. I always want my husband near me. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“If you’re referring to our fight this morning, that was all on you.”
My eyes widen and I place my night cream jar on the vanity before turning to face him. “That wasnotall on me. You’re the one who put the milk back in the fridge.”
“Jesus. Are you going to argue with me over the fucking milk? Again?”
I’m not sure it’s possible for my eyes to widen more, but I’m pretty certain they do. “Yes, I’m going to argue with you over the fucking milk because that bottle of milk stands for so many other things you do that I really wish you wouldn’t. It’s the principle, Hyde.”
“What fucking principle?”
“And see, that right there is the problem.”
He runs his hand down his face and exhales a breath. “It’s like you enjoy speaking in riddles I can’t understand half the time. Can you please just get to the point and tell me what you’re actually talking about?”
Why must men be so clueless? God must be a man after all. A woman wouldn’t have designed two completely different types of humans that can’t understand each other and then sent them out into the wild to mate and live together.
“I love you, tiger, but you make it fucking hard some days.”
“Right back at you. Now start talking and don’t stop until you narrow this shit down for me. We’re not going to bed until we sort this out.”
“That’s just because you want sex tonight.”
“No,” he says, his tone filled with raw honesty. “What I want is to understand my wife, because at this point all I understand is that she’s okay with filling our bathroom with bottles that are ninety-nine percent empty but she’s not okay with putting a bottle of milk back in the fridge with only one sip left in it.”
I stare at him, my immediate reaction being to tell him what I think of that statement. Because honestly, I think I’m offended or annoyed or hurt. I can’t decide which one right this minute. There’s a reason I don’t throw out my bottles of skin care and make-up and hair care until they’re completely empty, and I wish he understood that.
However, I remind myself that God, being a man, did in fact make men very differently to women, and he did unleash us into the wild without a manual, which means we have to figure out how to live together all on our own. And since not even eight years of marriage has enlightened my husband as to why I do some of the things I do, that’s up to me.
