LEDGER
The problem with one-bed situations is that everyone pretends they’re not a problem until they very much are.
The problem wasn’t that there was only one bed.
The problem was that there had been one bed for a week and a half now, and my body still hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be normal.
I stood just inside the bedroom doorway, my swim bag slung over my shoulder, staring at the bed like it had personally offended me. Same queen mattress we’d been sharing since the courthouse. Same neutral bedding. Two pillows on each side, fluffed and innocent, like this was any other normal night between two people who hadn’t gotten married on a whim to save my sponsorship and her trust fund.
And somehow, it was getting harder instead of easier.
Roxie was already inside, toeing off her shoes andmoving with the kind of casual confidence that suggested shewasused to this. Or at least better at pretending.
She reached into the dresser and pulled out what she slept in—again.
Oversized T-shirt exposing her shoulder.
Short shorts.
Bare legs.
I looked away immediately, my jaw tightening.
That outfit should have been illegal in a marriage that was technically fake.
After we’d gotten ready for the night, she’d climbed into bed and placed the pillow between us like always, a bolster of cotton pretending to be a boundary. It had started out rigid, immovable. A line in the sand.
Lately, though?
It had been shifting.
Some mornings I woke up with her shoulder pressed lightly against my arm. Once, her knee had nudged mine sometime in the night, like her body had forgotten the rules before her brain caught up.
I told myself it didn’t mean anything.
I climbed in on my side, staring straight up at the ceiling.
“Big day tomorrow,” Roxie said, voice light. Too light.
“Yeah,” I replied, deadpan. “Can’t wait.”
She snorted softly. “Liar.”
I exhaled through my nose. “You’re the one who wants to rehearse.”
She turned her head slightly toward me, though her eyes stayed on the ceiling. “I don’t want to rehearse. I want us to not implode.”
“Same thing,” I muttered.
She shifted, the sheets whispering softly, and the pillow nudged closer to my side. Not on purpose. At least, I didn’t think so.
But I definitely noticed.
She sighed. “I just think it would be beneficial if we went over everything again.”
I groaned. “We already went over it.”
“And we’re going over it again.” Her tone was no nonsense, but I couldn’t care less about meeting her parents.
