Even so, I can’t not say something to the man who just spent a fortune on my ring.
Knocking on his front door feels weird. But not as weird as walking right in. We’re married and don’t know a thing about each other. Not true, he knows way too much about me while I know his middle name and like five or six of his family members—and I met them all within the last twenty-four hours.
I lift my hand, but the door opens before my knuckles can touch wood.
“Darling?”
I make a face halfway between a cringe and a what in the world.
“So that one’s out,” he says, standing aside. “Did you lock your door?”
Oops. I lift a finger to indicate one moment before I run back, hit the lock button, and return.
“I can set it to automatically lock within thirty seconds of the deadbolt being disengaged.” He’s so imposing naturally, but his wide chest fills the doorway, and when I’m two steps down, I feel tiny… and almost chided.
I duck my chin. “That’s not a bad idea. I’m not playing fast and loose. I just don’t think about it right next door.”
“I’ll program it.”
He hasn’t stepped aside, and I haven’t asked to enter. He’s waiting on something and it’s making me awkward.
Instead of going with what I came over to say, I change tactics. “Why is the front door code 1701?”
His lips quirk and his beard twitches. But it’s the piercing in that brow dipping as his eyes crinkle that makes me want to squint.
“Well?” My impatience is showing, but I need to know.
“It’s my best guess as to how many rules we’ll each break.”
“You think we’ll near two thousand?”
“No, Lorien. I think it’ll be seventeen to one.” His top teeth sink into that pillowy bottom lip, no doubt capturing a laugh that wants to erupt.
“It will not.” My voice is petulant, but still.
“Are you at three already? Or four?”
“Two. The first one didn’t count.” I lift my chin in defiance.
“So, three, but only two are punishable. Feels light, but I’ll go with it.”
“Aargh.”
“That was growl-like. Does it fold under the umbrella of our ‘house rules’?” He uses air quotes with his exposed hand.
“Nope.” But the word loses its luster and drifts off into silence.
That hand, the one making air quotes, is wearing a ring. One I didn’t buy for him.
My face falls, and I feel two inches tall.
“What is it?” His brows pinch together and he looks over my head, peering left and right before fixing his gaze on me.
I can’t speak over the boulder in my throat. It’s dry and huge and impossible to swallow around. How many ways can this man best me? All without even trying…
Silently, I extend a hand to his left one. He’s slow to offer it. I take it in both of mine and stare down at the wide black silicone band. It’s fitting. Bold, solid, flexible but unbreakable. Turning his hand this way and that, I study the ink ontop, the swirl of a snake around his thumb, the tail making a wonky watchband with a clock stuck on noon.
I’m as startled as he is when a tear hits his hand. I’m so over crying. Two days of this, two weeks of this, two lifetimes of this if you consider the emotional wear I feel with my brother’s illness.
