“Funny, isn’t that my bed you’re sleeping in? And has anyone ever told you that you curse like a sailor? I was in the military and don’t curse as much as you, so that’s saying something.”
I slammed the mug down on the nightstand, the ceramic clinking louder than it needed to. I threw the covers off like they were on fire and stood.
“I’m not going. I thought you were joking about this shit when you told me I had to go to church to please your mom. I mean, how old are you? Does she pick your outfits out the night before, too?”
He ran a hand down his face, dragging tension with it, then let it fall to his side. His eyes were tight.
“I go because I believe in God, and he’s been a really big part of my life, especially when there were moments I thought I was going to die. I put my life on the line for 14 years, so I owe it to him for watching over me. Besides, I also like going with my mom. She’s all alone and hasn’t had a man since my dad died. So, have a little decency. It’s only one day out of the week. And if you want people to believe we are in love, then you would do anything for me, and that means doing things I enjoy.”
I scoffed like a defense mechanism.
“Well, I’m sorry but you don’t see me dragging you on any shopping spree or to one of those artsy coffee shops where they read poetry and talk about our inner egos and shit.”
“It is fair because we had a deal. And this is part of that deal.”
“Nope, not going.” I dropped back into the bed like a dead weight. Loco jumped up beside me, curling up like nothing was wrong.
“Goddamn it,” he hissed, the words low and sharp. He turned away from me, and I watched him drag a hand through his hair. His muscles tensed with restraint, every line of his body coiled with frustration.
“Now who needs Jesus?” I folded my arms, daring him to push.
“Get up, you’re going. And if you want me to read poetry, I’ll fucking read it with you, because that’s what married couples do. They make sacrifices.”
He wasn’t wrong. And that pissed me off more than anything.
But deep down, it wasn’t just about church. It was about the weight I carried every time someone brought up God. I’d been spoon-fed Bible verses in private school while living under the roof of a monster. A man who walked free. A man my own mother couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see. When she got sober and started talking about how God saved her, it made me sick. Like she forgot who she was married to like she could rewrite history with scripture.
So no, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to sit in a place that preached forgiveness while I still had scars from people no one else seemed to see.
“Do you want people getting suspicious of us?” His voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut. His jaw clenched. His fists curled tightly at his sides.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Fine, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to go every Sunday.”
“Baby steps. Let’s just get through today, princess. I don’t think I can handle thinking about next Sunday with you.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and walking down the stairs.Nick is propped up against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone. When he senses me coming, he looks up.
“No.” He deadpans.
“What?”
“No, you’re not wearing that.”
I glanced down at my outfit. “What? It’s a top with jeans, what’s wrong with it?”
“Your boobs are practically falling out of the top. We’re going to church, not on a sexy date.”
“Too bad, soldier, I'm not changing.” I force a fake smile.
He places his phone on the counter and starts walking towards me. “You do realize I’m trying to help you. Do you want people talking shit about you?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re mom and dad didn’t spank you enough growing up.”
I flung my hair over my shoulder. “No, actually, he did, but not the way you think.” I flash him a wink. He stares blankly at me, like he can’t believe what I just said, but if I played off the bile that rose in my stomach, every time I thought about my stepfather teaching me a lesson, I would be a rich woman and wouldn’t need to be in a fake marriage.
It’s for your own good, sweetie. All grown women know how to make their man feel good. That’s a good girl, that means you like it when you get wet down there. Don’t be afraid, it’s supposed to get hard, that’s when a man is enjoying you, and taking it is better than appearing weak.
