“If you want kids, we’ll start today,” I said, leaning against the porch post.
She was back to shaking her head. “You don’t understand. I want to live here. I want to raise a family here.”
“No, Pixie, you don’t understand. I could have lost you last night. I’m not going to let that happen again. Ever. If you want ten kids, we’ll have them. If you want a six-story library full of medieval first editions, I’ll buy every book for you. If you want to raise a family here, I’ll move back and feed your asshole cat every morning. If you decide you want to throw it all away and move to a tasteful hut on a tropical beach, I’ll build the fucking hut.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind. We’re incompatible. We have nothing in common. We make each other miserable. We can’t stop insulting each other, you sweatpants-stealing lunatic,” she added.
“We’ll work on it. I happen to know an excellent therapist.”
“That’s not how any of this works. I’m sorry you freaked out about the fire. But I’m not getting into a relationship with you again. I’ve learned my lesson on multiple occasions now.”
“Sloane, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. There’s no discussion necessary. We are in a committed relationship. You mean something to me, and I’m not letting you go again. Not now, not ever. Everything else is just details.”
“Having a family is not just details. I want a husband and a partner, not someone who’s going to hire a fleet of nannies.”
“I don’t think that’s the correct term. And if you don’t want a fleet of nannies, I’ll hire a small infantry of nannies.”
She threw the bagel at me, and I caught it with one hand.
“Fine. No nannies. You just tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”
“I want you to go away. Immediately and forever.”
“No, you don’t,” I said smugly, remembering the way she’d cuddled closer to me in bed.
Sloane let out an exasperated groan. “This is not happening,” she decided, back to shaking her head. “I’m probably in a hospital bed right now, loopy from smoke inhalation.”
I closed the distance between us and took her wrists. “If you were, I’d be next to you.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“A threat, a promise, whichever you prefer.” I could feel the racing flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers.
“Why are you smiling? You don’t smile. You glower. You brood. You…fester!” she said.
“I’ve never once festered,” I argued.
“Oh, shut up.”
I took her gently by the shoulders. “Sloane, listen to me. There will be no more hiding. No more pretending we can’t stand each other.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured.
“You’re mine and I’m yours. For better or worse.”
She sagged against me for a moment. “Only Lucian Fucking Rollins would think he could order a woman into a committed relationship.”
“I’m just cutting through the bullshit.”
She pushed away from me and started pacing while she resumed her yelling about all the reasons we wouldn’t work. I found it adorable. I had never felt better about a decision in my entire life.
40
A Face Full of Chardonnay
Sloane
Thank you for your time,” I said and disconnected the call with the sandpaper-voiced insurance adjuster lady. “Which is absolutely worthless, you paper-pushing pain in my ass. As if I’d burn down my own library.”
Naomi grinned at me from behind my dad’s desk. We were in the study, which had become library command central. It had been two days since the fire, and I was deep in the weeds of bureaucratic red tape.
“Apparently the insurance company isn’t comfortable paying out until they can be sure I wasn’t the one who started the fire,” I complained loud enough to be heard over the squealing drills outside.
Naomi flashed me a pitying look while efficiently finishing an email on her laptop. “I happen to have an in with the chief of police. I’m sure we can get Nash to convince the insurance company you had nothing to do with the fire,” she said.
I hopped up from the chair and marched to the window overlooking the front porch. Besides the team of security experts on ladders, it looked like a going out of business sale at a bookstore. The fire department had gone through the building and brought every book that looked rescuable to the only place I could think of: my house.