Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Not a lie, per se, but not the whole truth, either.
I needed to escape.
Recently, I’d noticed the fact that I watched the clock every evening, anticipating my husband’s arrival.
Romeo’s long limbs enveloped the recliner in the corner of our room.
“That is fine. An entire week, however, is a stretch.” He snapped his gum, discarding the Financial Times on his lap. The only man under sixty who still had a subscription to a magazine that didn’t include topless women. “What on earth will you be doing there for so long? There are no theaters, no Michelin-star restaurants, no culture.”
“There’s plenty of culture.” I flapped my suitcase shut, struggling to clasp it. To no one’s surprise, I wasn’t the type to travel light. “Besides, it’s my home. I don’t go there for the entertainment. I go there for the people.”
Romeo stood, zipping it with ease. “You feel more fondness for a Cheetos bag than you do for your father.”
“To be fair, a Cheetos bag will never do me wrong.” I tucked a few hair bands into the front pocket. “It would never hand me over to a complete stranger for marriage. The worst it can do is stain my fingertips orange.”
“I swear, next time I see him, I’m going to punch the daylights out of him for handing you over to me so quick.”
I shook my head, dragging the luggage off the bed and onto the rug. “Do you not see the flaw in your own statement?”
“Three days,” he bargained, blocking my way out the door. “It’s plenty of time to unwrap presents and pretend your sister is a tolerable human. If you still want to return, you can do so after Easter.”
“Why are you so adamant I return quickly? It’s not like we do anything together.”
His forehead creased. “We do plenty. Three times a day, minimum. Five, if you include oral.”
“I’m not just talking about sex.” For a change. Sex was all I seemed to think about whenever he neared. “I’m talking about date nights, watching the same shows, eating dinner together…you know, couple stuff.”
By the way his eyebrows shot up, I almost suspected he wasn’t aware of the concept.
“You’ve had a fiancée before,” I pointed out, slanting my head.
“Yes, but she mainly spent my money and left me to my own devices. I worked most of the time and took her on vacation once a year.”
Oh, my.
His idea of love was giving shelter, food, and a credit card to the woman by his side.
“And were you both happy like that?”
He shot me a what do you think glare.
Oops.
I already knew the ending to that movie.
Placing a hand over his chest, I hopped on my tippy toes to kiss the base of his throat. “Would you like to do more things together when I return?”
He squinted. “Like what?”
For the first time, I wasn’t the inexperienced and awkward one in the relationship.
Happiness bubbled in my chest. “You can take me out on a date. Dinner, then a movie. Then I can read with my head propped on your shoulder while you go through your money paper.”
“Finance news.” He brought my hand from his chest to his lips, kissing it distractedly. “Fine, if you wish. But I still think you should return after three days.”
I skimmed his jawline, my smile tickling his stubble. “Why? Will you miss me?”
He pursed his lips. “Longing is a Jane Austen invention premeditated to sell books.”
Tipping my head back, I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt. “You’ll survive seven days without me, hubs. You’ll see.”
I did not, in fact, survive even two days without her.
The first day, I sulked, firing incoherent orders at Cara, Dylan, and everyone else in my vicinity.
The second day, I picked mundane arguments with Senior, Zach, Oliver, and a Starbucks barista who offered me a straw (“Do you like shitting all over your planet? Do you have another one stashed somewhere I should know about, for when the time comes and this entire place is underwater?”).
By the third one, I was climbing the walls. Literally.
Zach barely lifted his head from his laptop, in the middle of a virtual shareholders meeting. “Move away from my wall, Costa. It’s a high-ceiling house. It’ll be a bitch to repaint.”
“Your wall is two different shades. I just noticed.” Beige and swan white.
“And you’re fifty shades of pussy-whipped.” On the other end of the study, Oliver engaged in his favorite hobby, sifting through his laptop for high-quality porn. “You look like someone killed your pet hamster.”
I paced the room. “I’m bored.”
“I would offer to entertain you the way your wife does, but my New Year’s resolution includes only fucking people I find attractive.”
The rug flattened beneath my bare feet.
Back and forth.
Again and again.
Zach groaned. “You’re giving me a headache, Costa.”
“Maybe it’s your two-shade wall.” I stopped, frowning out the window.