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“You’d probably would be a backseat driver,” he mutters, to which my eyes widen.
“Miles! You can’t do every single thing for me. I’m still a person. And what about work? Are you going to do my job for me?”
He shrugs. “No. But I’ll make sure you have the best office chair and a mini-fridge stocked with snacks and water. And you’ll ride to and from work with me, so—”
“Miles!” I snap. He stops talking and stares at me. “No.”
“No? No what?”
“No, you can’t do all of that for me. It’s too much. And riding to work together?”
“Why not? We work at the same place.”
“Yes. But I work different hours than you or work later some days.”
“Then I’ll go in early or come back and get you.”
My mouth drops open. “This is insane.”
“Me taking care of you is insane?” he says, anger rising in his voice.
I don’t think so, buddy.Youare not the one who gets to be pissed right now.
“You forcing me to do things the way you want them done. I’m my own person, and I get to make my own decisions. You can’t do everything for me. I need to have some fucking autonomy over my life, not live in this perfect sterile world where you control everything. That is not a life. That’s insanity, and it’s not how I want to live!” I yell, unbelievably frustrated that he can’t get it through his thick skull that he’s not in charge of me.
“It’s my job to take care of you!” he yells back, looking utterly frustrated.
“Take care of, not make insignificant.”
He rears back at my words. “I’m not trying to make you insignificant.”
“Could have fooled me.” I huff out a sigh. “You know what? I need some space.”
“Don’t we need to keep talking about this?” he asks, looking confused, pissed, and a little hurt.
“Probably, but I’m not going to say anything nice right now.” I turn to walk away, but he follows me.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room to lay down if that’s okay with your highness.”
He lets out an annoyed sigh. “You don’t have to ask my permission,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Right, if it’s laying down or resting, I can do that any time.”
“Amelia!” he calls after me, but I storm down the hallway, into the master bedroom and slam the door behind me, flopping onto the bed.
Thank God we decided to have separate bedrooms.
Lying on my back, I stare up at the ceiling. I feel like a teenager again. More like a preteen. Didn’t get what I wanted? Storm to my room and lie on the bed, cursing everyone else.
Rolling onto my side, I crawl up the bed so I can rest my head on the pillow. I flip the covers up and shimmy underneath them. These sheets are buttery soft. The bed is perfectly made.
Why?
Because of Miles.
A pang of guilt hits me. I know I’m not totally wrong. He can’t walk around controlling my life, but I also know it’s not coming from a malicious place.
