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Did I need to pack this much stuff? Ha. Absolutely not. It’s merely all part of the process.
The invasion, if you will.
Right now, Rowan is clinging to the reality his parents forged for him. He’s hesitant to act, in case he’s acting in the way they trained him to. He doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t see his goodness beyond the scars his childhood left on his soul.
The only way to break him of his past is to overturn his present.
He needs to snap. Completely. And not beat himself up for it.
Hefting a final box onto his dresser, I begin arranging my shoes in a neat row beside his on a rack in his closet. “Pet?”
Rowan grunts.
“We should go out to dinner tonight. To celebrate moving in together. It’s a very expected thing for couples, and we must keep up our appearances.”
His fingers streak through his dark hair, and he sighs. “Where do you want to go?”
Oh? What’s this? Cooperation? What an unlikely turn of events. Maybe I did overthink things earlier. “A little Italian place on the north side. They have sandwiches, pizza, pasta. The usual caboodle.”
He mouths caboodle, closes his eyes as though in physical pain, and rubs his temple. “Fine.”
Will wonders never cease? “It’s a formal place. Your closet is full of dress shirts and suits. I’ll pick one out for you—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Suits are uncomfortable. Ties should be outlawed. I only dress nice for meetings and testy clients, then I’m back in my t-shirts and jeans as soon as possible. If you insist that I wear a suit out to dinner, on my own time, I will not take you.”
My heart skips a beat. “Well now. You picked boundaries up fast.”
His eyes open as his head cocks against the bed post. Silent and predatory, he watches me, challenging.
A headache blooms at the base of my skull, and I’m the first person to look away. “You’re adorable, Rowan.”
“Adorable?” he grumbles.
“Completely. Perhaps the most adorable man I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to see you in a tux on our wedding day and know you’re suffering the discomfort just for me.” I take my time arranging the assortment of tiny glass snakes I brought on his dresser. “So romantic.”
A bracing inhale fills his chest. “If I’m wearing a tux, you’re not allowed to wear a cream puff.”
A cream puff? I look down at my current outfit, discover it is remarkably similar to a cream puff, and hum. “Are you saying you don’t like my clothes?”
Weary, he murmurs, “You know how some animals have markings that ward off predators?”
“Yes?”
“Your clothes are like that. But the opposite.”
I stuff the resulting laugh deep down in my chest. “So what you’re saying is that my clothes invite predators?”
“Yes.”
“Good thing you aren’t a predator, then.”
“I lack the same faith in the rest of my family. You look vulnerable. What happened to black outfit you had that one time?”
“My torture garb? You prefer my torture garb?”
