I drag my hand over my face and say, “Love, not so much. But I am on the list of those to be murdered by my consort. I fear for my life every night.”
Killian frowns. “What?”
“Listen, I have this under control.”
“Why don’t I believe that to be true?”
“It’s just proving to be more difficult than I expected. I arrived home yesterday ready to get to know her and help her around the kitchen, but she practically hissed at me and told me to stop being kind and act like an arsehole instead.”
Killian emits a quiet chuckle. “I’m sure you turned on the charm from there, being extra nice.”
“Nope, I was an arsehole.”
Killian’s delighted face drops. “What?”
“Because she asked me to do it. And I want to make her happy; therefore, I was an arsehole because she asked me to be one.”
“That . . .” He pauses and chuckles. “That’s brilliant.”
I tap my head. “You see, it’s all about listening and communicating. She did ask me to do the dishes, but I told her that’s what wives are for.”
Killian winces.
“And then she stormed off and went for a walk. I felt really fucking bad so I did them before she got back but pretended I didn’t do them, which made her angry.”
“But you did them and she didn’t.”
“Exactly. I did what she asked, but still played the arsehole.”
Killian slowly nods. “Okay, maybe you do have this under control. How do you feel about her? Has she asked why you want to stay married?”
I rub my palm over my jaw. “She did but she didn’t pry too deep. She was mainly worried it was a green card marriage and she would end up in prison. How do I feel about her? She’s feisty, vivacious. She has life and spirit about her.” Something Iris definitely lacks. “She can be brash, but her eyes tell all, so I know there’s attraction there. She wants me.” That was very clear in Vegas . . . from what I can remember. “Honestly, she’s fucking hot, man. There’s chemistry between us, but there’s also a huge mental block that I’m not sure how to get around it. I need to win her over, but I’m not sure being an arsehole is going to do that.”
“I see your point. Well, maybe ride it out a bit, and continue to do thoughtful things while acting like the arsehole.”
“Yeah, I was really fucking thoughtful last night when I was eating the dinner she cooked.”
“What do you mean?”
I lean forward in my chair. “Kill, she’s probably the worst cook I’ve ever come across. And, yeah, I might have a snobby palate, but fuck, I’m still picking the chicken out of my teeth. And I flossed. Dry as hell. She made mushy peas and they were chunky as fuck, and the fries she plated were doused in salt and tomato sauce. Sorry . . . ketchup.”
“Aw, fuck, gross.”
“I know. It was an atrocious dinner, but I ate it like a champ, didn’t make one facial expression of distaste, and made sure to eat every last bite.”
“Taking one for the team. It’s appreciated. Just make sure she doesn’t make you tea. I can’t imagine the kind of sins she’d commit doing that.”
I shiver. “Fuck, I know.”
Just then, the door to my classroom opens and I’m surprised to see Cora walk through it, wearing plaid blue-and-green bell-bottoms, a neon-orange shirt, and a puffy vest. Jesus, what’s with the outfits?
“Uh, Kill, I have to go.”
Before he can answer, I hang up my mobile and set it on my desk. Leaning back in my chair, I ask, “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my wife during the day?”
With a smile that frankly terrifies me, she holds out a brown sacked lunch bag and says, “I wasn’t sure if you had lunch with you. I couldn’t let my dearest husband go hungry.”
She bats her eyelashes and holds out the lunch.
Any other intelligent man would look at that lunch and think it’s been tampered with in some way. There’s no way the food in that bag hasn’t been doctored to get back at me. Could be her own saliva. Could be over-seasoning once again. Could be the worst of them all . . . a laxative.
Given I’m not in a position to make smart decisions . . . I lift my fingers and motion for her to come closer.
To my surprise, she does.
When she gets close enough, I grab her by the wrist and sit her on my lap. She makes a small squealing noise but then settles down, rather stiffly. My hand wraps around her waist, holding her close, while I take the bag from her with the other.