Mr Garcia

He listens.

“I know that it’s not… I mean, I don’t want you to ever go through that again.” I stumble over my words trying to make this come out in the right context.

“April,” he says in his deep, commanding voice.

“I made you something. Of course, you will need to get Bart or someone you trust to check it.” I babble on.

Nerves dance in my stomach.

“April…” He warns impatiently.

I push off his lap. “I’ll just go get it.” I walk up the hall and into his office to retrieve the ten-page document in his printer. I walk back out and hand it over.

He frowns as he looks down at it in his hands.

“It’s a prenup agreement,” I announce.

His eyes rise to mine, and he raises a pissed off eyebrow.

Oh crap, he thinks it's about me. “I mean, it’s not for me or anything. It’s for you to have for the future. Like, if you ever meet the right person. I don’t want you to get ripped off ever again, Seb.”

Unimpressed, he throws it onto the table and stands. He goes to the cupboard, takes out a glass and fills it with scotch. He takes a sip as his angry eyes hold mine.

“Are you angry?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m fucking angry.” He growls. “If you want to leave, just do it.” He drains his glass.

I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.

“I cannot believe you would have the fucking audacity to draft a pre-marital agreement for my future wife to sign,” he says.

“Sebastian…”

“Don’t.” He fills his glass again.

“This is for your own protection. I won’t let another woman rip you off.”

“I don’t want another fucking woman!” he yells.

Oh crap, he thinks I’m leaving.

“Then, I’ll sign it,” I stammer. I grab the pen from the shopping list on the fridge. “Here, I’ll sign it right now.”

Fuck, this is going bad.

Real bad.

I flick through the pages to the back and quickly sign my name on the dotted line. I’m half expecting him to throw me out onto the street. “There, see?” I smile. “It’s done.”

He glares at me.

“Sebastian, I don’t want your money; not one penny. But if I’m going to stay here in your house and be with you, I need to have this for my own sanity. I want us to go into this relationship unencumbered.”

He storms past me, heading toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I call after him.

“To take a shower. Do you want to do up a premature legal agreement for that?” He yells.

I roll my eyes. Smartass.

He marches up the stairs, and I slump onto my stool. I thought I was doing a good deed—that he would be happy.

Premature legal agreement.

I exhale heavily. I guess not.

I peer into the oven and glance at the clock. Sebastian has been upstairs for half an hour. Is he even coming back down?

Too soon.

It was too soon, you idiot.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I honestly thought he would be happy that I took that upon myself to do that.

I hear the stairs creak, and I stir the gravy to act busy. He walks in and takes a seat back at the kitchen counter.

“Are you ready for dinner now?” I ask with my back to him.

“Yes, please,” he replies curtly.

Big baby.

I dish out our food and place it in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I smile through gritted teeth.

I sit down, and we eat in silence while I repeat the mantra, hold your tongue, hold your tongue.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “I’ll have my own lawyer draft an agreement.”

“That’s fine,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.

We eat in silence again.

“And I don’t like being pushed into anything,” he states.

“Okay.”

“You will not be moving in here until we discuss it.”

I roll my eyes. He’s pissing me off now. “That’s fine, Sebastian. I don’t want to move in here, anyway.”

His eyes rise to meet mine.

“What?” I scoff. “It’s okay for you to say it but if I agree, I’m in the shit.”

He raises an eyebrow and goes back to his dinner.

“I was only trying to protect you,” I say.

“I don’t need your protection.” He snaps.

“Really?” I scoff, “From where I’m standing, you kind of do. You’re a very wealthy man, Sebastian. Don’t be a fool.”

He gives a subtle shake of his head. “You’re fucking infuriating, April.”

“And you’re a big baby.” I stand and pick up my plate.

“Where are you going?”

“To eat my dinner in front of the television.” I walk out into the living room and sit down on the couch. I begin to eat my dinner on my lap. “And I might write up a contract up for this, too!” I call out.

If he wants to be a dick, I can be a bigger one.

“Write up a contract that you have to suck my cock every day!” he calls from the kitchen.