Page 101 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
But her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her nose scrunches up as she smiles.
INDIA || three years later
“I have regrets,”Felix says from next to me.
“Well, sure,” I say. “We all have regrets. I shouldn’t have written that article about you way back in the day, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he says, glaring at the screen.
“Shh.” I pat his knee as the music starts. “This is going to be really good for you. You’ll see.”
“It’s six hours,” he says, letting his head drop back on the couch cushion. “Six. Hours.”
My husband is a whiner when being forced to watch movies he’s not interested in. Luckily our couch is comfortable; I moved into his townhome after we got married, but we did replace some furniture.
I love him dearly, but we will not be sharing a double bed.
“But this is the best adaptation,” I say patiently. “So really, six hours will feel like thirty minutes. The time will fly by. Also, Colin Firth as Darcy isexquisite?—”
“Hey,” he says, frowning now.
“Oh, stop.” I lean over and kiss him, slide my hand into his hair and taste him for just a moment. “You’re still my favorite. See?”
“Meh.”
I grin and kiss him again, with more feeling this time. “Myveryfavorite. You’re worth ten of Colin Firth as Darcy.”
He catches me as I’m turning back toward the screen, his gaze far more interested now than it was two seconds ago. “Show me again,” he murmurs, pulling me close and brushing his lips against mine. “Sunshine Darling.”
I love that name, almost as much asIndia Caine.So I press pause on the movie, wrapping my arms around my husband’s neck and sliding onto his lap as his kisses turn hungry and yearning.
The movie will still be there later.
“I just thinkthe other one is better,” Felix says several days later. His hair is mussed, his eyes faintly bloodshot, and somehow he’s gone fromI don’t want totoJust one more episode. As a result, we’ve binged three Jane Austen adaptations in a twenty-four-hour period.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I think three adaptations in twenty-four hours might be too much Jane Austen.
“You’re kidding,” I say with a scoff. I hold my hand out for the popcorn, gesturing wordlessly.
He holds the bucket closer, and I grab a good handful. “Look,” he says. “Is it as true to the book? No. Maybe not. But thespiritis closer?—”
“It’s more cinematically pleasing,” I cut him off. “But if we’re talking about Jane’s actual vision?—”
“I’m going to be honest with you, Sunshine,” he says. “I couldn’t care less about Jane’s vision. I just want something that’s nice to watch.”
“Right,” I say. “You want cinematic beauty.”
“Sure, if you want to call it that,” he says. He lets his head drop back, his eyes fluttering closed. “I amsotired. This might have been irresponsible of us.”
I snort a laugh, and he grins.
“You’re cute when you look like a zombie,” I tell him, poking his chest.
He swats my hand away, his grin widening, his eyes still closed. “Yeah?” he says. “It turns out zombie men were your type all along, huh?”
“Yep,” I say. I pause, debating silently, and then make up my mind.
I’ve been trying to come up with a way to tell him for days, and I still don’t have anything. I might as well just drop this bomb on him.
