well. He barely hisses at–“ I stop myself. “Visitors,” I finish lamely. Damn it. I was going to say he barely hisses at Donovan. Living a lie is a job of work.
“Is he brushing his dentures?”
“Pretty sure he is, although I don’t want to get too personal.”
“You’re not feeding him any garlic, are you?”
“Absolutely not.” Heaven forbid. His litter box is stinky enough as it is. I can’t imagine the results of adding garlic to the mix.
She runs through the litany of instructions for caring for her Nuccio. Soon enough, the visit is over and I stand up to go. She looks away. “Take the pictures with you,” she says, her voice unexpectedly sharp. “I’ve seen enough.”
I scoop them up and try not to be hurt by her lack of enthusiasm. Sales are pouring in. I’m saving the vineyard from going under. I guess part of me is still the little girl eager for her approval.
When I get home, I’m relieved to see Donovan’s car parked in front of the house. Relieved and angry. Okay, so he’s not dead or kidnapped. He’s just a jerk.
I fling open the door and stomp into the house. Aceto is sitting on top of his cat tower, and Ducktape is wandering around, poking his beak at things.
Donovan lounges on the couch, his forehead furrowed in the perpetual scowl he’s wearing these days. He flicks a quick glance at me, then turns back to the book he’s reading, chewing his lower lip
“I thought something happened to you!” I yell. “Where were you last night?”“
“I slept at my parents’ guest house.” He looks up. His eyes glint with hurt and anger that I think is way out of proportion to me not telling him about a damn car sale. “Next time I’ll text you.”
No apology, though. His gaze drifts back down to his book, his shoulders hunched defensively.
I’m seething with hurt and anger and yearning. I always told myself that when it came to relationships, I’d never settle. I’d hold out for perfect. And this isn’t perfect. He’s wrong and I’m right, and he’s being a petty jerk.
But the truth is, I want him. And not just for sex, all though I want that a lot. I also want to feel like we’re friends. I want him to stop shutting me out.
I make my mouth form words. “So. How was your day?”
“Fine.” He chews his lower lip. “I gave Aceto and Ducktape some snacks and changed their water.” Then he looks up and glances at Aceto, who’s watching both of us with a judgmental gaze. “He doesn’t seem to be speaking to me at the moment.”
“There’s a lot of that going around,” I say heatedly.
He looks at me, his eyes burning with emotion. He’s gripping his book so hard his knuckles have gone white. “Yes, there is.”
I let out a hiss of frustrated breath, like a slow leak of steam. “Jeez, Donovan. I just didn’t think that you’d care one way or the other if I sold my car. I mean, why would you?”
“Yes, why would I expect basic communication with my wife?” He scowls at me and resumes reading.
Fine. I’m angry too, but I’m willing to be the adult here and make the first move. I know what’ll wipe the grump off his face.
I stroll into the bedroom, strip, and pull out my only set of sexy lingerie, a flame-red push-up bra and matching red lace panties. I bought them once on impulse, and I’ve never worn them. I’m more a cotton undies kind of girl by nature, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I spritz myself lightly with perfume, shake my hair out, and stride out of the bedroom, barefoot and looking mighty fine.
Aceto, horrified, runs off.
Dear God, I really hope he isn’t the reincarnated spirit of my late uncle.
Donovan refuses to look up.
Damn, he’s really making me work for this. I walk over and stand in front of him. “I was going to cook something for us. What would you like?”
And he still doesn’t look up. “I already ate, thanks.”
That was the most passive aggressive damn “thanks” I’ve ever heard in my life. If my whole body weren’t pulsing with desire for him, I’d storm out of the house. Well, I’d put on clothes first.
“Then how about dessert?” I coo.
Oh my God. I’ve turned into a bad late-night porn movie. I should come with my own sound track. Bow chicka wow wow.
“Thanks. Not hungry.”
Ribaldis are nothing if not competitive. This is becoming