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Separate accommodations.

No sex.

One year.

Rules.

Instead, I put my hand over his forearm.

“Maybe.”

His arm tightens.

I don’t remove it.

Chapter 4

Dane

Marriage is loud.

I’ve lived alone for ten years and I like my quiet. I like knowing where my shit is. I like waking up before sunrise, drinking coffee without talking to anyone, and coming home to a house exactly the way I left it.

Three weeks after marrying Lila Dawson, there are six mugs on my kitchen counter, hair elastics in my bathroom, and pink smelly shampoo in my shower. And she sings. All. The. Time.

I walk into the kitchen to find her standing at the stove. She hears me, and turns to look up from the pot she’s stirring.

“Marriage is aging me.” I grunt.

“Great, can’t wait to hear today’s complaint.” She laughs and turns back to the stove and resumes singing. Badly.

I lean against the counter and listen.

She’s wearing leggings, thick socks, and one of my sweatshirts because apparently she’s decided my clothes belong to her too.

Two days ago, I found a pink bra hanging from the knob on my dresser.

I left it there.

I don’t know why.

“Are you going to keep staring at me?” she asks.

“Probably.”

She looks over her shoulder. “You’re creepy.”

“You married me.”

“For money.”

“Still counts.”

“Fake marriage.”

I look at her left hand.

She catches me. “Stop looking at my ring. It’s just a prop.”