“Yes. How would you like to fuck me down under?”
He pulls himself up straight gazing back with a smirk plastered on his sexy face. “I always want to fuck you down under. I also want to fuck you from behind. Is this a trick question?”
“No, silly. I mean Australia.”
His smirk disappears almost to annoyance as he pulls himself up and away from me.
“You want to go to Australia for our honeymoon?”
“Yes. It’s where you grew up, plus I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“Zoey,” he says in a sharper tone. “How can we afford to have your expensive venue, plus a trip to Australia? I thought we agreed we’d save for our house?”
I sit up straight, extending my arm to touch his. “If you’ll just hear me out—”
“No.” He raises his palm quick to shut down my idea. “If this is about Dad’s place, I don’t want to hear it.”
“But you haven’t even heard me out.”
“What’s there to hear?” His voice is escalating, body withdrawing and creating a hostile distance between us. “I don’t want to live there.”
Drew jumps to his feet leaving me alone in the living room. I give him a few moments, following him into the bathroom where he’s stripping off to jump into the shower. My eyes wander down his perfectly built body deliciously eyeing how each muscle is sculpted like he just stepped out of some fitness magazine.
Raising my voice above the noise of the running shower, I try to reconcile what’s just happened. “I’m sorry, Drew. I want us to enjoy our honeymoon.”
“I’m tired, Zoey. I just want to have a shower in peace.”
I’m trying my best to be sympathetic, but the growing number of tasks that I need to complete this week for the wedding has placed an enormous amount of pressure on me. Even with Mia, Gigi, and Mom’s help, I want Drew’s help. It’s supposed to be our wedding.
“Well, we need to talk. I need to confirm things. You can’t keep brushing it off,” I vent in frustration, sitting on the toilet with the lid down waiting for him to respond. “Are you listening to me?”
The water stops. “I’m listening, Zoey. I’m always fucking listening to you. Now, listen to me. I’m tired. I want to sleep. We’ll talk about this when I have the energy to talk about it.”
I storm out of the bathroom in a hissy fit grabbing my phone and the keys to the apartment. A run will clear my mind and stop me from arguing with Drew. With my headphones on and the footpath along the beach clear of any cyclists, I run fast, pushing myself beyond my means to the tunes of Beat It.
I circle the neighborhood and am barely able to walk up the flight of stairs to our apartment hoping Drew’s calmed down enough to talk. Removing my headphones and placing them on the hall table, the apartment is dead quiet with the sun rising and the rays peeking through the kitchen window. Trying to walk quietly toward our bedroom, the door is slightly ajar, enough for me to peek my head in. The room is dark, curtains shut, and all I can see in our bed is Drew’s back toward me followed by the sound of his gentle snores.
Disappointed with how we’ve left things, I head to the shower and get dressed, ready to leave for work.
***
Mia decides today’s the day to bring in some fancy muffins she’s baked—red velvet to be exact—the devil’s food. Resisting the delicious servings of heaven is extremely difficult, but time’s not on my side. I didn’t almost kill myself this morning for nothing.
I arrive at work early so we can get some wedding stuff out of the way—things I desperately need help with. Our job is to reduce headcount. The venue is costly and will only seat one hundred people. This is the part that’s extremely difficult. I have a lot of family back home although Drew does not. Mia’s very cutthroat.
“Last time you saw this Uncle Desmond?” she questions, squinting as she reads my handwriting.
“He’s my dad’s brother. If I don’t invite him, then I can’t invite my favorite Uncle Sal.”
“And both of them are married? With kids?”
“Uncle Sal remarried, so technically he has six kids.”
“Zoey, you need to cut this list. The room only allows one hundred people, not one hundred and fifty. When Troy and I got married, we had to cut eighty people off our list. Trust me, they probably won’t care anyway. Remove all the kids.”
“Don’t you think that’s unfair, though? What if they can’t get a babysitter?”
“Too bad, so sad,” she says without emotion.