Page 30 of Mistletoe Missus
Don’t fucking remind me.
“Maybe another day,” I answered, but watched Mitt intensely. “This is specifically for my husband and is a late wedding day gift since I missed out on the opportunity.”
Mitt blinked and gazed up at me through hooded eyes. “I can’t accept it.”
“Yes, you can, after everything you did for me. You were generous, kind, and caring to me.” I turned away from Mitt and smiled at Cyprus. “You raised a wonderful son.”
Every word was utter bullshit, and a jab meant to hurt. A purely fake appearance to twist the blade deeper and yank the weapon from Cyprus, leaving him bleeding out without his son because Mitt would be on my side.
Cyprus stared right back at me, and his lips formed a sinister grin. “Go ahead, Son. Open it.”
I turned my full attention back to Mitt and tilted my head. “Well, go on. What are you waiting for? It’s my gift to you.”
I couldn’t read Mitt as he turned away from me and peered down at his hands as he slowly opened the red wrapping paper. I had prepared each fold with care, and I even included a red bow on top to match. The crinkle of the paper made the excitement of the moment joyful but mixed with nervousness.
What if Mitt hated my gift?
I’d be the worst wife to walk planet earth. My shot to turn this entire situation around would go right out the window. Far worse, this arrangement I had walked right into would go on, and I’d have to move to Plan B.
Mitt glanced from the brown box and up at me. He repeated the motion one last time without a single reaction and opened the box while I held my breath, but my husband’s response never came, fully restricting my lungs. He only blankly stared down at his wedding present, leaving me grasping at straws and optimism, hoping my words would get through to him.
“It’s a compass, so you can always find your way back to me,” I explained tenderly.
Cyprus yawned.
Egotistical bastard.
Seconds ticked by until they turned into a minute. My wild heartbeat sounded in my ears and blood rushed to my head. The palms of my hands were sweaty as I wiped them on my dress and the anxiety engulfed my excitement. Until Mitt looked at me.
“A compass?” Mitt questioned with narrowed eyes. “Do I look like an outdoorsman to you?”
Cyprus snickered.
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks, and I fumbled to speak. “No... But the compass is a symbol of us finding our way to—”
Immediately, Mitt interrupted. “Return it.”
Love.
The affectionate word repeated in my head and slowly disappeared into nothing. All the hope I had vanished because my plan had failed. This was the real Mitt in front of me. Calculated, grumpy, and frigid. He was as manipulative as his father.
Mitt closed the box and shoved the gift back toward me. I only peered at the box as tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away. They didn’t deserve to see me cry because there wasno one to cry over. The person I thought Mitt was, he was only a lie. A man made up to convince me of a happily ever after that would never come, and he damn well knew it.
The silence was deafening until plates of starter food sat in front of us. A crisp salad with healthy toppings and the aroma of the rich dressing filled my nose. I did the only thing there was to do, and I ate my food. As delicious as it was, I fumed on the inside, and I was ready to explode.
I broke the silence. “I think I’m ready to call it a day and head home.”
“You will do no such thing because your home is with me now,” Mitt ordered in a sharp tone.
“Excuse me?” I asked, bewildered by his demand. “You don’townme, Mitt.”
Mitt replied with fire in his eyes, “Iownevery single part of you, angel.”
The main course came as the flames whipped between us, and neither one of us turned away. This was a showdown that wasn’t bound to end well, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. I was sick to death of being told what to do, and this was only day one of my marriage in hell.
“He’s right, young lady...” Cyprus mumbled as he chomped on his steak, and his ill manners made me queasy. “You’re in this for the long haul, and a married couple should live under the same roof.”
“I’m not doing it.”
