Page 16 of It's Holy Matrimony, Baby

Legs hanging over the edge, he kicks off his shoes and shuts his eyes, resting one hand under his head. The other pops the button on his jeans and undoes his zip about an inch. I catch my breath. Is he really going to make this situation even more uncomfortable than it already is? He wouldn’t be that perverted, would he? Sliding his fingers into the top of them, he stills, exhales, and relaxes.

I should be relieved that he didn’t get naked, but I’m almost disappointed. Such a pretty man. Ugh, that’s the last thing that should be on my mind. Such an obstinate prick.

He can’t stay here. I storm across the room and pull on a pair of ballet flats before walking out of the suite and directly to Liv’s door. Bang. Bang. Bang. The nerve of him, telling me he won’t end this sham of a marriage then falling asleep in my bed. The absolute nerve. “Liv, open up.”

Nothing.

My palm starts to sting from slamming it against her door. She’ll know what to do with him. She’s better at dealing with the opposite sex than I am. “Liv, come on. I need your help.”

Silence.

Turning around, I collapse against her door and slide to a crouch on the carpet. My chest is heaving, I’m so worked up. I should go down and get hotel security. Or call the cops. They’d be able to evict him from my suite. But what would I say when he told them he’s my husband? He hasn’t done anything other than annoy me. There’s probably nothing the police can do without a court order. Which leaves my family lawyer, the same lawyer that orchestrated my parent’s divorce and my mother’s subsequent splits from husbands two through four before she retired from the husband games. I pull out my phone and make the call.

“Nine months? Are you freaking kidding me?” I’m not yelling, but my voice is strained as I plop onto my butt in the hallway. I can’t begin to wrap my mind around being stuck with this guy for nine months, which is what my lawyer is suggesting might be the case if Nox Casey refuses to do the decent thing.

“Ms. McClain, can I suggest you calm yourself? That’s only one scenario. It could take less or more, but without the other party’s consent it will take time. If you could somehow convince him to agree, you would be looking at a more favorable timeline.”

“How long?” I stare at the black ballet flat with miniature cherries on my right foot, and the navy and white striped flat on my left. This was meant to be easy.

“Six weeks, more or less. Sometimes these things can take up to three months, but since there’s no assets to divide, no family home, or children it’s a fairly straight forward process.”

“And you are certain I can’t get a judge to declare this marriage invalid?”

“It’s always a possibility with the right judge, but you might not be that lucky, and again, it would take time. If you’re serious about dealing with this as quickly and efficiently as possible I would suggest you find a way to convince your husband that he wants this as much as you do.”

“Thanks.” I hang up on him, dropping my hand holding my phone to the floor beside me. I’m screwed. In hot water. Stuck with this jackass for who knows how long. Maybe not that long... My stomach flips. No, the curse is bullshit. I wouldn’t even be thinking about it if Liv hadn’t bought it up.

My phone rings. Liv’s name comes up on the screen. I drag it to my ear. “Liv, thank God. I need your help. Where are you?”

“Out for the night,” she says. “What’s the matter? Date not going well?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Damn girl, no need to scream in my ear.”

“He’s refusing to end it. He won’t leave. He’s probably fast asleep on my bed right now.”

“And where are you?”

“In the hallway.” I lower my voice. “In front of your door.”

“Oh sweetie.” She clucks. “I’m not coming back tonight.”

“Oh. I was hoping I could stay in your room until I work out how to kick him out. Maybe I could ask the concierge to let me in?”

“Maybe,” she says tentatively, like she’s holding something back. “But I’d rather you didn’t. Besides that isn’t going to solve your problem.”

“What? Did you have something to do with this?” What am I asking? Liv isn’t involved in this. She knows how much I hate this situation. I slump even lower, curl my knees up to my chest. “I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Oh no, I would,” she says. “If I thought it would do you any good.”

“Very funny.” I stare at the long strip of white ceiling above me.

“Look, I think you should march right back into your own room and deal with the problem. Perhaps sleep with it. Might make things appear better in the morning.”

“Sleep with him? That’s your advice?”

“Well that’s your wifely right. It would be a shame to waste it,” she teases. “Seriously though, have you called the cops?”

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