Page 91 of Spark
Her smile fades a little. “I have an interview for a job.”
“A job where?” I demand, trying and failing to tone down how pissed off I am.
“The ranger service are looking for someone to work in the information office in town. James saw the posting and told me about it. She was heading into town yesterday, so I went with her and went into the office and spoke to them about it. It’s part-time to start off with, just four six-hour days, but they said it could become full-time once Erin fully retires.”
“You don’t need a job,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
“Of course I need a job. I can’t mooch off you forever, Warrick. I need to contribute,” she protests, her happiness from only moments ago slowly draining from her.
“You’re not fucking mooching. You’re my woman, and it’s my job to take care of you,” I growl.
“This isn’t the nineteen-fifties, Warrick. I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“You have less than five dollars to your name, and you were living in a tent when I found you.” I know I’ve fucked up the moment the words are out of my mouth, but it’s too late to try to take them back.
Her shoulders slump and tears instantly fill her eyes. “Fuck you, Warrick,” she whispers, the words thick with emotion. “Fuck you.” Then she slides off the counter and rushes upstairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen, feeling like the biggest kind of asshole.
Sighing, I slowly follow her, climbing the stairs to our room and wondering what I’ll find when I get there. I’m expecting to find her packing, but instead, our room is empty. Panic steals my breath, but she can’t have left. It’s been less than a minute since she came upstairs, and unless she slipped from a window, she’d have to pass me to have gone out the front door.
I check the bathroom, but it’s empty too. Opening the door to the bedroom she used when she first moved in, I find her sitting on the bed with her knees pulled to her chest and her tear-streaked face resting against them.
“I’m an asshole,” I say, sinking to my knees at the side of the bed.
She nods but doesn’t speak.
“I’m being selfish because I don’t want you to get a job.”
“Why?” she asks, her voice small, the single word thick with tears.
“I work a ninety-six-hour shift, and when I get home, I want you here. If you’re working when I’m home, I’ll never get to see you. I’ve missed you so much these last four days, and I don’t think I could have gone another moment without seeing and touching you. I know it’s selfish, and I’m only thinking about me, but if you get this job and you’re working while I’m off shift, I’ll lose my mind.”
Sucking in a breath, she exhales, staring at me as tears drip down her cheeks. “I can’t just sit and wait for you to get off work, doing nothing but spending your money and eating your food.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
I chuckle, because, seriously. “How the fuck are you taking advantage of me?”
“Because I have less than five dollars to my name and was living in a tent when you found me.” She repeats my words back to me, and I flinch, because yep, I’m an asshole.
“Amore mio?—”
Turning, she silences me with a look. “I don’t cook, I don’t clean, I don’t contribute any money. I don’t bring anything to this relationship, except sex. So is that why I’m here, because you want to fuck me?”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Tell me what my purpose is.” She’s demanding and begging me to give her an answer all at the same time.
“Your purpose is to be spoiled and taken care of. You’re mine.”
“So I’m here because you want a pet that you can fuck? Is a house and food and new clothes the price of sex these days? Because it would probably be cheaper to just pay for it.”
“Verity, stop.”
“If I was the one with money, would you be okay with it if I told you to give up work and be a pampered ornament?”
“You’re not a fucking ornament; you’re my wife, and my wife doesn’t need to work. I earn decent money, and I have savings. I can take care of my woman.”
