She cracked open an eye, gave me a sideways glance, then tried to focus again. “The chair.”
I bobbed my head. “It’s working. You look exactly like a chair.”
She laughed. For the first time since I’d forced her down the aisle, she gave me a genuine laugh, losing her composure completely. She slammed her hand over her mouth before she cleared her throat and sank back into position.
“Go away. You’re distracting me.”
“You can practice squatting on my face if you’d like.”
“Pervert.”
“Downward dog is a good position. Do that one next.”
When she realised I wouldn’t leave, she gave up. She straightened, placed her hands on her hips and faced me with an overly enthusiastic smile. “So, what do you think of the place? I wanted to make it feel more like home. Do you like it?”
"It's... overwhelming. Let me guess, I paid for it all?"Which means I'd have no problem returning it.
"Of course. With that lovely black card. But it's the thought that counts, right?"
"So the thought process behind the fluorescent silk shirts?"
"You wear too much black. Life is not a funeral, Santino."
“The pillows have quotes.”
“Think of them as aspirational.”
“There are a lot of candles in here. Big fire hazard.”
“They’re tranquil lotus.”
“Don’t think that makes them less of a fire hazard.”
Something flashed across her eyes. Her smile dropped, and she tilted her hip, changing her attitude completely. “Just say what you really think. You don’t like them.”
“I don’t see the point in so many of them, especially when it’s already hotter than the Sahara in here.”
“I’m not a corpse, Santino. Did you want me to freeze to death?”
“It’s twenty-three degrees outside.” I pointed towards the window and then saw it. My head nearly exploded. “If you’re so cold, why is that window open?”
“I got warm working out.”
“Then turn off the bloody heating and blow out the candles, woman. Common sense, no?”
Her blue eyes narrowed into a lethal glare. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“I’m just pointing out a very obvious fact.”
“Well, here’s another very obvious fact. You’re an asshole.”
She snatched up the mat, rolled it frantically, and stuffed it under her arm before shoving past me and down the hallway. I watched her ass wiggle away before she slammed the bedroom door shut with a bang. I cracked my neck.Patience. Find fucking patience.
Deciding to give her a minute to remember, I was supposed to be the only lunatic in this relationship, I walked over to my drinks cabinet in the dining room and poured myself a whiskey. I lifted the glass, paused, then frowned. Was there glitter in my drink?
I tilted it, watching it shimmer, and sniffed. Not whiskey. Highly suspicious. Was she trying to poison me? I took a sip anyway and nearly spat it across the room. It tasted as if the tooth fairy had pissed in my glass and added a few grams of sugar to make all my teeth rot quicker. She'd swapped my hand-picked, carefully aged whiskey for some cheap, girly cocktail. I took another sip, scrunching my nose. Actually… it wasn’t horrible.
Merda,was this the beginning of the end? Married life turned hard men into cocktail-drinking, candle-buying, cushion-philosophising dickheads. I should'vemade more rules. What the fuck was I thinking, giving her only two?
