The Prenup - Lauren Layne Page 0,50

we’re all just people, regardless of what decade we’re born in. Anyway,” he says quickly, looking embarrassed as he holds up the key cards. “Thanks for these.”

She points us to the elevators, and the second the doors close, Colin speaks: “Be quiet. I don’t want to discuss it further, so not a single word.”

I stay quiet. I also do my turtle mime, which earns me a growl.

The elevator doors open again, and he hands me the keys then picks up both our bags, following me down the hall until I find our room.

Despite not being a suite, it’s bigger than your average hotel room, and more modern than I expected, which is a welcome surprise, especially since we’re still on the tail end of the heat wave; I was a little worried about the AC effectiveness in an older building like this one.

“Hmm,” I say, gripping my chin, as I study the room. “Are these two beds far enough apart, or should I move one into the bathroom for your sake? Also, should we call the woman downstairs? Remind her one more time we’re not sleeping in the same bed? I don’t think she quite grasped it the first two times you made it clear.”

He tosses my bag onto one of the beds and sets his own duffel on the other. “I’m already dreading enough telling Rebecca that we took this trip. I at least want to be able to assure her that we didn’t share a bed.”

I hop onto my bed, kicking off my shoes and letting my feet swing. “Do you have to tell her at all? Not that I’m advocating keeping secrets, but based on what I saw last weekend, I don’t know exactly how chill she’ll be about this.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you forced me on the trip,” he said, unzipping his bag.

The brusque dismissal stings and because I’m not as adept as him at pulling back into my turtle shell, I let him know it.

“You just keep telling yourself that,” I say, as I stand up. “Keep telling yourself that I’m some god-awful tornado that makes you do things you don’t want to do. I’m sure it’s easier than admitting that you’re actually having a good time. And whatever you do, don’t let yourself remember that the entire reason for me instigating this trip was to help you, and that I endured two hours going at turtle speeds while you remembered how to operate a moving vehicle.”

“What is it with you and turtles?”

I stare at him for a moment. “That’s your response? You claim to have emotions buried somewhere inside you, and I’m sure you’re right. I’m just not sure you have any of the good ones.”

I grab my toiletry bag and stomp to the bathroom, giving in to the urge to slam the door. Which does absolutely nothing to make me feel better.

I’m annoyed with myself for being upset in the first place. You’d think over the past few weeks I’d have gotten used to it—used to the fact that no matter what approach I take, he just plain doesn’t like me.

But instead of becoming easier, the pain seems to get worse and worse every time he makes his disdain plain, every time he goes out of his way to keep his distance.

The Madonna song “Open Your Heart” has been going through my head ever since the car ride, and now I’m realizing that I hadn’t made him listen to it on repeat simply because it was my favorite song.

Now I’m wondering if I wasn’t subconsciously singing it to him.

“Stupid,” I mutter, jerking open my toiletry bag and scrubbing off my makeup with more force than necessary. I brush my teeth and finish the rest of my night routine, taking my time to give my temper a chance to cool. Luckily, while my temper is fairly easily ignited, the flame dies down pretty quickly.

My good humor is mostly restored when I open the bathroom door a few minutes later.

“All yours!” I say, giving him a friendly smile.

He’s sitting on the bed with clothes folded in his lap. I assume they’re his, and he’s planning to change in the bathroom, but he stands and hands them to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, glancing down at the neatly folded white T-shirt and … blue boxers.

“To sleep in.” His voice is gruff, and he doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

“I packed my own pajamas,” I say, as he walks past me toward the bathroom.

“Yes, I’ve