Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
MAVEN
My neck hurts. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind. Followed by, it’s so warm.
Moving, I realize it’s because I’m in bed.
I don’t remember going to bed. Pulling the blanket down, I find I’m also wearing a shirt that’s not mine.
My head really hurts, and I need to go back to sleep.
It’s dark apart from the small light near the bathroom, but that’s okay, I’m sure my eyes don’t want to see the brightness anyway.
Climbing from the bed, I go to the bathroom to relieve myself, then wash my face before going back to the bed. I can just barely make out Boston lying on his stomach, the blanket covering him. Looking around, I contemplate sleeping on the couch, but the bed looks enticingly comfortable.
How did I not notice him before? Did he dress me? Is that why I’m wearing his shirt?
My gaze wanders back to him. The blanket is only pulled up to his waist, and his back is visible in the dim light.
He’s facing me, but his eyes are shut, and his hands are up above his head, which gives me a view of how muscular his arms are.
He clearly works out, that much is evident.
I take in the expanse of his tanned skin.
When I reach his face again, his eyes are open and locked on me.
“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” I say as I climb into bed. He doesn’t respond, and I roll over to give him my back, and even with the alcohol still in my system, I can feel his stare on me.
It takes me a good hour before I finally drift off, and the only thing that consumes my head is him.
The door shuts, and I open my eyes to find Boston walking in, fully dressed and holding two coffees in his hands.
He walks over to the bed and holds a cup out to me as he says, “We need to leave. Get dressed.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“It’s afternoon, and it’s not good. I got no sleep because you fucking snore so loudly.”
I sit up, take the offered drink, and bring it to my lips, tasting it. “How do you know what coffee I like?” I ask, then add, “And I don’t snore.”
I totally do. Carrie hated sharing a room with me because I’ve always snored.
“Get dressed,” he repeats before he picks up the remote, turns on the television, and sits at the end of the mattress.
He watches some shit as I crawl out of bed and stand in the middle of the mess of scattered clothes on the floor from yesterday.
That mess makes me smile. That is, until I catch sight of something on the nightstand that wasn’t there before.
It’s a small red box. Picking it up, I slowly open it.
What I find inside has me almost dropping it.
Swinging around, I find him still watching the television. “What is this?” I ask.
He turns and looks at me, briefly glancing at the rings in my hand.
“Your engagement and wedding band.”
“This is Cartier,” I whisper, my voice laced with awe.
“And?” he questions.
“When did you get them?” I ask, trying to hide my shock and guilt about my sister not being here. Getting married is a big thing, and even if this isn’t real, I wish she were here.
“This morning, while you were snoring.” His response has my stomach clenching and my pulse kicking up.
“What if they don’t fit?” I ask because these are very expensive considering where they came from, the size of the main stone, and the number of additional stones in the bands.
“I took your ring off you while you were sleeping and gave that to them for size reference.” I look down at my hand and see that my ring is missing.
He pulls it out of his pocket and holds it out to me.
I snatch it from his palm and slide it back onto my finger.
Just before he lowers his hand, I see his ring.
It’s gold in color. Simple but beautiful.
Removing the two rings from the box, I slip them onto my left ring finger.
“Do they fit?” he asks.
“Perfectly,” I whisper, locking eyes with him.
“Good. Now, go fucking shower. You stink.” He turns back to the television without another word. I throw the empty box at his head, and it bounces off. He doesn’t even react.
Mumbling under my breath, I walk past him and straight into the bathroom. I find my toothbrush on the counter and bring it into the shower to brush my teeth. When I’m done, I step back out to find him in the same spot.
“You’re a real dick, Zion, you know that?” I say, purposely using his first name. I actually don’t like it, so I won’t be using it again, but I was hoping it would get a rise out of him. It doesn’t.
“Yes,” he answers.
“Where are all my boxes of shoes?”
“Shipped back to my place.”
“Your place?”
“Yes, where you’ll be living.”
I wave a hand in the air. “Oh, no. No, we never agreed to that. I like my space. Plus, as you said, I snore.”
“I couldn’t care less. You will be living with me in my house and sleeping in my bed. End of discussion.” He stands, and I hate that he’s so much taller than me.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him as I say, “No.”
“No?” He steps closer to me. “No?” he repeats. Then he reaches out and lifts my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You will remove that word from your vocabulary.”
“No.” I grin up at him. “You think you can tell me what to do? Did you expect to marry a fucking robot?” I bite out.
He leans down until his mouth is almost touching mine. “Control yourself. I know you know how to do it. Play the good wife.”
“I won’t be a good wife,” I tell him.
“You will be, or…” He releases my chin and steps back.
“Or what?”
He goes to his bag, picks it up, and throws it on the bed. “Say goodbye to your sister,” he finishes.
“That’s a real asshole move, you know.”
“I never once said I wasn’t an asshole. So get your shit together. Last fucking warning.”
“Blah, blah.” I throw my hands up. “That’s all I hear when you talk.
Do this, do that. Blah-fucking-blah.” Turning around, I drop the towel to the floor, not even caring that he’s seeing me naked.
I grab a flower-patterned dress and slide it over my head, then throw the rest of the things scattered on the floor into my bag, not bothering to fold them.
I don’t know how to take him. It’s not like he’s constantly hot and cold. He’s cold more than anything, but then sometimes he’s warm.
“Movers will be at your apartment later today. I have a meeting when we land, and tonight you’ll come to an event with me so I can declare you my wife.”
“Declare?” I scoff. “What am I, some prize?”
“Let’s go,” he says, taking my bag from me. He strides out of the room, not bothering to hold the door for me.
Biting my lip, I nibble on the skin as I follow him.
What have I gotten myself into?
Why does he have to declare me his wife?
That sounds fucking weird, and I don’t get it at all.
He doesn’t speak on the way to the airport. Hell, he doesn’t even talk during the flight. It’s awkward and silent, and my phone can only entertain me for so long.
“We should discuss who you’ll be fucking,” I blurt.
I’ve seen his gaze flick to my bare legs a few times before focusing back on whatever it is he’s doing.
He puts his phone down in his lap as he gives me his full attention.
“So, clearly, the waitress wasn’t your type. She would have fucked you, you know.”
“I wasn’t going to fuck the waitress.”
“Can you fuck, or is there something wrong with your…” My gaze drops to his crotch.
“My cock works perfectly fine. If you want to test it by wrapping your mouth around it, then by all means, feel free.”
“That would be a hard no,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I am a lady after all.”
“I’m sure ladies don’t go around killing people.”
I wave a hand at him. “They should; it’s fun.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I want to know who you will be fucking.”
“You,” he answers.
“Nope. No can do. I draw the line at living with you and sharing your bed. I’m also keeping my apartment. I have a lot of things there I love.”
“It will all be coming to my house. Even your aquarium.” My eyes widen at his pronouncement.
“Yes, your aquarium,” he says, then goes back to completely ignoring me as he looks back down at his phone.
I want to snatch it out of his hand and throw it across the plane.
Or better yet, smash it against his goddamn head.
“I. Am. Not. Fucking you.”
“You will,” he says, seemingly confident about it and unbothered by my insistence to the contrary.
“No, I will not.” I cross my arms over my chest as the captain announces that we’ll be landing shortly. I buckle myself back up and then glare at my husband.
He pays me no attention whatsoever.
Asshole.