Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Gian’s quiet during the tour. I babble on, telling him about my adventures, and how spending lavish amounts of money really opens doors and expedites processes. I’ve never done anything like that before—although I was provided for by my father, I never had this kind of cash to throw around—and it was honestly kind of fun. I hate the waste but I couldn’t help myself.
It’s not every day I get a chance at such an outlandish punishment.
“I’m glad my money opened so many doors for you,” he murmurs, not looking pleased.
“Oh, so many. You wouldn’t believe it.” I shimmy around a blue nightstand with a bright pink cat landline phone sitting on top. “Well, what do you think of our treasures? I think this place is going to be very homey now, don’t you? So warm and inviting.”
He rubs his face and I can tell he’s fighting a smile. “I get it. You made your point.”
“Do you get it?” I stop when there’s a good layer of random furniture between us and stand up on a fuzzy footstool which I don’t remember buying just so I can see him over the ocean of stuff. “Are you sure you get it?”
“You didn’t like the stuff I bought.”
“Close,” I say, pointing at him. “But missing the crucial bit.”
“Which is what?” He swirls his wine glass.
“You didn’t consult me at all.” I say it softly. His head tilts to the side, listening carefully. “This is all about me having some agency in my life, right? I married you because at the end of a year, I get freedom to make my own decisions. But during the next year, that doesn’t mean you get to do anything you want without asking me first, especially when it comes to sharing a life together.”
He runs a hand down the back of a big fluffy porcelain dog with a barrel on its chest. “I assume that includes what we furnish this place with?”
“It includes everything that affects both of us. I know all this is kind of ridiculous and I’m aware I went really overboard—” I clamp down on another apology because he doesn’t deserve one and I don’t owe him anything. “But you should have talked to me first.”
He moves around a floor lamp with teal tassels and climbs over an old vintage console table before steadying himself on a hat stand. We’re close, barely a foot apart, with only a big, ugly beanbag chair between him and me.
“You’re right,” he says, which is honestly a surprise. I expected him to argue more. “We’re a partnership now, and I’m not used to running my decisions past another person. When something needs doing, I do it. But now I need to check with you first. That’ll take some getting used to.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
He buries another smile. “I can’t believe you filled this house with junk.”
“I know,” I say, laughing at the audacity. “Seriously, look at all this crap. What the hell are we going to do with it?”
His eyebrows raise. “You are going to get rid of it all. Or at least most of it.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”
“But first, we’ll go through everything and pick out what we want to keep.”
“Really? You want to do that with me?”
“We’ll do it together.” He holds up his glass. “Our first real act as a married couple. What do you think?”
“I think that sounds really good.”
“Good. We’ll finish the bottle of wine and get our house in order. Then tomorrow, you’ll return everything else.”
I reach out my hand. He takes it and helps me over the beanbag. I stagger, off-balance, and end up leaning against his chest. He’s looking at me with his lips parted, the smile reaching his eyes, and my heart does a quick flutter. Instead of getting angry, he’s turning it into a game we can play together. It’s the exact reaction I really wanted. A lesser guy might get pissed, but he’s taking it in stride, and even seems to understand the real point of this mess.
Gian’s not the guy I thought he was. He’s not the mafia asshole I figured he’d grow up into. Actually, he seems so much like the man I was with back in college, the guy I fell for so fast and so hard. He also smells good, which is really nice.
“Where should we start?” he asks, voice soft. His lips are very close to mine and it’s hard to think. Since when did these butterflies wiggle their way into my belly? My heart’s fluttering along with their wings.
“Downstairs,” I say because that’s safe. If we stay up here, I might do something stupid.
“I was hoping you’d say bedroom, but that’s okay too.”
“If you’re thinking about a repeat of last night—” I press my mouth closed and bite my lip, because I definitely was thinking of it.