Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Singing in the shower is fun, until you get soap in your mouth.
Then it’s a soap opera.
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
Bash wasn’t sure what had just happened, but an entire series of emotions moved swiftly across Arabella’s stunning face. Amusement. Sadness. Fear. Desire? And then she shuttered all expression.
He took a step toward her, and she took a quick step back, almost recoiling.
Bash instinctively stayed put, even though he ached to continue their embrace from downstairs.
To tell her about his epiphany—one that still had his mind whirling and his heart racing.
Instead, he went for the safety move. Less cowardice and more not wanting to frighten away his skittish queen with the nature of what he longed to profess.
“Arabella,” he began carefully, “I don’t want to invade your space.
I—I know I told you at the restaurant that I wanted to sleep in the same bed.
But I have no desire to make you uncomfortable.
You’re opening your home to me and upending your life.
I don’t want to cause you any more stress than is inherent in this situation.
I’ll sleep on the couch, or at a hotel, until we can sort this. ”
He glanced around the pristine room, noticing she didn’t have a single decoration.
Nothing on the walls. No knickknacks. Just her laptop on the dresser, where she’d carefully placed it.
In fact, he realized, the only decorations in her home were that clown figurine and the framed photo on her living room fireplace mantle.
Her mouth opened and closed a couple times, the bob of her elegant throat captivating him as she swallowed.
She clearly hadn’t expected him to offer the adjustment to their living arrangements.
“I—oh, ok.” He watched as she pulled herself together, suddenly all business and icy cool.
“As we agreed at the restaurant, we can do this as a trial. And I appreciate you having Jared order furniture. So we have it as an option.” Arabella lifted her chin.
“I trust you to be respectful. We can share a bed and show consideration for each other’s space. Including in my—our bed.”
“No wall of pillows? That’s how they often manage forced proximity in romance novels.” He winked at her, enjoying the puzzlement in those deep blue eyes.
“Forced prox—what the hell is that?” Her arms were folded in Classic Arabella Stance.
“Exactly what we’re doing here.” Bash nodded.
“And, yes, I will absolutely respect you and your space and your needs. Starting right now. Not sure what your bedtime routine is, but how about I go set myself up in the hall bathroom and you can do”—he grinned—“whatever nighttime ablutions you do.” Though he’d love to watch.
Pull back the curtain and watch her in her natural habitat, so to speak. So ordinary and so real.
“I brush my teeth, floss, and wash my face. That’s what I do.” Arabella frowned at him, shuffling awkwardly toward the open bathroom door.
She was trying to maintain that icy aloofness, but his queen was nervous. Oh, she was outwardly a cool customer, but he could see the pulse beating in the mesmerizing hollow of her neck. Bash would absolutely worship that spot one day. Oh, and she was a fastidious flosser. Called it!
Bash allowed his jaw to drop comically, deciding on the spot that playing up the fool role would probably work best to soothe those prickly nerves of hers. “You ‘wash your face.’” He made air quotes. “With what?”
Her eyes narrowed. “With soap. Just classic bar soap. What else would I use?”
Drawing on years of experience as the comic relief, Bash grabbed his chest, staggering around.
“Soap?! ‘What else’ she says. You’re slaying me, Arabella.
Positively slaying me.” He looked to the sky—well, where it would be if a ceiling weren’t in place.
But he could pretend with the best of them.
“What have you done to me, universe? Soap? My queen’s beautiful face, cleaned with…
soap?” He sighed dramatically, nodding like a sage on the mountaintop.
“It’s good you found me when you did, Arabella.
It’s not too late to baby that gorgeous alabaster skin. ”
Bash smiled internally when said skin took on a pale pink tinge at his flirting. But he did mean it. Her skin was lovely. He often had to fight the instinct to trail his fingers along her cheeks and jawline.
“You’ve shocked me to the core with your”—he crinkled his nose and laced his voice with dramatic consternation—“soap affliction. Ok. So you wash your face. Then what?”
“And then I go to sleep.”
“No serums? No retinoids? Nothing?”
Arabella made a dismissive sound. “Waste of money.” But the corners of her lips turned up.
“I’ll have you know, my queen, that the benefits of proper cell turnover, collagen production stimulation, and unclogging of pores is not a waste of money.
” He continued his dramatic opining as he moved to the doorway, half into the hallway.
“Overnight skin repair is essential at our age.” Bash halted and turned back into the room. “Hey, how old are you anyway?”
Arabella blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m forty-seven.”
“Just a baby.” Bash winked at her. “I’ve got a couple years on you. Forty-nine.”
His soon-to-be wife rolled her eyes. “Duh. The Internet already told me that.”
His eyes widened dramatically. “Arabella, my queen, did you… Google me?”
She moved toward the bathroom door, beyond which he’d glimpsed a well-appointed set up, including a massive, raised tub surrounded by earth-tone stone. Boo. He should have lobbied to use that sumptuous space.
“You bet your ass I did. I never do anything without thoroughly researching it first. My neighbor, Lila, practically built out a dossier on you. She could work for the NSA.”
A wide smile stretched his face. “My queen cyberstalked me…” he trailed off, teasing.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Sebastian.”
“Whatever…if that’s your story,” he sang, stepping fully into the hallway and then leaning halfway back in the room.
“And as your older and wiser almost-husband, I am taking it upon myself to correct your abysmal, misguided nighttime ablutions. Unconscionable,” he declared, all high dudgeon, smiling to himself when he was rewarded with the sound of her laughter.