Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
And anyway, I consider that random present his way of breaking the ice.
“We should talk about Boston,” I say, leaning forward on my elbows.
“We can do that.” He glances up. “Anything in particular?”
“I was thinking we’d discuss living arrangements.”
He smirks, sitting back. “You mean, we’re not getting a one-bedroom? You can sleep on the couch if you don’t want to be in my bed.”
“Actually, I’m leaning toward getting an efficiency. Really make sure we’re on top of each other.”
“I like the sound of that. I think I’d enjoy having you on top of me. Except I’m not sure I could exist in your chaos.”
“Chaos?” I gasp, mock-offended. “How dare you. I’m the neat one in this relationship!”
“You don’t know how to close cabinets, much less be neat.” He’s grinning at me, looking looser than he has in days. More like beach-Gareth. “Seriously though. If you want to look for apartments, I wouldn’t mind.”
That surprises me. “Really? You’d give up control?”
“I didn’t say that. I mean I’d take your choices under advisement.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Heck, no. If I’m apartment hunting, I’m making a short list you can pick from. How about that?”
He considers for a moment before nodding. “That works for me. But I have some requirements.”
“Like what? Dungeon for your toe-less murder victims?”
His eyebrows raise. “My what now?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He looks like he wants to dig into that, but decides to let it go. “We need something nice. Spacious. Home gym. Lots of windows. Price range up to a few million.”
“A few million?” I gape at him. “How much money do you have?”
“A lot,” he says, clearly amused. “Working for criminals pays well.”
“Okay then. Budget is no issue, understood. What else?”
“I need a spacious living room, an airy kitchen, and a sex swing.”
“An air—hold up, what now? Sex what?”
“Sex swing,” he says, nodding. “For when we entertain. Didn’t I mention? We’re getting into swinging.”
I groan, face in my hands. “That has to be the worst joke in the entire world. I’m serious, Gareth, I can’t decide if I’m offended because of the jab at my parents or offended because it’s so lame.”
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”
“Honestly, I’ve never been less attracted to you right now.”
He leans closer, eyes sparkling. “When were you the most attracted to me then?”
I glance at him, thinking back to that moment in the outdoor shower. My cheeks turn red. “I plead the fifth, counselor.”
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” His voice drops an octave. “Does it involve sun and sand? Maybe some water?”
“Easy there.” I jump to my feet, clearing my plate. “You barely talk to me all week and now you want to reference our sexual escapades?”
“Escapade. Singular. And yes, you’re crazy if you think I’m not always thinking about it.” He helps me carry the dishes into the kitchen. I refill my wine, chewing my lip.
“Seriously, if you’re always thinking about it, why the silence for the last week?”
He looks away, body language tensing. I worry I’m losing him as he turns and walks into the living room. I follow at a distance, not sure what’s going on in his head. I could back down, return to the status quo, to awkward silences and long absences, but I don’t want that.
He pauses near the windows, looking out at the night, at the spots of light, at Dallas spread out along the ground like blackened wood.
“I’ve asked a lot of you, Fiona,” he says, not looking at me. “Maybe more than I should have.”
I move closer to him. “Not really. I got a free beach trip. I met some very nice criminals. Overall, it’s been easy pretending to be your wife so far.”
His lips twitch slightly, like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re lying to people. You’re pretending to be something you’re not. You’re in more danger than you realize.”
“That’s how fake marriages work. Didn’t you know?” I sip my wine, feeling anxious.
“Then there’s Boston.” He turns to look at me. “It’s a big ask, uprooting you. I know what you said at the beach, but I want you to think about it. I’ve been giving you space so you don’t feel pressured.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” I ask softly with a relieved laugh. “I thought you were mad at me or something.”
He looks confused. “Mad at you? For what?”
“I don’t know. You’re so damn grumpy, it could be anything.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Yes, you are, but it’s okay. It’s endearing. Sometimes.”
He rubs a hand through his hair. “I’m just trying to do right by you, Fiona. It’s one thing to go on a weekend trip. It’s another thing to move to a new state, start a new life, all while pretending to be married to someone.”
“You are offering to pay my student loans, don’t forget.”
He waves that off. “As far as I’m concerned, you already earned payment.”