“I trust you slept well?” he asked, attempting civility because regardless of his feelings it was the appropriate way to treat one’s wife. Or so he imagined.
“Not in the least,” she returned, her voice crisp.
Her dark, curly hair was tied up, a little puffball on top of her head, and she was wearing a baggy sweater, the sort that made generous breasts blend into a woman’s waist, concealing any nice attributes her figure might possess.
Not that he cared. Her figure was the least of his concerns.
“If the mattress is a problem for you, a new one can be ordered.”
“I don’t think it was the mattress so much as the unexpected acquisition of a husband, but I could be wrong. Maybe the sleep surface was too firm.”
“You seem a bit off this morning.”
Her fingers flexed around the cup, giving the impression of claws. “Do I?”
He found he wanted to push her. He was spoiling for a fight and he couldn’t say why. He’d never tried to pick a fight for no reason in his life. He’d grown up in such a volatile environment, and he’d learned early on that the quickest way to an early death, or at the very least a world of pain, was to cause trouble.
Keeping his head down, doing as he was told, all while planning, planning and strategizing, finding a way out—that was the way to survive.
Today, he didn’t just want to survive. He wanted to fight. It seemed a perfect substitute for getting drunk.
“Hardly the blushing bride,” he said. “You look like hell, to be honest.”
“Are you always such an ass?”
Good. She was getting angry. That was what he wanted. What he craved right now.
“Perhaps you’ve never had the chance to really get to know me before now, though, in the interest of full disclosure, I am in a bloody bad mood this morning.”
“I’m glad to know this at least qualifies as a bad mood. Why are you taking it out on me?”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know why his control was fraying. Why he wasn’t being self-contained. Why he was suddenly incapable of maintaining an iron grip on emotion. “Because you’re here, agape mou. The lucky replacement bride.”
“Would my sister be on the receiving end of this treatment? If so, I can certainly see why she ran out on the wedding.”
“If your sister were here, I daresay we might still be in bed. And I would certainly be in a better mood.”
Something flashed in her amber eyes that he didn’t like. Pain? He had gone a step too far in venting his anger. Saying things he wasn’t even certain he felt just to simply let the anger continue. Indulging emotion for once rather than sublimating it.
He didn’t know how sleeping with Rachel would make him feel. The idea of it...it had made him tense. But that was to be expected, considering the nature of their relationship, and everything else.
But sex with his wife was half the appeal of marriage to him. Everything in life had a place. A fire burning in the fireplace was all well and good. But when the fire spread outside of it, that became a problem.
Yes, things had their place. And he had been looking forward to having everything where it was meant to be.
But now the plan was upended. And he wasn’t certain of his next move. For a man who liked to plan ahead, it was disconcerting at best.
“I am sorry,” he bit out. “That was crass of me. I’m frustrated, and it has very little to do with you personally.” Except, somehow, the frustration, or rather, his inability to manage it, did seem tied to her.
She blinked, and he could see some of the tension release from her body. “Of course not. Of course. None of this really has anything to do with me personally, does it?”
“I’m glad you have such a good grasp on the situation.”
“I don’t, Ajax, not even close. What, if you’ll excuse me, in hell do you want from me? Do you want me to just hang out for the next five years, living in your house, and then go on my merry way like none of this ever happened?”
“Clearly that cannot happen,” he said.
“Clearly?”
“I would not disrespect you that way.”
“Oh, honey, after all the crap you said to me last night, you’re saying you don’t want to disrespect me?”
“I was angry.”
“Great. So was I. So am I.”
“I apologized.”
“An apology isn’t a magic healing potion, it’s just a bandage. It covered up some of my pique nicely, but it’s hardly healed.”