Page 76 of Bridesmaid By Chance
The defeat in her shoulders?
Hate it.
But I can’t do anything about it. I just need to accept it and move on because, like I said from the very beginning, I won’t go there with her.
“Sloane, we leave for London tomorrow.” She nods. “And it would have been nice to have discussed our plan for when we’re there.”
She spits her toothpaste out and says, “Type up a memo. I’ll read it on the plane.”
Then she walks out to the bedroom.
Well, fuck, she wasn’t kidding about bare minimum.
A memo?
No. I’m not about to communicate with my wife through a memo.
I finish getting ready for bed, mulling over her new attitude, wondering if something else happened tonight that really made her change. I mean, it had to. The question is, how am I going to handle this?
I turn off the bathroom light and move into the bedroom, where she’s lying on her side of the bed, turned away from me. She’s scrolling on her phone, looking at Instagram, when I slip in behind her.
There is one thing I did promise myself when I put a ring on her finger: I would treat her like a queen, like a wife, like how she deserves, so I try to soften my approach.
“I’d prefer to talk to you about London, not write it up in a memo.”
She sets her phone down and sits up in bed. The matching set of white-and-pink-striped pajamas are cute on her, but I got used to her wearing my T-shirts to bed.
“Fine, what are your expectations?” she asks while she rests her hands in her lap.
That mouth, those lips, pursed and ready to fire a comeback at me within a drop of a hat. It’s one of the things I have come to appreciate about her—not that I should be counting up all the reasons I like her, but it is. She’s spunky, doesn’t take shit. And yeah, she might be young, but she’s right: she handles herself well, makes me forget just how young she really is.
None of that matters now, though. She needs to know what to expect when we get to London.
“We’ll have to share a hotel room.”
“Well, since I’m currently sleeping in your bed, I don’t foresee that being an issue. Also, I booked the travel; I know what kind of room we’re staying in. Does this really need to be something we have to discuss?”
The fucking attitude.
“I thought it would be appropriate to let you have a voice in the matter.”
“Oh, so if I told you I didn’t want to share a hotel room with you, you’d get me my own?”
“No,” I answer. “But I could at least plan to sleep on the pull-out couch.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t be a drama queen. I share a bed with you now. I can share a bed with you in London. What else?”
“I’ve secured dancing lessons for us, so that you can be trained in the dances that Sheridan requires for the wedding.”
“Sounds enjoyable,” she replies. “But what do you mean by us? You’re not part of the wedding.”
“I said I would train you.”
“As far as I know, you’re not versed in Regency dancing. How can you possibly train me?”
“You’re going to need a partner,” I shoot back.
“I’ll just use whatever dancer they have available. I’m sure there will be a single man, ready to whisk me off my feet.”
