Page 43 of Wild Side
Yeah, he’s not seeing the humor in this at all. “You can call her Cleo for short.”
“No, Tabitha. I meant, why is there a fucking cat in the house?”
I bristle. “Listen, this is still my house. Still my life. If you’re expecting me to be asubservientlittle wife, then I’ve got news for you, pal. So yeah, if I want a cat, I’ll get one. Just like how if you want an alarm system, you’ll get one.”
His jaw goes tight. “I doubt that anyone in their entire life has used the word subservient to describe you.”
“Thank you,” I preen.
“I’m allergic.”
My eyes roam over him speculatively. “How allergic?”
“It’s complicated.” He can’t even look at me. My eyes widen in time with my grin.
“You’re not allergic at all, are you? You big fucking drama queen!”
That earns me an eye roll and a grumbled, “I hate cats.”
“That’s not an allergy. That’s a preference.”
“I still hate cats,” he deadpans.
I smile sweetly in response. “Whatever. Just don’t let Milo hear you say that. He’s very much in love with Cleocatra.”
The rumble in Rhys’s chest should be intimidating, but he doesn’t scare me at all. So, I walk toward and pat his shoulder. “You can consider her an engagement gift. You’re welcome.”
Then I breeze past, going to get my phone so I can make some calls and share our big, exciting, not-at-all nauseating, happy news.
“Wait.” I turn back to the forlorn-looking giant standing in my kitchen, staring at the floor like he’s just witnessed some terrible accident. “When’s the wedding going to be?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
His head joggles as he considers. “How long does a marriage certificate take to get?”
“I don’t know. A couple of weeks?”
He nods. “Then we do it as soon as possible. I won’t be able to get back into Canada without it.”
“Don’t you need time for your family to book flights or something?”
His expression turns stony. “No. We should do it next weekend. I’m due back at work as soon as possible.”
I swallow in response, not sure what to make of his chilly reply but not feeling comfortable enough to press him any further. “Next weekend? A week to plan?”
“Sure.”
Sure.
God, I could barf. The nonchalance of that response sends my stomach plummeting. Guilt and nerves hit hard along with something else.
Disappointment.
Because, deep down, I wish there were a tiny bit of enthusiasm. I wish there were a spark of… I don’t know. Camaraderie?
He doesn’t even want his family present, and it stings.
