That makes him scowl. “No. That was your idea, not mine. We’re celebrating our first dinner in our home as Mr. and Mrs. Wright.” He fills a plate for himself, then pops open the bottle of champagne and fills the flutes.
“I’m not Mrs. Wright,” I tell him. I’m already tired of this fight.
But Griffin simply smiles at me as he places the plate and champagne in front of me. “You don’t have to change your name if you don’t want to. I could change mine.”
I almost choke on the sip of bubbly I just took. Coughing and sputtering, I stare at Griffin as he sets his own plate down. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m a modern man and a feminist. It’s not fair that women are always expected to give up their names. But I do want to share a name with my wife, so if you’d prefer not to be Mrs. Wright, I’m happy to become Mr. Graves.” He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Though that may get a little confusing on the ice. But we’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t… You can’t… No one is changing their name!”
“We can wait if you want time to consider it. That’s completely reasonable.” He nods, like he didn’t say somethingso utterly ridiculous I don’t have words for it, and cuts his steak. “Oh man. This is so good.”
Still at a loss, I take a few bites of my own dinner, and we eat in silence. Only the sound of our silverware clanking against the ceramic dishes fills the apartment.
“How was your flight?” Griffin finally asks. He’s making small talk. He conned me into staying married for six months, and he’s making small talk. Exhaustion presses down on my shoulders.
“Cramped,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “Isla and I got stuck next to this businessman with long legs, and he manspread into my space the whole flight. It was annoying as hell, and I wanted to stab him with my keys.”
“Sorry, baby. That sucks. Next time, buy first-class tickets.” Griffin sips his champagne as I stare at him.
“I can’t afford first-class tickets, Griffin,” I say, exasperated. “I’m still getting my business off the ground.”
“You can totally afford first-class tickets.” He looks at me like I’m silly.
I want to scream.
“We’re married, so what’s mine is yours. And my wife will never have to fly in coach again.”
What?No way in hell am I spending Griffin’s money like some gold-digging jersey chaser. Absolutely not. Never going to happen.
“No.”
Griffin fights a smile. “You seem to love that word today. But this isn’t a battle you can win, wifey. Even if you buy tickets in coach, I’ll call and pay to upgrade them. Why waste my time and yours when you can book them first class from the get-go?”
“You can’t do that,” I say, sounding very much like a petulant toddler, before shoving the last bite of food into my mouth.
“I can and will. Resistance is futile.”
Steam may be coming out of my ears. “We’re not on an episode ofStar Trek, Wright. This is real life.Mylife.”
“Is that where that quote is from?” Griffin tilts his head and considers it. Then he simply goes back to finishing his dinner without addressing the rest of my statement. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating. How dare he think he can go over my head like that?
Yes,my inner bitch drawls,how dare he offer to fly you across the country in the lap of luxury?
Gah!
Pushing away from the table, I level Griffin with a glare. “Thank you for dinner, but I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.” Grabbing my carry-on, I roll it down the hallway without another glance at Griffin’s smug, stupidly handsome face. I’m grumbling nonsensical insults as I go to my room, slam the door, and let out a huff.
I can’t believe this is my life right now.
Too tired to unpack, I shed my clothes and open my dresser drawer to grab clean pajamas.
Except, it’s empty.
What the hell?
I open another drawer. Empty. And another. Empty.
