In that case, “Pack whatever you want so I can stare at you for hours, preferably wearing nothing.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts again. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Only because you keep feeding me reasons to be.”
She rolls her eyes and turns away, saying something under her breath that sounds like “so unbelievable,” as she fusses around her room, tidying up and moving things so the place will be clean when she returns.
I follow her to the suitcase, watching as she smooths down a stack of clothes she’s already folded twice. Her hands are busy, but her brain is spinning. I can see it.
“You okay?” I ask, quieter now.
“Of course,” she allows. “But like I said—this is a lot.”
I step closer, voice low. “If you want to stay—”
“No.” She turns, meeting my eyes. “I want to go.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” she says. “I just wasn’t expecting Tim to show up and try to win me back with a stupidlatte.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were still in love with him.” I say it with a downtrodden inflection in my tone to amuse her.
Annabelle barks out a laugh. “Shut up.”
I relax, relieved to see the tension crack. The last thing I want is her aborting the mission and deciding to stay home because I have a big mouth and piss her off.
“I’m just saying ... you two had a history. Probably swapped toothbrushes.”
She pulls a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Agree. Which is why I’m the obvious upgrade choice.”
She side-eyes me as she continues putzing with her clothes. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
I scoff. “Of Timmy Two Lattes?”
She lifts a brow. “Yes, Timmy Two Times.”
“I guess. Maybe alittle.” I’m not too shy to admit I have an insecurity when it comes to relationships, or women cheating, or knowing what a woman wants. The only thing I’ve ever been able to control is myself, so getting inside someone’s head is pointless.
So I say what I mean and mean what I say.
Always.
She tilts her head, smiling now. “Why?”
“Don’t know. The thought of you looking at some other guy—even that nerd who wears boat shoes, Tim—like you looked at me last night? When we’re not technically married?”
“You do realize we’re practically still strangers, who happen to have spent a shit ton on rings when we were drunk, right?”
I pull her in for a hug, wrapping my arms around her. “Most drunk fun I’ve had in ages.”
Chapter 21
Annabelle
If you had told me two weeks ago that I’d be standing barefoot in a glass-walled penthouse overlooking the Scottsdale skyline with my “husband,” who is currently humming off-key while unpacking his duffel—I would’ve assumed you’d either been day drinking or fallen and hit your head.
