If anyone was unexpectedly inconvenienced by this storm, it washim.“It’s called a weather report,” he bit out. “Look, princess—”
She frowned. “Don’t call me princess.”
“Then don’t act like a fucking diva.” He was breathing hard as he loomed over her. God, her eyes were bright. The set of her chin was new. Extra firm. He wanted to take it firmly between his fingers and make her tremble. Make her fucking listen to him, but she’d never been a big fan of that. Not when it came to anything other than racing.
It had been three years since he’d growled an engine up to a start line, too. She’d stolen that from him. Just like everything else.
“I have work to do,” she said carefully. Glaring at him. “Not diva work. Real work. So I guess…” She cast another disbelieving look out the window. “I’ll go do that.”
* * *
As soon asshe got upstairs, she leaned her back against the inside of the apartment door and silently cursed for rising to Josh’s bait.
Princess.
Little did Josh know, that was what he called her in her deepest fantasies. Once upon a time, for a few special weeks, she’d loved how special it made her feel—even though it had started as a way for him to highlight their differences, it had quickly taken on an endearing edge to it.
It was for the best if she could draw a boundary around it now. She didn’t need that pointed at her today. Not from him, not now.
She found her phone and searched up the highway closure news, because while she believed him, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Stormaggedon, people were calling it.
The worst part was that it made her mother right.
Paranoia 1, Monica 0. She’d be undoing the damage of this Bianca victory for months or years to come.
Monica
Another weather delay. I’m. Fine.
Bianca
Could you tell I was nervously waiting for an update?
Monica laughed.Yeah, mom. I could tell.
Heavy footsteps on the stairs were a warning to get out of the way of the door, and then it swung open and Josh filled the doorway, his brows pulled tight, a glare pointed in her direction. “I was out of line calling you a princess.”
It was an apology that might sound more authentic if it weren’t growled, but she appreciated it anyway. “Thank you. I’m not offended. It just reminds me…of before.”
His eyebrows twitched, a little flare of surprise. Then a nod. “I’m also sorry that you're stuck with me for another day or two.”
“Maybe there's a silver lining,” she offered as diplomatically as possible.
He didn't look nearly as gracious as she felt. “And what would that be?”
“Well, we can… Is it too much to suggest that we catch up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we're never going to be friends, Monica. I don't want to be friends with you. I wanted you to be my wife. And no offence, but you showing up here means I get to mourn that all over again when you leave.”
His words echoed in the silence that followed. He looked surprised that he’d said even half of that.
“Of course. Ofcourse.” Her voice cracked and she didn't bother to hide that. “I didn't mean to make it sound like I don't have some hurt feelings, too. And I know you won’t believe that, but I do. I mourn it, too. For goodness sake, I just told you that I don’t like being called princess for those same kind of reasons.”
He gave her a curt nod. “Then let's not spend the last twenty-four hours of our marriage pretending to be friends, all right?”
