9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Emma
“N o.”
Jonathan exhales sharply. “What do you mean, no?”
I cross my arms. “No. Absolutely not.”
He rubs a hand down his face, clearly losing patience—but so am I. “Emma, we don’t have a choice here.”
“Absolutely not, Jonathan. I cannot, in good conscience, subject myself to this torture.”
I don’t care that we’ve just landed after a flight that took twice as long as it should have, thanks to an unexpected refueling stop. I don’t care that my legs ache so badly I might collapse right here and now. None of that matters.
Because this is unacceptable!
Jonathan glares at me. “You act like I’m asking you to sleep outside.”
“You might as well be.” I huff, arms still crossed.
His expression turns incredulous. “Then don’t.” He gestures toward the living area. “There’s a perfectly good couch in the other room. Feel free to take it.”
I gasp, genuinely offended. “That’s not how you treat a lady! Especially your wife!”
Jonathan mutters something under his breath, but I catch every word.
“I’d have been better off marrying a random woman off the streets.”
I whip around so fast my hair nearly slaps him. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
He lifts his hands like he’s already regretting his life choices. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh no, please finish that thought, Jonathan.” I place a hand on my hip, glaring at him. “Because I’d love to know exactly how some hypothetical street wife would have been a better option than me.”
Jonathan sighs and mutters, “At least she probably wouldn’t argue with me over a bed.”
I let out an exasperated laugh and throw my hands up. “Right. Because I’m the one being unreasonable here. This entire thing is already a mess, and now I’m supposed to share a bed with you? I’d almost rather sleep outside.”
“Be my guest.” He waves toward the balcony. “I hear the mosquitoes here are very welcoming.”
“You are impossible,” I hiss.
He folds his arms, unbothered. “And you’re dramatic.”
The moment we arrived, we learned that our luxury honeymoon in Bora Bora was, in fact, a honeymoon on an island near Bora Bora. The driver assured us it was just as stunning, but so far, all I’ve seen is disappointment.
And now this .
One room.
One bed.
I inhale deeply, counting to three so I don’t launch a pillow at his smug face. “You should sleep on the couch.”
He scoffs. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I’m the woman.”
Jonathan blinks, then slowly tilts his head. “Wow. Okay. So we’re pulling the gender card now?”
I arch a brow. “Oh, so now you’re progressive?”
“I’ve been progressive.” He crosses his arms. “In fact, I believe in true gender equality. Which is why we should share the bed.”
I stare at him.
“Jonathan.”
“Yes, Emma?”
I take a deep breath. “If you sleep on the couch, I won’t kill you in your sleep.”
Jonathan pretends to consider this. “Tempting offer. But I’m willing to take my chances.”
I groan. “Fine! I’ll go ask the front desk for another room.”
“Great,” he says. “And while you’re at it, be a darling and ask for extra towels.”
“If you want towels, get them yourself!” I yell, storming off toward the door.
I barely make it three steps before I hear his footsteps behind me.
I whirl around. “Are you seriously following me?”
Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m getting my towels.”
I bite back a sarcastic response as we reach the front desk. A cheerful brunette named Andy greets us.
“Hi! How can I help?”
I force a smile. “I’d like a different room, please.”
“And towels,” Jonathan adds lazily beside me.
Andy’s enthusiasm dims. “Is something wrong with your suite, ma’am?”
“It only has one bed.”
Her brows knit together. “Well…yes. It’s the honeymoon suite.”
“I’m aware,” I grind out. “Which is why I need a different room. One with two beds.”
Jonathan sighs. “I just need my towels.”
Andy types on her computer, lips pursed. A moment later, she glances up with an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid we’re fully booked.”
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
She shakes her head. “This is a high-profile resort. We’re usually booked well in advance.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that people actually choose to come to this dump of an island?”
Andy’s smile tightens. “Miss, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me that way.”
I inhale sharply, then press my hands together in mock prayer. “Andy, please, I’m begging you. There has to be something. Anything. A closet, a storage room, the employee break room— anything .”
Andy sighs. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s a motel on the island, but it’s in a less desirable area, and I wouldn’t recommend it for safety reasons. However, if you’d like, I can provide directions.”
Before I can respond, Jonathan laces his fingers through mine.
I freeze.
What.
What.
WHAT.
“It’s okay,” he says smoothly, flashing Andy a smile. “My wife and I will manage just fine.”
My wife and I .
I gape at him, too stunned to pull my hand away as he drags me back toward the suite.
The second the door shuts behind us, I yank free. “Are you insane?”
He shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?”
I narrow my eyes. “Does this mean you’re taking the couch?”
Jonathan sighs. “Emma, we’re both exhausted. Can we not do this tonight? My head is killing me, and I can’t bear the sound of your voice right now.”
I gasp. “Oh? Is my voice that unbearable? Does it make your ears bleed? Should I talk more just to increase your suffering?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he groans. “Actually…” He exhales. “I like your voice. I probably like it too much. Sometimes, I even make you mad on purpose just to hear you ramble.”
I freeze.
What?
Jonathan blinks.
We both realize what he just admitted.
And then he starts taking his shirt off.
I screech. “ Why are you stripping in front of me?”
He looks genuinely confused. “I can’t sleep with a shirt on.”
I slap my hands over my face.
Jonathan laughs.
“And if I said the same? What if I wanted to sleep bare-chested?” I huff. “If you get to be naked, so do I.”
Silence.
Then…
“I don’t mind,” he says, amused. “Go ahead.”
My face ignites. He did not just say that.
“You said…y-you…I…” I sputter, mortified.
Jonathan chuckles. “Open your eyes, Emma. There’s nothing to see here.”
I crack one eye open.
He lied.
There’s plenty to see.
His body is lean, toned, annoyingly perfect. For a split second—just one—I wonder what it would feel like to rest against him, to trace those muscles—
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Shut it down, Emma. Immediately.
Jonathan catches me staring and grins. “Huh. I had no idea I’d live long enough to see you blush.”
My face burns hotter.
I throw myself onto the bed, wedding dress and all, and smother my face with a pillow.
Jonathan sighs. “Emma, are you seriously going to bed in your wedding dress?”
“It’s a free country. If I want to sleep in my wedding dress, then so be it.”
I hear him settle into bed beside me. The room falls quiet…too quiet.
After a long moment, I blurt, “Wasn’t the front desk rude to us?”
Jonathan groans. “They didn’t even give me my towels.”
I giggle. “We should leave a scathing review.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “We’ll claim they refused to give our poor, elderly grandmother a glass of water.”
“And that they broke our toddler’s teeth.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he deadpans. “But we’re joking, right?”
I gasp. “You think I’d actually do that?”
He smirks. “You did verbally assault a receptionist over a fully booked hotel.”
I huff. “I feel bad about that…kind of.”
Silence.
Then Jonathan sighs, grabs his pillow, and stands.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He gestures toward the couch. “Take the bed.”
I sit up, stunned. “I—what?”
He shrugs. “As much as I love to mess with you, I don’t actually want you to be uncomfortable. I would’ve booked a separate room, but the company set this up, and they have no idea this marriage is fake.”
I don’t respond.
“Goodnight, Emma.” He pauses. “And please—get out of that dress before it cuts off your circulation.”
He leaves, and suddenly the bed feels far too big.
And for the first time tonight, I kind of wish he’d stayed.