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I jab my finger at the food. “Finish serving our dinner. I’m hungry.”
The look he gives me tells me he plans to revisit this, but for now, he goes back to the food.
We eat and discuss our afternoons. He shares with me that his biggest rival in the hotel industry is fucking with him, his words, not mine, and that he’s spent time today with Hudson figuring out how to fix that once and for all. Those were not his words, but I read between the lines and come to that conclusion.
Jameson is not a man I would want as my rival in business. I have no doubt he, Hudson, and Gabriel don’t hesitate to take care of their rivals when necessary. In whatever way necessary.
After he finishes sharing this, he says, “Bill wants to have dinner with us tomorrow night. I told him you may be unavailable.”
“No, I think I should be okay for dinner. Are we going out or will he come over?”
“What would work best for you?”
I stop mid-bite of chicken and stare at him. “Okay, who are you really?” At his pulled-in brows, I elaborate. “This”—I motion between us—“isn’t how you prefer to do things.”
His eyes remain steady on me. “No, but I’ve learned it’s how you prefer to do things, and since I’m also learning that my life is a lot fucking easier if you’re happy, this is how we do things now.”
“Right, so for future reference, in case you change your mind and decide to find another wife after me, skipping the bit about your life being a lot fucking easier if I’m happy would have made that a good talk.”
His impatience flares. “Can we get back to the conversation?”
I’d enjoy it to no end to not get back to the conversation, and to stay with this one instead, but I don’t push him. “Staying home would work best for me.”
He nods. “We’ll stay home.”
We finish our meal, keeping the conversation light. I get the impression Jameson has had a long day, and I don’t have the energy for anything more than light. We talk about Christmas which is two days away. I mention the cookies his mom made that he ate five of, telling him that if he touches the ones she gives me, he will live to regret it. We also discuss the logistics of tomorrow and getting to the ice-skating rink after lunch.
It feels positively like married-couple life.
If I wasn’t so tired, I’d inspect that thought a lot more, but since I’m exhausted, I don’t.
When he stands and lifts his chin at me, I frown.
“We’re going home,” he says, packing up the takeout.
“I’ve got more work to do.”
“You can do it at home.”
“I don’t want to do it at home.”
He straightens and gives me that pure Jameson look. “You’re doing it at home. I’m not leaving without you.” When I give him my pure Adeline look, he doubles down. “Up. We’re going. And if you continue arguing with me, I’ll put you over my knee.”
If I had the energy, I’d continue arguing with him.
Sadly, I don’t.
* * *
Saturday is busy with work,ice-skating, dinner with Bill, and more work. I’m so busy I struggle to catch my breath. This means that I wake super tired on Christmas Eve. We’ve got dinner with Jameson’s family tonight at his mom’s. Being this tired is the last thing I want today.
“Did you hear back from your sister or mother,” Jameson asks, joining me in the kitchen for breakfast after working out and showering.
“Yes.” I watch him from where I stand at the island as he moves to the fridge. “Sabrina will come for lunch tomorrow.”
He grabs the milk and looks at me. “And your mom?”
“We won’t see her.” I try to inject indifference into my voice. By the look on his face, I fail.
