“Not a joke. A fact.”
“Using facts as jokes is arguably worse.” She leans against the doorjamb, pulling her braid down her side to finish it off. “You know, I don’t think I’ve fully explored how obnoxious I can be at night. I don’t think I’ve kicked you once. Or hogged all the covers.”
Sheisstalling. And she wants to keep sleeping together.
I think of her panic attack and the hints of insecurity I’ve seen behind the bluster. She likes when things happen. And going to bed means lying alone with her own thoughts. It means nights of tossing.
Turning to a sleeping pill or a drink, like I’ve done myself on occasion.
“Admit it. You’ve slept better in here than in your bedroom down the hall.”
Her eyes narrow. “You wish.”
“Fantastic response. Very well-thought-out. Witty, even.”
She turns around and starts rummaging through the t-shirts I have hanging in the walk-in. She grabs one and inspects the navy fabric. “We can’t all be highly educated, polylingual billionaire geniuses,” she says.
“You’re stealing again.”
“You stole my company.”
“You signed it over to me. With an intricate signature and a heart over the i, if I remember correctly.”
“It’s the secretly-bought-shares-for-years part I’m referring to,” she says. “And the heart was an improvisation. I wanted to make my signature take as long as possible because you were already annoyed that I was late.”
“I wasn’t annoyed.”
She looks over her shoulder at me.
“Fine. I was annoyed.”
“I could read you like a book, even back then.” She turns back toward the wall and reaches for the hem of her dress. She starts pulling it up, and I look away, toward the windows that look out over the darkness of the gardens. Even though I’ve seen her naked at this point. Even though I helped her out of that dress and into a t-shirt when she was shivering with a fever.
She is good at wielding her beauty like a blade.
When I look back, the navy fabric of my t-shirt is coveringher form again. It ends right below her ass, kissing the tops of her thighs. No one’s legs should be that long.
I get up from the bed and cross the distance to her. A worthy opponent she is, but I’ve played many games in my life.
“You don’t like sleeping alone,” I say, and start unbuttoning my shirt.
“I didn’t say that, exactly.”
I shrug out of the shirt and put it in the hamper. Her eyes drop to my torso and linger just a little too long. Two can play this game.
I reach for the buckle of my belt and start undoing it. “If you want to share a bed permanently, you’re welcome to. I’m not insisting you leave.”
She looks away from me. “Me planning to ruin your sleep is a kink for you? Good to know.”
“The nightmares are fewer when you’re around. And you waking me up is useful,” I say. “Do you have panic attacks at night sometimes?”
She looks back at me, her lips thinning. “Fine. Maybe I’ve slept better in here than I did in my own bed. But if you tell anyone that, I will kill you.”
“Our prenup won’t give you back the shares if you’re found convicted.” I reach for the sweatpants and tug them on. I hate sleeping this clothed. But if she’s going to be in bed with me every night from here on out, I need barriers.
“I won’t be convicted,” she says, and walks past me to the bed. She’s fully herself again. No more lingering weakness from the sickness.
It’s distracting when she looks like that. No makeup, long legs, blonde braid and covered in the soft cotton fabric that I’ve bought myself. If she thinks it still annoys me that she steals my clothes, I’ll let her.
