“You’re stayinginhere.” I pointed to the couch. “Congratulations. It pulls out into a bed.”
“I’m not sleeping on a couch, Valentina. I wouldn’t even fit on that thing.”
I took a second to look at his size, then at the couch. Sure, it could pull out, but still, I wasn’t sure it would fit him.
“Well, I only have one bed, which is still broken, by the way.”
His eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re still blaming me for that?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically, “did I hallucinate the part where you were there too?”
He dragged a hand down his face as if praying for patience he definitely didn’t have. “We didn’t even?—”
“I’m well aware,” I interrupted, cheeks heating from embarrassment—or maybe frustration. Probably both. “But unless you want to actually finish breaking it this time, you can enjoy the couch.”
He paced a few restless steps away, only to turn back again immediately. He looked annoyed with me. “Why can’t we just do this at my place?”
“Well,” I said, shrugging, “I don’t really feel like moving.”
He looked at me like he couldn’t believe me. “Because you don’t feel like moving?”
“Right,” I admitted confidently.
“That’s your argument?”
“It’s agoodargument.”
“It’s alazyargument.”
“Same thing.” I smirked. “You’re the one who wanted to do this. Sucks for you.”
His eyes flashed. “I did thisfor you, Valentina. You think I wanted this? You think I’d willingly tie myself to someone as ungrateful as you?”
I tilted my head to study him closely. He could say whatever he wanted, but he kind of had, hadn’t he? Because if he really hated the idea, if it really was such a massive inconvenience,he could’ve walked out ages ago. And yet here he was, standing in my messy apartment, glaring at me like I was the reason for every terrible decision he’d ever made.
Which, to be fair, I probably was. But I didn’t need to be reminded of that every time I looked at him.
“I don’t think this is going to work. We’re already arguing,” I complained.
“It’s not about arguing,” he said tightly. “It’s about you refusing to compromise for five goddamn minutes.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” I snapped.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“How do you expect me to compromise with you when you run from me?”
He clenched his jaw. Hard. “I don’t run.”
“No?” I asked sweetly. “Because the last time I saw you, you went through the front door like your hair was on fire.”
“I had business.”
I scoffed. “Business. God forbid you put your work down for a second.”
“What exactly do you want from me, Valentina?” Marco finally asked, frustration bleeding into his voice.
My first impulse was to toss a sharp retort back at him—something mean and dismissive and exactly the opposite of honest. But the truth was, he looked genuinely frustrated. Confused, even. Like he really didn’t get why I was pushing his buttons, why I kept pulling him closer even as I told him he was nothing but trouble.
