Chapter 1
The husband my family had picked for me barely spoke and never cracked a smile.
So I decided to mess with him.
I pinched his butt, nipped his Adam’s apple, and ran my hands over his chest.
Grant Whitmore’s ears went red with outrage. His face stayed as cool and proper as ever.
Until one night, when I came home from partying.
He spotted the hickey on my neck, and his eyes went red. “Who did that?”
“You understand that married people aren’t supposed to cheat, don’t you?”
“I know what happened. Some little slut out there threw themselves at you.”
“You’re young. You don’t know any better. I don’t blame you.”
A second later, he was threatening to hang himself from a ceiling beam. “Tell me who that little slut is, or I’ll kill myself right in front of you!”
Excuse me?
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Our families had arranged the match, but marrying me hadn’t loosened Grant Whitmore up at all. He was still stiff, buttoned-up, and apparently incapable of smiling.
He wasn’t much of a talker, either.
Most days, all he did was text me to come home.
“Home.”
“Come home now.”
“You’re not coming?”
“Location.”
That last one usually meant he’d run out of patience and was coming to collect me.
I didn’t get it. Fine, he had the sleep schedule of a senior citizen and went to bed at ten. Why did I have to join him?
And why give me a nine o’clock curfew if he was going to start hounding me the second he left work?
Sometimes the pretty little dinner I’d ordered hadn’t even arrived yet.
I loved going out and staying up all night with my friends. Naturally, my family had found me a husband who was the exact opposite.
Calling me home every day and making me go to bed early with him wasn’t enough. He also had opinions about everything I ate and everything I did.
No overdoing the iced drinks. No tongue piercing. No skimpy outfits. No getting drunk.
And absolutely no staying out overnight.
At first, I couldn’t stand it.
I tried negotiating. “How about we keep up appearances and do our own thing? You stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
Grant’s expression grew even colder. “Chloe Bennett, if you need time to adjust, you can take it.”
“But I won’t agree to that kind of marriage.”
He got my sleep schedule so thoroughly straightened out that I couldn’t even find anyone to hang out with during the day. All my friends were catching up on sleep.
I went quiet.
I ran out of words.
Then I snapped.
The next time he hauled me home, I kicked off my heels and hurled my purse at him. “I just wanted to stay a little longer! It’s not like I wasn’t coming back.”
“Stop bossing me around. Marrying you is like getting another dad.”
“No, even my actual dad doesn’t do this!”
Without changing expression, he put my purse away and brought over my slippers. “The floor’s cold. Put these on.”
I couldn’t even get a decent argument out of him.
It was infuriating.
That night, I was deep into a novel when Grant announced that it was bedtime, took away my e-reader, and turned off the light.
He’d already put my phone well out of reach.
First thing the next morning, he woke me up again. “Good morning. Time for breakfast.”
Why wasn’t he at work?
Oh. Another weekend.
I bared my teeth at him. “Bad morning.”
After breakfast, I cuddled my cat and watched a show, petting and kissing her the whole time.
Before our afternoon nap, Grant’s need for everything to be spotless kicked in. He insisted on picking the cat hair out of my hair, strand by strand.
“You’re so annoying,” I told him. “Before I married you, I used to sleep with my cat in my arms.”
Then I hugged him and deliberately rubbed cat hair all over his clothes. “Get used to it.”
He went rigid.
Delighted, I flopped onto the bed, rolled around on his side, and then rolled around on mine.
He said nothing.
By that afternoon, someone had replaced the sheets and duvet cover.
I curled my lip. “Why not replace me while you’re at it? I hold the cat every day. That would solve your problem for good.”
He offered no opinion and went back into his study, remembering to add, “It’s going to rain. Don’t go wandering off.”
