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“Four days ago,” Nero answers.
And while he tries to explain how he forgot to tell her, I’m stunned silent over the answer.
Has it really only been four days? Or was it five? No, wemetfive days ago. The wedding was the day after that.
I think.
How is that possible? I feel like I’ve known her for…so much longer.
“What’s her name?”
“Savannah,” I answer, the same time Nero says, “Motel.”
My teeth grind, but Payton beats me to the punch, so to speak, by throwing another handful of pebbles at Nero.
When did women start throwing things?
Nero moves to Payton and takes Toto off her hands. “Might as well do this over dinner,” Nero grumbles, walking away from us, still carrying the dog so he doesn’t have to walk on the pebbles, even though they’re rounded and not sharp.
Payton and I fall into step behind him.
“So, how’d you meet?” Payton asks me.
I open my mouth, but Nero opens his faster. “He kidnapped her from a murder scene.”
Payton makes a sound of disbelief, before a single blue pebble bounces off my temple.
* * *
Tryingto be as quiet as possible, I pull the blankets back on my side of the bed and crawl in, next to a sleeping Savannah.
I didn’t mean to stay at Nero’s so late but it actually felt good to talk it all over with him and Payton. They haven’t been together long, practically just got home from their honeymoon, but they’re solid. Insane, but solid.
And the more time I spend with Savannah, the more I suspect she might be almost as twisted as I am. So insane people’s advice might just work.
And the advice basically boiled down to, forget about the kidnapping stuff and show her how good of a husband you can be.
This was, of course, after an hour of Payton grilling me, asking why I forced her into marriage in the first place. And the more she dissected it, the more she made me start to believe that maybe I just wanted an excuse to keep Savannah.
I’m not sure if that’s true, but what’s done is done. And no matter how valid or not my reasons were, Savannah is my wife now and keeping her is exactly what I plan to do.
My wife makes a sleepy sound and so, like a moth to a flame, I scoot over toward her warmth.
And like her subconscious recognizes me, when I lift my arm, she automatically snuggles into my side.
Today was…a lot. And I feel like a piece of shit that she had to come face to face with one of my past hookups.
That wasn’t fair, not in her home.
But then I’m reminded that I’ve also come face to face with one of her past conquests. And yeah, we weren’t married yet, but the memory of her walking into that fucking house with Leland, is enough to make me want to dig up his corpse and send it through a wood chipper.
Her left hand flexes against my chest, like she’s trying to comfort me in my sleep.
She likes me. I’m sure of it.
I gently lay my hand over hers, craving the extra connection, and for the first time think about the fact that her hand, specifically her ring finger, is bare.
Closing my eyes, I decide I’ll start tomorrow with a little shopping.
