Page 35 of Operation Annulment
As if reading my mind, she glances down at the ring. “This has to be five grand, at least. Do you have the money for that, too?”
“It was twenty, and yes,” I explain before she cuts me off with a shrill shriek.
“You spent twenty thousand dollars on this ring? Why? Why would you do this?”
I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the past several minutes. See, I’d always imagined my first big purchase being a condo in Vail or a matte black G-wagon, but the second I saw the ring, I knew I wanted it on her finger.
Her voice jumps from octave to octave, moving dangerously close to shattering the empty bottle in my hands. “Calm down,” I groan. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Fine? Fine? Look around you, Nate! None of this is fine!”
Well, maybe not fine…
“We’re married, and I know nothing about you other than the fact that you have a couch full of lacy underwear and perfume in the bathroom. You’re emotionally unavailable, yet I somehow took that as a challenge. I’ve never met a tattoo artist who could drop twenty thousand dollars as if it were nothing. I mean, I’ve never met a tattoo artist, but I can’t imagine they have gobs of money lying around.”
While she continues her disjointed rant, I drop onto the edge of the mattress and rub at my throbbing temples. Jesus, it’s like an ice pick to the brain every time she opens her mouth.
I chuckle. “Katy girl, I don’t think I ever told you I was a tattoo artist.”
She stops pacing and turns to face me, flexing her toes against the carpet. “Yes, you did. Our first date. We were having dinner, and you said?—”
“No, you said I was a tattoo artist, struggling to break free from the shadow of my family and their vineyard. Remember?”
“But… but,” she splutters, her jugular vein pulsing wildly against her neck. “You didn’t correct me! You let me believe you were a tattoo artist! Why would you do that—oh god! It’s drugs, isn’t it? You’re a drug dealer. I can’t be around anything else illegal. I can’t do it.” She collapses into one of the oversized chairs, gasping for air.
A drug dealer?
Anything else illegal?
What the fuck is this woman into?
“Look at me,” I command, trying to pull her away from the panic attack she seems committed to having. “I’m not a drug dealer, okay? I’m a surgeon.”
She blinks rapidly at the news before shaking her head. “Stop. I know you’re trying to lighten the mood, but a doctor, really?”
I stare blankly at her until her smile fades.
“Oh my god, you’re serious. I—so you cut people open and stuff?” Kate’s nose wrinkles as she says it. It makes her look adorable, something that’s not helping my current situation.
“Yeah, I ‘cut people open and stuff.’ You seem disappointed. Would you rather I was a drug dealer or tattoo artist?”
Her reaction is not quite what I expected. It’s the exact opposite of the response I’ve gotten from other women when giving my occupation.
She studies the pattern on the arm of the chair, refusing to look at me. “No. I—I’m just surprised, I guess. You just don’t?—”
“Don’t look like a doctor,” I finish, unable to keep the bite out of my voice. “Got it. In your perfect little world, Kate, it’d be unheard of for someone with tattoos to go out and make something of themselves.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she pleads, coming over to where I sit. “I’m just incredibly hungover and extremely confused.
I dodge her attempts to hug me and start throwing on clothes. “Let’s just get our shit together and get back to Lubbock. We’ll sort this whole mess out there.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “When you say sort it out...”
“An annulment. It’ll be like it never happened.”
I see the devastation on her face before she can hide it. Maybe I’d consider staying married in another world where I never met Jess.
Kate and I barely get along now, though. This doesn’t bode well for a long and happy marriage.
