Page 45 of The Accidental Honeymoon

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Calla, if we're going to make this believable, my wife should sleep in my bed."

Heat rushes to my face. I’m sure I look like an over-ripe human tomato. "Your bed? You mean with you in it?"

“Unless you had something else in mind?” Jay shrugs, his nonchalance driving me insane. How can he be so cool about all this? "It’s a big bed. Besides, it’s just sleeping. Right?"

"Just sleeping," I echo. My voice sounds strangled. This man is surely going to be the death of me.

He pushes off the wall and walks toward me. He stops just close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. "Relax. You can sleep wherever you want. I’m just saying what would make the most sense."

He touches my shoulder in a way that could be a caress… or could be nothing more than reassurance from a friend.

I swallow hard, my mind racing with possibilities. "Noted."

He drops his hand and steps back. Suddenly, I can breathe again.

"You shouldn’t sleep on the couch, though. And there isn’t a bed set up in the guest room. The downstairs is moreof a museum than a living space. It’s all for show. You should see how I live upstairs."

“I guess I will.” I glance around the posh living room. It does have a staged quality, like something out of a glossy magazine. "You said that someone decorated this place. For Instagram, I’m assuming?"

He laughs. "If I’m honest, my ex-fiancée decorated it. Blake was ‘getting my place ready for her to move in.’ It’s her taste, not mine. Why would I choose that?" He points to a painting of rugged mountains and a stream with an enormous jumping fish. “Where is that supposed to be, huh? Colorado? Alaska? Montana? Also, not for nothing, but I hate fishing. It’s fucking boring.”

My mind instantly conjures the photos I’d googled the morning after the cake tasting. Jay and Blake, the picture-perfect couple, smiling at some gala or other. She’d been wearing a very expensive dress and a diamond the size of a golf ball. He’s been posing in a tuxedo, looking every bit the successful influencer.

To find out that the relationship wasn’t as rosy as Instagram made it seem fills my chest with a strange feeling. Well, that and the fact that Blake bailed on the their wedding. I feel… hope? I can’t figure out why I feel this way, so I ask, "So you don’t even like it?”

He shrugs. "It’s not even remotely my style. None of this is. This is less a house and more a very expensive set for playacting."

I put my hands on my hips. "It won’t do for you to live in a place you don’t love."

He raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," I say, more firmly. "This is your house! You should at least be comfortable when you’re home for long enough to enjoy it."

He seems to consider this, then nods. "You’re right. So, what do you suggest?"

I look around the living room. Now that we’re talking about it, the sterile perfection of it all does jump out at me. It practically screams in my face. "First, we need to de-Blake it."

A slow grin spreads across his face. "De-Blake it? I like the sound of that."

"Which pieces are hers?" I ask.

"Pretty much everything," he says, watching me circle the room. "She had… expensive taste."

I start by lifting a framed print of abstract art off its hook and setting it on the floor. Then I move to a glass sculpture on a side table, something that looks like a mutant chandelier, and tuck it under my arm. I heft them both, and Jay wordlessly opens the door to his office.

The next twenty minutes are much the same: I move through each room, identify the most egregious examples of Blake’s décor choices, and then put them into Jay’s office. Jay helps me move several pieces of furniture.

By the time we’re almost done, the place is so sparsely decorated that you could mistake it for being recently robbed. I lean the final picture against the wall and wave my hands over everything I’ve tagged as got-to-go. "So, if you didn’t buy any of this, what would you choose?"

He thinks for a moment. "Something more functional. More lived-in."

I nod, mentally rearranging the room. "We’ll need a new couch. You know, something you can actually sink into. Maybe a coffee table with some character. And real bookshelves."

I take down the last piece of art and survey the now-bare walls. The room looks empty, but also full of potential. "This is a good start."

Jay walks over to a high-backed chair and runs a hand along its fabric. "You’ve got a good eye. Maybe you should do this professionally."

"Decorating?" I scoff. "I can barely dress myself."

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