Beck heads down the stairs with my stuff, so I follow him.
“We aren’t friends, Calla.”
“Don’t I know it?”
“We’re husband and wife.”
I pause in the hallway outside what I assume is going to be my room since that’s where Beck took my boxes.
Asking for a divorce is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m all too quickly reminded of my current life predicament. If I want to be free, Beck has to ask for it.
I’m just not sure how to make that happen. Especially when he doesn’t want one to begin with.
“Meet me upstairs in the kitchen in fifteen minutes,” he says after it’s clear I have no rebuttal for his reference to our relationship.
I brush my hair and change into a pair of holey jeans and a Taylor Swift T-shirt before I meet Beck in the kitchen. He isn’t there when I show up, so I take a moment to look around.
Oh. My. Gosh. Someone should hire me as an actress, because the amount of smiling and oohs and ahhs I’ve had to hold back after seeing all of Beck’s house is insane. It’s not my first time here, but shit, I loved it before too.
The walls are off-white with big white trim, the kind you’d see in older houses. The main wall in his living room has a gray-and-white marble fireplace with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on each side of it. The rounded arches into each room that don’t have a door are to die for, and the light stained wood floors are so clean I could eat off them.
He had to have hired someone to decorate and pick out the accents for his house because this place is literally a Pinterest-worthy house. I can’t believe I get to live here. And the basement is just as beautiful. I love the walkout French doors. When I was in his backyard this past weekend, I thought, ‘Come on. Really? French doors to the upper deck and basement walkout and French doors to the lower patio— is that necessary?’
Yes. Yes, it is.
I’m just smoothing my hand over the marble countertops when he walks in, looking like a fucking snack.
I stand ramrod straight.
Wow.
I did not just think that.
I let out a laugh, and Beck glares at me.
“Something funny?”
I pinch my lips together and shake my head.
“No. Let’s go.”
I walk out of the house faster than a sinner in church on Sunday.
What has gotten into me?
I’m more adult than this. I swear.
I walk around to the passenger side of Beck’s SUV, doing my best not to roll my eyes at whatever poison is clearly in the air of the most perfect house, and I feel him walking behind me.
I spin quickly. “What are you doing?”
His brows dip a little in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Um, you’re like right behind me.”
“Well, if you would move, I would move, and we could get going.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you this close to me?”
