“You should be grateful,” I throw out at her, and her fork slams down onto her plate.
Our eyes meet, and I can see that she would love to throttle me right about now.
“Grateful?” she says, her voice going high-pitched. “Fucking grateful? Are you shitting me?”
“For fuck’s sake, Kat, watch your language,” I scold her, my blood boiling at her use of profanities. She rolls her eyes and huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in the chair.
“You know, you could have picked a woman who was easier to handle,” she mumbles before adding, “Just saying.”
“Trouble is, no one else owed me a debt.” I smirk, loving how she makes me feel alive inside. I’ve been dead inside for a long time, fuelled by my work and running a tight ship… It’s good to feel emotion over something––or someone––else.
“That damn debt,” she says quietly, but I hear her loud and clear.
“Look,” I begin, placing my knife and fork down and giving her my full attention. “This doesn’t have to be hard, Kat. We could have a great life together, but you need to stop shutting me out and start thinking of me as exactly what I am.”
“An asshole?” she questions with a grin, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to burst into laughter and carry her to the bedroom like a caveman to shag her senseless.
“Your husband-to-be,” I say, smug as fuck.
She scoffs and takes a sip of her drink. She has a glass of red wine whilst I have a cold, crisp lager.
“So, husband-to-be, how exactly do you want this to play out?” she asks, her eyes looking at me over the rim of her glass as she takes another sip.
“Well, for starters, we could get to know one another a little better, that’s usually how things progress.”
“Okay,” she says, putting her wine glass down and sitting forward, her arms resting on the table in front of her as she holds my stare. “Hi, I’m Kat, my dick of an ex-boyfriend left me to face the music for a debt he needed me to take because he was a selfish jerk. I have no family left because they either died or upped and left. I like dogs, my favourite colour is red, and I hate people telling me what to do,” she finishes, and then sits silent, waiting for me to make my next move.
“Good to know,” I say with a nod of my head before divulging a few things to her. “My name is Nate, I’m a successful businessman, feared by most, and I love the power of who I am. I’ve worked my ass off to be the person I am today, and I won’t ever let anyone take my empire away from me. I have a sister, parents are both dead, and I hate cats. My favourite colour is black, much like my soul, and I too hate being told what to do.”
“Huh. Well, I guess that’s going to make things interesting then, isn’t it?” she says, and I see a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
“It sure is.”
That meal was five months ago, but it seems longer somehow, the memory of it abruptly entering my head whilst drinking my morning coffee. Her fire, her spunk, it’s one of the things that attracted me to her. I saw it that very first day, even as she asked me for money. I’ve always been a pretty good judge of character, and I got her spark spot on.
I didn’t sleep much last night, tossing and turning, replaying her being in my room over and over again. It could have been so different. It could have been everything she wanted on her wedding night and more, but it wasn’t, and here I am now, waiting to see how fiery my wife is going to be this morning.
I don’t have to wait long as she waltzes into the kitchen and goes straight to the coffee machine, ignoring me completely as I sit at the table and watch her.
She is fucking perfection in tight skinny jeans and a sheer white blouse, with white heels to match. Her hair is hanging in loose waves down her back, and I think about how good it would feel to have her hair wrapped around my fist as I fucked her from behind.
She tinkers with the machine, setting it up and placing a mug underneath the ridiculously expensive contraption that I just had to have because caffeine is one of my vices, and there isn’t anything worse than a shitty cup of coffee.
“Good morning, wife,” I say to her back as the machine pours her coffee before she clicks it off and takes the mug, turning to look at me and leaning back on the worktop. She’s got make-up on, but she doesn’t need it. She’s gorgeous with or without it.
“Morning,” she says in an icy tone, her eyes focussed on mine.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask her.
“Oh yeah, like a goddamn rock,” she replies sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. “You?”
“Not bad.” I’m not giving her anything more because she doesn’t need to know that I spent the night thinking about her and me against the wall, in the shower, in my bed…
“So, husband, what’s the plan today? I mean, newlyweds and all, shouldn’t we be swooning over one another and strolling hand-in-hand wherever we go?” Oh, that sarcasm is fierce this morning, and I absolutely love it.
“Is that what you want to do?” I ask her as I finish my coffee and take the mug over to the sink, placing it in the bowl before turning towards her.
“What?”
