Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(176)

Thank God Lena had sidled up and stolen me away for a photo op that hadn’t been real, or I would have ended up drowning them both in the punch.

“You were right. And, though I hesitate to say anything…I’m really glad we live so far away.”

I can’t even imagine spending Thanksgiving or Christmas with those people. Give me a crazy, bread-roll-stealing old bird any day of the week, over a bunch of ceiling sniffers.

Greg snorts and continues to stare out at the landscape, and I shift, uncomfortably aware of his stillness since he’d planted that sloppy kiss on me at the altar.

We’d been separated for almost the entire reception, and it’s been a little cool since we got in the car.

Needless to say, I’m a little shaky now, and the thought of needling him — as per plans ala Lena — is a little daunting. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy pushing his buttons, boy do I, but I am so used to an arguing, demanding, sexually overwhelming Greg that the silence leaves me somewhat unsure of what to do next.

“Greg? I—”

“Not now. I’m still too pissed to talk to you right now,” he growls, cutting me off with a slice of his hand. “I had to spend my wedding reception keeping my family away from you, so just give me a minute to get over it before you start blabbering.”

Blabbering!

“For your information, you did a crappy job. Your mother and sister cornered me at the buffet, and I had to keep Chris from body tackling one of them before Lena saved the day!”

The ridiculousness of it all hits me, and I start giggling despite his scowl, feeling the tension drain out of me when he smiles reluctantly and takes my hand, running his thumb over my wedding ring and the sapphire engagement ring he won’t let me remove. Ever.

“Why are they so…?”

He shrugs and drops my hand, turning away again.

“They’ve never been happy with my choices. Even Lena wasn’t what they would call a suitable match, but at least she would have brought her family’s business connections to the table.”

And I bring nothing but a senile old lady and my working class roots. Got it. Well, now I feel like crap, and I say so, deciding that, as per the honesty deal I’ve made with Lena, I will tell him exactly how I feel at all times.

He says nothing, the exact opposite of what I’d expected, and I turn away too, closing my eyes against the misery that’s starting to set in. Great way to start a honeymoon.





Chapter Thirty One




I’ve spent my honeymoon sitting on the deck of the Orpheus, one of the three revamped ocean liners that I’d helped bring to life in the ad campaign that had started this all.

At night I enjoy what most would call the best part of marriage and make love with my husband into the wee hours of the morning. The passion we share, instead of fizzling, has only grown stronger, to the point that I find myself mooning over him while he works.

Hence my self-banishment to the deck off the luxury suite we inhabit. I absolutely refuse to spend my time gazing at him like a lovesick fool while he ignores me and keeps giving me hints to leave him in peace.

This morning I’d pranced out of the bathroom, freshly showered and clad in a hot pink bikini small enough to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. He’d taken one look at me and then gone all stony-eyed before turning back to his laptop and ignoring me completely.

The satellite phone beside me chirps, and I look at it for a beat before answering.

“Hello?”

“God! You sound miserable! What the hell are you doing on this honeymoon?” Lena demands.

I’m so pathetically grateful to hear her voice my eyes mist, and I catch back a choked sob.

“Nothing! I spend all day keeping myself entertained while he works, and then all we do is have sex at night. I swear, Lena, if he keeps this up I am so getting an annulment when we hit New York,” I hiss in a whisper, glimpsing back at Gregory with a guilty scowl.

“I told you not to let him work!” she yells, and I pull the phone back to save myself from a lifetime of ear trouble. She’s worse than a dictator — I snort again and smile guiltily when my very own dictator glances up and locks eyes with me.

“Oh God, trust him to stop working when I don’t want him paying attention,” I groan, sliding off the lounger to walk a few feet away.

“Han.”

“Seriously, this is not my fault. Yesterday I pranced around naked for ten minutes pretending I couldn’t find my bikini. This morning I came out of the bathroom wearing the thing, and I ate breakfast that way. He didn’t even bat an eye!”

How demoralizing to know the sheen has worn off so quickly I could spread eagle myself, butt naked, and he’d still be unaffected.