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Relief rushes out of her in a gust of breath.
“Contingent on the narrative having served its purpose during that time, we’ll consider moving into separate spaces before beginning divorce proceedings at the twelve-month mark. No fault, of course.”
“Deal.”
“I’m not done.”
Her tentative smile falls.
“A minimum of three months of cohabiting and divorce after a year, all plans going well. But ultimately, this marriage isn’t over until I say so.”
“What?” Her eyes fly wide. “That’s ridiculous—I’m not staying married to you!”
“What’s ridiculous is how you seem to think that I won’t yeet myself out of this marriage at the first opportunity.” I let her digest that for a minute. Fuck, I let myself digest what an asshole I’m being.
“It’s too open ended,” she retorts with a scowl.
“That’s my deal-breaker, Clara. I have too much to lose. It’s my contingency.”
“A stupid one. What’s to say I won’t agree now, only to renege later?”
“The world of shit I’ll rain down on you if you do.”
“I’m feeling less and less charmed by the minute,” she mutters.
“You’re not marrying me for my charm. Think of it like this. You’re running the hundred meters, and my event is the marathon. We’ll both achieve our aims, just at different finish lines.”
“This is insane.”
“Agreed.” I hold out my hand, and she begrudgingly takes it. “But maybe also kind of genius.”
Hands retract across the tabletop, and we both take a moment to let that thought percolate. Until the noisy rattle of the refrigerator interrupts the sudden silence, and Clara’s spine goes suddenly bolt straight.
“Separate bedrooms,” she announces.
“I assumed that was a given.” I mean, she’s still hot, but I’m no longer stupid.
“Where do you live, by the way?”
“Battery Park. The apartment is pretty big, and I work a lot. We won’t have to spend a whole lot of time there together.” Which is just as well, because the thought of watching her fold panties in my space does something to my concentration.
“Right. Good.”
Fuck, I can’t imagine lying in my bed while she does the same on the other side of the apartment. “We’ll need to find a way to be comfortable around each other.”
“The damn narrative.” She rolls her eyes.
Yeah, for that too.
“And those public displays of affection,” she adds with the same level of comfort as I’d imagine her admitting she’s into BDSM. “What are you smiling about?”
“On Wednesdays we wear bondage.”
“I don’t remember your sense of humor being weird.” She gives her head a quick shake. “Just how affectionate are we talking?”
“Newlyweds are usually hot for each other.”
“How hot?”
