Chris grinned.
“Guess you’re getting in my limo after all!”
* * *
We hadto do several shots of us climbing into the waiting limo then being driven to a fancy hotel across town.
The cameras followed us upstairs and filmed B-roll of the decorated penthouse suite while Chris and I made fake chitchat, pretending to get to know each other. After, we pretended to get ready to sleep in the same bed for the first time as man and wife.
“I’m not sleeping in the same room as you,” I declared after the cameras left. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You offend me, Grace,” Chris said as I grabbed two of the pillows off of the large king-sized bed. “This suite has multiple bedrooms and bathrooms.”
“Oh,” I said, slightly deflated at not being able to have the fight I was gearing up to have.
“I guess I’m going into another one of the bedrooms. And don’t come crawling into my bed,” I warned him.
“As if,” Chris retorted. “I sleep alone. After I have sex with a woman, she needs to get the fuck out.”
“You’re a real catch,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“And I’m all yours, baby!”
Men.
The first thing I did when I was in my own bedroom was order room service.
“Double smash cheeseburger, no onions,” I said into the handset, finger running down the room service menu. “And a double order of fries, with cheese sauce on the side. Also, I’d like a piece of the devil’s chocolate cake—actually, no, two pieces… you know what, yes, I do want some champagne. Yes, raspberries would be lovely!”
I hummed as I ran water for a bath. I had a book on my Kindle, food on the way, and fancy bath oils for a nice long soak. It had been a long time since I’d had sex and even longer since I’d had a vacation. This would be nice, I had to admit.
The door to my bedroom flung open as I was doing my best octopus impression to try to unbutton all the tiny little buttons on the back of the wedding dress.
Chris barged in, barefoot, shirttails out of his kilt, just as I had grasped the first button with my fingernails.
“Did you charge my card for room service?” he demanded.
“No, dipwad, I had them put it under my card,” I said, still trying to grasp the button. “I know you’re broke as a joke.”
He made an offended noise. “No, I’m not! I’m a billionaire, I told you,” he said, pulling out his phone. “See? That’s me on the Forbes list.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, starting to get short of breath. The button would not budge.
“You think someone broke could afford this suite?” He waved his arms around.
“I don’t know, maybe you lied to the hotel staff.”
“Oh, you’re never going to let that go!”
“Definitely not. Because it was insane,” I said, finally giving up on the dress. Maybe I could have room service bring me a sharp knife.
Chris scowled. “Just don’t charge anything to my card.”
“Don’t charge anything to my card!” I retorted hotly, jabbing a finger at him. “Because the fact is that in this relationship, you owe me money.”
Chris deflated slightly then turned on his heel and left the room.
I stomped into the bathroom. The tub was almost full. I was still trapped in my dress.
