Page 30 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

I spin in a circle, surveying my progress. Daire is supposed to be here any minute with the moving truck, and I haven’t even started on my bathroom stuff.

As if my thoughts have conjured him, there’s a knock on our door.

“Shall I let Cujo in?” Bertie asks with a fake smile.

With a groan, I dump my cup of pens into the last open box in my room and reach for the tape. “I think you have to.”

He knocks again, and this time, she disappears from my doorway.

When I’m alone, I inhale a deep breath, fortifying my strength so I can deal with Daire.

An instant later, he’s standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders taking up the entire space and his eyes wide. “You’re done already?”

“Yeah?” I reply, but it comes out as a question. “I haven’t done my makeup and toiletries yet, though.”

He scratches the back of his head, something he tends to do when he’s uncomfortable. “I haven’t packed yet.”

I blink at him as annoyance builds in my veins. “You can’t be serious.”

He looks away, swallowing thickly. “It won’t take me long. We’ll go straight there after we get your stuff loaded.”

Fists clenched at my sides, I spin and get back to work. I’m going to throttle him.

I’ve never wanted to wrap my hands around someone’s throat and squeeze the way I do right now.

“By the way,” he clears his throat, “I told Cree your dad bought us the house. So if he says something about it, just go along with it.”

I spin and study him. His disheveled hair, the shadows under his eyes. “Why?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” he snaps. Whether he’s annoyed with me or himself is anyone’s guess. “I guess I’m a compulsive liar.” He holds his hands out and flexes his fingers. His attention lingers for a couple of heartbeats on the band around his left ring finger.

“Surely you must’ve put some thought into it.”

Daire angles his head to the side, glowering at me. “I haven’t put a single thought into anything for months. I’ve been living on rage and alcohol.”

I press my lips together. “Noted.”

I’m starting to think Bertie has a point—an annulment is sounding better and better.

Sighing, he steps into my room and sits on the stripped bed. “He kept asking if our parents knew yet, and I was already in the middle of telling him about moving out and the townhouse, and it just all kind of spiraled from there.”

I tape up the last box in here, then pick up another to assemble for my bathroom things.

“You do realize you sound absolutely unhinged, don’t you?”

He frowns, muttering, “I’m aware.”

“As long as you know,” I singsong, “then we’ll be just fine.”

I take the newly assembled box to the bathroom while myhusbandtrails behind me. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that word.

“Is all this yours?” he asks in an accusatory way, eyeing the makeup and hair tools scattered on the small counter around the sink.

“Some is Bertie’s.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I need to put my game face on if I’m going to make it through this day.

Forget this day—this whole marriage, however long it turns out to be.

At this point, I’m just tossing things into the box so I can get packing over with and get out of here. Not all of our new furniture has been delivered yet, but enough that we can move in and start getting settled.

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