Now that we were back, things would return to normal. We’d settle into a routine. I had my job and Ford had his, so our days would be busy and spent mostly apart. The only time we’d really see each other would be at night, and though I figured neither of us would be avoiding sex, at least there wouldn’t be much time for romancing in between. Which I told myself was a good thing. I had to keep my head on straight.
If the next year of our marriage was basically just a lot of hot sex without too much emotion, maybe I could survive this whole thing with most of my heart intact.
However, before we could begin our new life, there was one big task that we needed to undertake.
We had to officially move in together.
Obviously, Ford’s apartment made more sense for us, being bigger and newer and more practical compared to my loft’s mostly open floor plan and complete lack of spare rooms. But for the past few months we’d held off, telling anyone who asked that I was a little old-fashioned about cohabitating and wanted to wait until after we tied the knot to move in. Since Claudia had lived with him before, it wasn’t an excuse Ford could have used, but everyone seemed to accept that he’d agreed in order to please me.
I was grateful for the distraction that the move gave me. Even though I was keeping my loft as a studio space for work (which was a legitimate need), Munchkin and I still had to make ourselves at home at Ford’s to really sell the charade of our marriage. But knowing I’d be moving right back in eleven months hence, I left most of my furniture at the loft. All I really needed were my clothes, toiletries, and a few other sundry items.
And then moving day was upon us. There was no turning back.
Following the movers into Ford’s apartment, I couldn’t help frowning. I’d been over plenty of times, so the uber masculine look of the place—clashing hideously with Claudia’s ultra-girly touches—was no surprise to me. And given the temporary nature of the move, I knew I shouldn’t voice my opinions about the furnishings and design. It wasn’t my permanent home, after all, so there was no point in making a big deal about the décor.
But I couldn’t help myself.
I’d always been loud and clear about my feelings regarding Ford’s bachelor pad. Both before and after Claudia’s hideous “styling” of the place, which had given me the overall impression that a Barbie Dreamhouse and a Ralph Lauren catalog had conspired to simultaneously explode all over Ford’s leather-and-brushed steel wet dream. It was a nightmare.
My very un-secret opinion of the place was partly why we always hung out at my loft.
As I looked around, it was obvious that Claudia’s touch was still all over the place. From the cloying, heavy scent of her designer candles on the entryway table, to the metallic gold throw pillows on the armchair, to the flowery curtains and huge framed print in the bathroom that said, in a bright pink script font, “Hello, gorgeous!”
It had to go.
I had just finished unpacking my clothes into the dresser and walk-in closet Ford had provided for my exclusive use when I heard the front door open. Munchkin was off like a shot, panting as he scrambled to greet Ford. I was excited to see my new husband, too…because I was more than ready to discuss what would need to change if I was going to live here.
“Em?” Ford called out from down the hall.
“I’m in your room!” I called back.
“Ourroom,” he corrected, stepping through the doorway in his crisp work suit with my slobbery dog in his arms. “You all unpacked?”
God, could that man make me melt in an instant. That suit, that jawline, the obvious affection for my furbaby…the way he freaking smelled.
“Almost,” I said, recovering my senses. “Just a few more boxes.”
“Great,” he said, setting down Munchkin. “What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about decorating,” I said.
Ford looked around, clearly puzzled.
“Decorating what?” he asked. “The place is already decorated.”
“By you,” I said. “And Claudia.”
He looked at me blankly. “Are you serious? Claudia’s long gone. You know that.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “Besides, no girl ever moved into a new place without adding her touch. It would be totally obvious that this was an act if someone came over and saw that nothing had changed since your ex-girlfriend left.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Fine. What were you thinking?”
I had a whole list. We started in the living room.
“New paint in here,” I said, gesturing to the dark walls. “Don’t get me wrong, I obviously love black, but I prefer lighter colored walls. It helps a space feel more airy and open.”
“It’s called a mancavefor a reason,” Ford shot back. “Besides, it’s not black. It’s navy. Makes it cozy in here.”
