She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes.
"Fine." She turns on her heel, wheels her bag away from the bedroom entirely, and parks it next to the couch. "You take the bed. I'll sleep out here."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're not sleeping on the couch."
"Why not?" She's already unzipping her bag, pulling out what looks like sleep clothes. "Problem solved. You get the bed, and I get my separate quarters. Everyone's happy."
"You're my wife. You're not sleeping on a couch."
"Contract wife," she corrects, not looking at me. "And it's a very nice couch. I'll be fine."
I can feel my jaw tightening. This is exactly the kind of stubborn, infuriating thing she would do.
"This is childish."
Now she does look at me, and her eyes are blazing. "Childish? You want to talk about what's childish? You're the one who apparently booked a single room for a marriage that was explicitly supposed to have boundaries."
"I told you, this was the only suite."
"Sure it was." She crosses her arms. "How convenient."
She thinks I planned this. The thought sends a flash of something hot through my chest. She thinks I'm already playing games, already breaking the rules. She's not entirely wrong to besuspicious. I have no intention of honoring that divorce clause, but I genuinely didn't orchestrate this. The hotel situation is just...lucky timing.
"Believe what you want," I say, forcing my voice to stay level. "But you're not sleeping on the couch. It's uncomfortable. You'll wake up with a stiff neck, and we have meetings tomorrow."
"I'll be fine."
"Take the bed."
"No."
Stubborn woman.We're at an impasse, and I can see from the set of her shoulders that she's not going to budge. Fine. Let her sleep on the couch tonight. Let her wake up sore and uncomfortable. Maybe it'll teach her that being contrary for the sake of being contrary has consequences.
"Fine," I say, picking up my bag. "Suit yourself."
I close the bedroom door, but not all the way, and start unpacking a few things. Through the gap in the door, I can see her moving around the living area, and I take my bag of toiletries to the ensuite. I'm an unpacker. I don't like living out of a suitcase when I travel, and setting my things on the counter, giving them a space, will help unclutter my mind.
I've only taken my toothbrush and cologne out when movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Asha is in my room.
"Change your mind already, sweetheart?" I say, emptying a few more items onto the counter.
"In your dreams. I'm here for your credit card."
I blink. "What?" I face her, only to find her sitting on the edge of my bed, her bare legs crossed, looking like all my dreams come true.
"I'm going shopping," she sing-songs. "You promised I could buy clothes if I didn't pack the right attire." She's completelyserious, sitting there checking her manicure like some kind of spoiled schoolgirl. "We're in Spain. I'll look like an American."
"Youarean American," I snap back.
"You know what I mean. I need appropriate clothes. You said?—"
"It's late." I walk into the room, move my suitcase to the floor, and begin unbuttoning my shirt. "This is a new city. I don't want you going out alone."
"Too bad." Her voice is firm, unyielding. "I need to be alone with my thoughts after everything. Hand over the card."
I look at her—really look at her. There's something in her eyes, not just stubbornness, but genuine need. She needs space. Time to process whatever the hell the last twenty-four hours have been for her.For both of us.I'm too tired to argue. Too tired to fight this battle when there are so many more important ones ahead. However, I also can't just let her wander around Granada alone at night. I abandon my buttons and grab my phone off the bed.
"What are you doing?" she asks, immediately suspicious.
