“As soon as possible. Yes. I need a full risk assessment on a building too. Send Hayes and Eduardo. A full system, same as the house. I’ll send you the address. Okay. Good. Bye.” Ending the call, he pushes his cell phone into his pocket and lifts his hand from my mouth.
“What the hell was that?” I snap.
“I arranged a car for you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You can’t justarrangea car for me,” I say, outraged.
“We own a security company. I ordered my car through them. Now I’ve ordered one for my wife. I don’t see the problem.”
“You don’t see the problem?” I yell, exasperated. “How much is it? I have no idea if I can afford it.”
“It’s covered,” he says calmly.
His nonchalant attitude makes me so frustrated that my fingers curl into fists. “How is it covered if I have no idea if I can afford it?” I ask slowly.
“We have plenty of money,” he tells me, like it’s simple.
“No. You have money. I have about two hundred dollars to my name. Taking my asshole landlord to court drained me, and I’m broke until I start working regularly again.”
“I assumed you wanted to work, not that you were doing it because you were worried about money. I can take care of us and as many children as you give me. Neither of us ever needs to work again.”
“Okay, we’ll talk about the money thing in a minute. I want to work. I love my job. I just need to work to pay my bills too. You know, like a normal person.”
“You don’t have any bills anymore,” he says coolly.
“Of course I have bills. I’m assuming you have a mortgage, and there are utilities and insurance. If we’re living together, I’ll pay half of that. Plus, I have my cell phone and health insurance and everything else that costs money in life.”
“We don’t have a mortgage. We own our home and the ten thousand acres of land surrounding it outright. Well, except for the acreage I’ve gifted to my brothers. Our home has solar panels, and although we might have some power bills for a while, at some point we’ll have enough stored power that we’ll barely need to use anything from the power grid. The entire building is energy efficient, so the cost of living there will be minimal. I’ve added you to my health insurance and cell phone plan, and any other expenses we have will be paid out of our joint accounts. Nothing we have is mine or yours anymore. It’s all just ours.”
“Maybe anything we get from here on out might be ours, but anything you had before we got married is yours. It’s your house and your business and your money. None of that is mine,” I protest.
“All of me is yours,” he says so earnestly, and I melt. “You wanted a car, so I ordered you a car.”
“Is it really just that black and white for you?” I ask, wanting to know the answer.
“Yes.”
“And what if you paying for everything makes me uncomfortable?” I question.
“I’m not paying for anything. We are.”
Sighing, I turn my attention back to my cell, deciding to try to figure out how to pay my way in my marriage another time.
When the barrage of messages starts to slow, I grab the date book and let Knight strap me back into the car before he secures the studio door and closes the shutter, putting the key onto the ring with the fob for his car.
The drive to Bozeman is boring and ugly in comparison to the majestic beauty of the mountains, and I find my eyes closing.
“We’re here,” Knight says softly, cupping my cheek with his huge, warm hand.
“Urgh,” I groan, arching my back to stretch my spine as I unfurl my arms and push them out in front of me, yawning loudly.
I’m used to people looking at me. I dress like a creepy goth doll, but with my hand in Knight’s, it feels like everyone in the store turns and stares at me. We don’t spend long in Walmart as they don’t have what I want, so we end up in Costco with a cart full of a hundred things I had no idea I needed until I saw them.
By the time we get to the checkout, I’m already regretting my enthusiastic shopping and cringing at the idea of putting yet another charge on my credit card. When we get to the register,Knight whips out his wallet and pays for everything before I have a chance. When I start to protest, he silently turns the card around to face me, and I see my name on the front.
Mrs. Octavia Taylor.
“Where did that come from?” I ask, reaching out to take the card from him.
