Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Sure.”
I took my tea over to the smaller of the two couches and sat at one end, my legs stretched out across the cushions. After grabbing a beer from the fridge, Enzo joined me, settling on the opposite end of the same couch, even though there was another one—a bigger one—adjacent to it with just as good a view of the large TV screen. Neither of us reached for the remote to turn it on. Enzo seemed distracted as he took a sip of his beer.
“Everything okay?” I asked, wrapping both hands around my warm mug.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About the priest?”
“About my parents, actually.”
“What about them?”
He rubbed that spot beneath his bottom lip he always rubbed when he was fretting about something. “Their relationship is a big reason why I’ve never really looked forward to marriage.”
I took a sip of tea. “Tell me.”
“Basically, here’s what I grew up thinking about being married to someone—it’s noisy, frustrating, and sometimes destructive. There’s a lot of yelling, and the things you yell loudest are the things you know will piss the other person off the most. You never let something go that might be used to pick a fight. And if you’re not getting your point across with volume, just slam a door, throw some dishes, or threaten to leave.”
“Wow.” My eyes were wide. “I had no idea your parents fought so much.”
“They don’t do it in public. And maybe it’s not as bad as it used to be, but growing up, it was bad enough that I could not imagine why anyone would choose to get married if they didn’t have to. It’s like you’re handing another person instructions on exactly how to make your life a living hell, a map detailing where all of your buttons are and how to push them.”
“Well, they must have had some good times. They’re still together.”
“Yeah. They’re good at two things. Fighting and sex.”
I couldn’t resist poking him with my bare toes. “Sounds like another married couple I know.”
He laughed, lifting his beer again. “Please. We are not my parents.”
“No, we’re not. And we’re not my parents, either.” I was quiet a second, taking another sip of tea. “My mother is completely subservient to my dad. She’s never stood up to him a day in her life, even when I know she disagrees. It always drove me nuts. And I think . . .” I hesitated before admitting this. “I think that’s why I get so mad about my last relationship. I ended up going along with what he wanted for way too long, just to hang on to him. Not that my father ever betrayed my mother—that I know of—but I never wanted to be that way. Timid and deferential.”
He gave me the side-eye. “Princess, you did not inherit a single subservient or deferential gene.”
I poked him with my foot again, and he grabbed it. Then he looked at me. “Why are your feet so cold?”
“Sorry.” I pulled up my knees. “My socks got wet earlier, and I meant to go put on a new pair and forgot.”
He got up and grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the longer couch, brought it over and covered my legs with it—not only that but when he sat down again, he lifted my feet onto his lap and rubbed them with one hand while he kept talking. “I guess my point was that I’m glad we’re doing things our way. I was always afraid of turning into them. It didn’t seem like a nice way to live.”
“Same,” I said, my insides warming right along with my toes. “Our marriage might be a sham, but at least it’s not dysfunctional.”
“Right.” His hand stilled on my feet, and he looked down at it. Then slowly, he slid it up my shin.
I held my breath.
But a moment later, he cleared his throat and reached for the remote control. “What should we watch?”
We decided on a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek, which made us both laugh and eased the tension in the room. But it ratcheted up again when we turned off the TV and headed to bed, Enzo following me up the darkened stairs.
I held my breath, hoping to feel his arms come around me. Feel his body warm and solid behind me, holding me close. Hear his voice whisper my name, tell me he didn’t want to sleep alone.
When it didn’t happen by the time I reached the second floor landing, I turned left, heading straight for my bedroom.
“Night,” he called softly.
“Night,” I said without turning to look at him. Inside the room, I leaned back against the closed door and listened. When I heard his bedroom door shut, I exhaled.
Guess he wasn’t going to test me tonight.
I should have been glad about it.
Eleven
Enzo
I got ready for bed and angrily tossed the covers back. After sliding between the sheets, I jerked them up to my waist and scowled at the ceiling in the dark.