Page 80 of When Sinners Hate
“Fine. Carmen arranged the interior. I’m not attached to anything particular, but the layout stays.”
Carmen?
The name douses me in ice water, and the buoyant mood pops. “I’m sorry, Carmen? The bitch from work? You let her design your living space while I had to endure all that crap to even be invited in?” My voice betrays the anger this knowledge unlocks. And after my run-in with her, I have to question just how close the two of them were.
“Insecure and now jealous?” he teases. Not the best idea right now. “Darlin’, you're gonna need to get harder real damn quick about–”
“Fuck off, Abel. Yes, I’m jealous. She’s everywhere around us, and I hate the bitch. You don’t see this as a problem?”
“Not if you don’t make it one.”
“I’m your fucking wife.” I stand and storm over to him, not caring that I’m still naked.
He smirks. “You are.”
“Then show me some respect, and don’t make me live in the shadow of a woman you’ve slept with. I hate the fact that she’s here, that she picked out your bedsheets. The same bedsheets you fucked me in last night.” I shove him hard and whirl around, my frustration and jealousy clouding my mind.
“Lexi, calm the fuck down,” he growls, grabbing for my arm.
I snatch it away. “Don’t tell me what to do. You told me you wanted truth and emotion, well, here it fucking is. Listen to it, hear me and let me do something about it.” My eyes blaze at him. And while this might be trivial to him, it’s a huge issue if we’re to build anything solid between us here.
Our marriage was arranged, a convenience for our families, but all of that’s blown to shit. Abel’s shown me what family can be, and now that’s what I want more than anything, but I’m still on the outside until he lets me build part of our future together.
“I told you I’m not attached to anything." He turns and grabs a jacket, pushing his arms in. “If you want to pull the place apart, then be my fucking guest.”
“Don’t play with me, Abel. I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re my wife, Lexi. We don’t play anymore. Get dressed. We're going out for brunch.”
~
There’s still tension in the air between us as he drives us through the streets. We’re both on edge, and whilst the last few days have added to that, I think it’s deeper than that alone. There’s a fire between us – there has been from the start, and when it burns together, it can be incredible. But it also leads to arguments and fighting.
We just need to find the right balance between the two.
He parks at a small diner, closer in style to the places we visited back in San Diego, and rounds the car to open my door for me. His hand reaches in, picking up mine until I'm all but dragged into his hold, and he’s slamming the door.
“You calm yet?” he snaps.
“Not particularly.” His mouth is on mine the second I finish the word, body caging me on the side of the car. It’s damn near an assault at this time of day and ignites the passion he’s managed to unlock inside of me. My fingers thread into his hair, and I pull him deeper, wanting, no, needing the connection to bring us together again.
We both soften after a minute, and he pulls back, hands still on the surface of the car, so he can just stare at me up close. “She means nothing to me. She’s a tool. No different than Ratchet. I'm not gonna have this argument again.” I sneer at the thought but relent to his words to some degree. “Jealousy doesn't need talking about. I don’t fuck anything but you. Understood?”
“It's not just about sex.”
“No, but if you think she means anything to me but profit, you’re wrong. Drop whatever bullshit you've got in your head. I'myourhusband.Wemean something to me.”
Something gives inside me as he turns, and we head inside. His fingers grip my hand tightly, showing me that surety he’s becoming so good at. First, the emotional connection he forced from me, and now words from him that show truth andfeelings of some kind. I look at our hands rather than the venue, knowing I’m getting so close to something I've never had before.
The place is bustling with activity, and the smell of coffee and hot greasy food and spice is inviting as hell. “Not what I’d have thought for a lunch date,” I muse, as he heads to one of the booths.
He drops my hand and sits me down. “No. But I’m not after someplace like Bellini’s right now.” He picks up the menu, as do I, scanning the mix of dishes. "And I want to see you eat real food. Might improve that mood of yours."
His phone rings as the waitress comes and fills the coffee mugs already set on the table. He notes the name on the screen and answers, and even I can hear who’s on the other end of the call.
“Abel, your wife’s maniac of a father is here looking for her.”
My heart stutters at the mention of Miguel.