around, it was obvious that Claudia’s touch was still all over the place. From the cloying, heavy scent of her designer candles on the entryway table, to the metallic gold throw pillows on the armchair, to the flowery curtains and huge framed print in the bathroom that said, in a bright pink script font, “Hello, gorgeous!”
It had to go.
I had just finished unpacking my clothes into the dresser and walk-in closet Ford had provided for my exclusive use when I heard the front door open. Munchkin was off like a shot, panting as he scrambled to greet Ford. I was excited to see my new husband, too…because I was more than ready to discuss what would need to change if I was going to live here.
“Em?” Ford called out from down the hall.
“I’m in your room!” I called back.
“Our room,” he corrected, stepping through the doorway in his crisp work suit with my slobbery dog in his arms. “You all unpacked?”
God, could that man make me melt in an instant. That suit, that jawline, the obvious affection for my furbaby…the way he freaking smelled.
“Almost,” I said, recovering my senses. “Just a few more boxes.”
“Great,” he said, setting down Munchkin. “What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about decorating,” I said.
Ford looked around, clearly puzzled.
“Decorating what?” he asked. “The place is already decorated.”
“By you,” I said. “And Claudia.”
He looked at me blankly. “Are you serious? Claudia’s long gone. You know that.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “Besides, no girl ever moved into a new place without adding her touch. It would be totally obvious that this was an act if someone came over and saw that nothing had changed since your ex-girlfriend left.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Fine. What were you thinking?”
I had a whole list. We started in the living room.
“New paint in here,” I said, gesturing to the dark walls. “Don’t get me wrong, I obviously love black, but I prefer lighter colored walls. It helps a space feel more airy and open.”
“It’s called a man cave for a reason,” Ford shot back. “Besides, it’s not black. It’s navy. Makes it cozy in here.”
“A different shade of blue then, maybe cobalt?” I saw him visibly recoil. “Fine, what about slate blue? That’s cozy.”
“Navy matches the sofa,” he pointed out. “It’s a good contrast with the cognac leather.”
Was he planning to counter my every suggestion? “New sofa then,” I snapped.
Ford shook his head.
“Nu-uh,” he said. “I love this thing. It’s comfortable as hell and I’ve had it since college, so it’s perfectly molded to my body. The couch stays.”
Record scratch.
“You’re telling me you’ve had this since college?” I asked.
“Yep,” Ford said, looking proud. “Just look at the patina that’s built up over the years. You can’t buy that.”
I was horrified. Now all I’d be able think of when I looked at the couch was how many girls a frisky, younger Ford had fooled around with on that leather. Patina my ass. The last thing I wanted to do was sit on a surface where Ford had messed around with a bunch of sorority girls. Not to mention whatever he’d done on it with Claudia.
“We have to change something,” I said, feeling like this was going nowhere.
“No one hangs out in the living room anyway,” Ford said. “The den and the bedroom are where we’ll be spending most of our time.”
I hated the den. Mainly because of one thing.
“If you expect me to hang out in the den, you’ll need to get rid of the painting,” I said, crossing my arms. “That thing is god-awful.”
It was a huge oil on canvas done in an abstract style, depicting a naked woman kneeling in front of a fully clothed man. I could tell that it was vintage, and it had a nice gold frame, but I hated it. Not only did it seem kind of creepy and voyeuristic—not in a good way—but it practically took up the entire wall. There was no escaping it.
“That painting is art!” Ford said. “It’s an original Le Comte, and it cost me a fortune. It stays.”
He plopped down on the couch with his arms behind his head and I could tell there was no negotiating. For every suggestion I made, for every single room in the house, Ford had some dumb reason why we couldn’t change anything. By the time the conversation was over, I’d gotten him to throw out the cutesy print hanging in the bathroom and agree to let