“Are you still hungover as fuck?”
I shake my head, grateful the incessant pounding in my skull and my constant dry mouth has finally passed. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.” After Xavier dragged me back into his apartment last night, he practically threw coffee down my throat before forcing me to take a couple of pain pills. I guess I should thank him that I was actually able to get out of bed this morning.
“Don’t worry, you pulled it off,” Sydney says. “No one looking at you could tell. It was your tequila breath that gave the game away.”
We have been kissing up a storm all day, and I feel a little guilty. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve grabbed some mints or guzzled a few gallons of mouthwash.”
“It’s fine. It’s all part of the role-playing, right?” Her features harden, and her hands clench at her sides. “It’s not like my comfort, or anything to do with me, is anywhere near your priority list. I’m the dirt at the bottom of your shoe. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“Wow. You’re really entering into the spirit of it now. You’ve definitely got the nagging wife part down pat.”
“Fuck you, Sawyer,” she snaps before pressing her face to the window and ignoring me. The rest of the journey is filled with tense silence, and I wonder how on earth I’m going to handle two years of this. I pray we get a breakthrough soon. The quicker I can file for divorce, the better.
I step aside when the elevator opens, at the hallway of my penthouse apartment, to let my bride exit first. Sydney storms past me, her heels clicking on the porcelain floor as she strides toward the main living area. Removing my tie, I unbutton the top three buttons of my shirt, breathing more easily than I have all day.
Sydney is standing in the middle of my living room, drinking everything in. She still has the pretty flower garland in her hair, and I wonder what it was sprayed with to make it look so fresh.
“Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” I ask, shucking out of my suit jacket. I place it on the back of one of the kitchen stools as I walk toward the refrigerator.
“No, thank you,” she clips out, and I can tell she’s still in a pissy mood.
This doesn’t bode well for our married life, no matter how short-lived it turns out to be.
I open the refrigerator and retrieve a bottle of water and a small bowl of salad Florentina must have left behind today. I arranged for my cleaner to show up after the movers had moved Sydney in, because I wanted the place to be perfectly clean and tidy for my new wife.
Fuck. Those words sound so wrong coming from my mouth.
“You haven’t even told me I look nice,” Sydney says, spinning around and piercing me with her emerald-green eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I regard her coolly as I uncap the bottle. “I’ve been saying you look beautiful all day.”
“To other people!” She throws her hands in the air. “You haven’t said one genuine thing to me today.”
“What the hell is this, Sydney? We get married and you turn into a nagging shrew? We had a deal. We both know where we stand.”
“That has nothing to do with this and everything to do with being a decent human being!” She stalks toward me, her long wavy blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders with the movement. “I know what this is, Sawyer, but there is a certain level of common decency I expect. Would it have really killed you to tell me I looked nice?”
“You know you are completely overreacting, right?” I stare her down as I lift the bottle to my lips, drinking slowly as the ice-cold liquid glides down my parched throat.
“You know you are a complete prick, right?” Tears glisten in her eyes before she forces them away. “We are stuck with one another whether you like it or not. Treating me like I’m a pariah will not make this pleasant for either one of us.”
“Quit with the fucking nagging, Sydney. I am not in the mood for this after one of the shittiest days of my life, so shut your mouth unless you’ve got something positive to say.”
I don’t see the slap coming until my cheek is stinging, and I drop the open bottle of water on the floor.
“I hate you.” She rips the garland off her head, crushing the flowers between her fingers. Petals scatter on the floor. “I’m going to bed. Alone.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” I smirk. “The last place you’ll ever find me is in your bed.”
She stomps off in the direction of the only other hallway, assuming correctly it’s where the bedrooms are located.
“You’re in the middle room on the right,” I call out after her, working hard to keep the annoyance from my tone. Grabbing some paper towels from the kitchen, I clean up the mess on the floor. I snatch another bottle of water before turning off the lights. Taking my tie and jacket, I head to my bedroom, ready to bid this day adieu.
After a bristling hot shower, I change into light sleep pants and sit out on the balcony off my bedroom, guzzling water as I watch New York buzz and hum all around me. It’s after midnight, but the city is still full of life. Unlike me. My heart is heavy as I contemplate what the future might bring.
A couple of hours later, I’m still awake, much to my consternation. I think I’m overtired and that’s why my brain won’t stop rehashing every mistake I’ve ever made with Xavier. I should have done everything differently. I should have made him a priority instead of hiding him, afraid what my parents would say.
After more tossing and turning in bed, I get up, heading into the kitchen to grab more water when the sound of crying tickles my eardrums. I slam to a halt outside Sydney’s bedroom, listening to her sobbing with a lump in my throat.
Realization slaps me in the face with every fresh cry, and I feel like the world’s biggest ass. I gave Anderson and Lauder shit for their cruel treatment of Abby and Vanessa at the start, and I’m acting no different. It doesn’t matter they were falling for their women and that’s the last thing that will happen to me. I’m not into Sydney, and there isn’t any happily ever after in our future. But this isn’t about that. It’s about respect. About common decency, like she pointed out earlier.
I have taken all my anger and frustration and channeled it in Sydney’s direction. Which is brutally unfair because it’s not her fault. She has been trying to make the best of it, and I have been a complete prick. A shitty human. My friends would call me out on my behavior if they saw how I have treated my bride today.
I gently rap on the door. “Sydney. May I come in?”
The sobbing stops. “Go away, Sawyer.”
“Please. Let me come in.” When I get no reply, I take that as permission. Opening the door, I enter the dark room. The window is open, and the gossamer curtains are swaying in the light breeze. I hired an interior designer to remodel this room for Sydney. Something I didn’t even tell her.
Boxes of her possessions are stacked up against the wall, and I maneuver my way past them. She is lying in the bed with her face buried in her pillow. The sheets are bunched at her waist, showcasing her slim form in a soft pink silk nightdress. Her hair hangs in tangled strands over her face, and I wonder if that’s by design. If she’s trying to hide her emotions from me. I wouldn’t blame her if she was.