“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.
“Making me a spot.” I tossed the pillow down, then kneeled before turning to sit. I took my boots off, moving themout of the way before stretching out on the floor.
“Why are you on the floor? Just go to bed.”
“As long as I’m home, I am sleeping by my wife. Good night, Kat.”
She let out a long sigh, and I hoped maybe she’d say something or suggest we just go to bed, even if we didn’t touch. But she didn’t.
I meant what I said, though. Maybe I didn’t say all the right things, and maybe I wasn’t ready to patch her in, but I had to be near her, even if it meant sleeping on the floor. Hopefully she didn’t stab me in my sleep. But if it’s my destiny to die by her hand, so be it.
Chapter 29
Katarina
The couch was quite soft and comfy, but I slept like shit. So many times during the night, I wanted to slink off the couch and lie next to him. Other times, I wanted to reach down and strangle him.
I also couldn’t get this nagging feeling to go away. Why did I and Klara seem to think we knew Jeannie? That didn’t make any sense. When she claimed she just had one of those faces, I thought maybe she favored an actress I’d seen before, or maybe an influencer I’d seen a few times on social media or something.
But Klara said the same thing. She didn’t travel withthe ballet, and ever since she left that behind, she was fairly busy with the restaurant. As far as I knew, Jeannie wasn’t one of those dancers that traveled or had an online presence, not publicly anyway, so it wouldn’t be likely to randomly see her. Just strange that two women who would seemingly never meet this person would have the same immediate inkling that they recognized her.
A grunt came from the floor, so I didn’t move.
The sound of him stretching was followed by his neck popping. He sat up, his warmth kissing the skin of my cheek. Keeping my eyes closed, I tried to look like I was sleeping and not move.
It took all the strength I had to stay still when he lightly ran his fingers over my cheek. I wanted to lean into his touch. I wanted to pull him over me and let the weight of him crush all the emotions that swirled within.
But while the anger subsided, the hurt was still there– and he didn’t even get it. If I let him hold me now, he’d never understand. He’d think I just had a temper and after we slept it off all would be well every time.
Mama Hen reminded me to be strong, and he was her son. I had to do this not just for me, but for what I needed to become. For what I represented. Maybe I could show him I deserved it.
He lingered a few moments, almost enough to make me break, but he finally stood and went down the hall.
After a few minutes passed, the shower turned on. I waited, knowing his routine and how long it took him to get in once he started the water. I could play possum for a minutehere, but he knew me well enough now, too, to know I wouldn’t be able to stay asleep once there were sounds in the house.
Flipping the blanket off after enough time passed, I padded down the hall on my toes even though the water would likely drown out my footsteps. I needed to grab some clothes quickly and head to the clubhouse kitchen. Mama Hen would already be there, and if I left, maybe he’d give me space.
But when I rounded the corner to the bedroom, there he was, standing on the other side of the threshold of the door that was missing the knob and barely hanging on its hinges.
I jumped with a gasp, then rolled my eyes. “I thought you were in the shower.”
“I know.”
Ugh, his smugness was as charming as it was irritating. “I need coffee.”
“Kat,” he said, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked. I meant it to come out sharper than it did, but the warmth of his hand was like a balm to my battered heart. While I wanted to know the answer, I didn’t have it in me to argue. Not yet, anyway.
“Look, we both were thrown into this marriage, butyouwere thrown into this world. It’s not fair of me to expect you to be patient, or even in the dark, about so much. Usually, the ladies learn the ropes from each other and well, some things have to happen organically.”
“So it’s your mother’s fault I’m confused? Or Daisy’s?” Pulling my hand away, I said, “I’m not a child. Please don’tspeak to me like one.”
He sighed. “Kat, the patch is sacred. And it’s earned, not given freely. The men out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the clubhouse, “can prospect for years before even being considered for becoming a patched member. It’s not as simple as a piece of paper.”
“So I’m just a piece of paper?”
“Stop.”
