Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
For fellow messy people, it was no big deal.
For the ones who liked a well-ordered home? Hell. Absolute hell.
And who had a very neat home?
My husband.
If he was okay with me not fitting in with his gala friends because it was such a small part of his life, maybe showing him how I was incompatible with his everyday life would work.
Of course, it was going to mean actually being in his space. And that came with all its own issues. Especially since we seemed incapable of keeping our damn hands off each other.
But sharing his space didn’t necessarily mean sharing his bed.
There were several guest rooms I could occupy.
Then just… spread out from there.
I had a key to the elevator. And the security system recognized me.
I could get in while he was at work and get busy creating a mess. Mugs in the sink. Hair ties everywhere. Wet bras hanging in the shower. Clothing trails.
Maybe at first he would be charmed by it because it meant I was giving in, I was in his space, he was getting what he thought he wanted.
But it wouldn’t take long before he got sick of tripping over my shoes, of me eating all his leftovers, of me forgetting to refill the hand soap or paper towels.
It was sure to grate on him slowly over time. Until he finally got fed up, realized he couldn’t live with me forever after, and signed the damn papers.
If I was going to do this, though, I needed more than just my one little duffle bag of stuff.
It was time to take a trip back home, load up on all the junk I’d left at my parents’ house or in a storage unit, and bring it to my new married home.
Then I could spend a whole day making his place my own.
I guess the only question I had left to ask myself was which of the spare rooms I was going to use while I tried to drive my husband away once and for all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was silly, but I half-expected to be stopped every step of the way.
The doorman.
The guy at the front desk.
The security system.
Someone.
Something.
But all anyone did was ask me if I needed any help as I took trip after trip from the rental car to the private elevator until there was barely room for me to squeeze in beside my junk.
Then, when I got to the door, the system all but waved me inside.
The penthouse was eerily silent as I made trip after trip inside.
It felt wrong to be inside without Harrison around. Intimate in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
There were small touches of him still around.
The dishwasher whooshed quietly as it ran its cycle.
The New Yorker was sitting on the coffee table. A newspaper was folded on the dining table like he’d sat there and read the news as he had his morning coffee.
In the primary bathroom, a pair of wet black swim trunks were sitting in the tub to dry off before, I assumed, they hit the hamper.
I learned little things about Harrison as I drifted through the empty apartment.
He slept on the side of the bed closest to the door. He had a decanter and glass on that nightstand for morning drinks. The remotes for the TV were there as well. A small disc sat there as well for rapidly charging his cell phone.
There was nothing on the other nightstand.
There wasn’t even anything in the other nightstand drawers.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I went back to Harrison’s side of the bed to snoop through the top drawer.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I found a box of condoms, lip balm, an e-reader, and four mismatched cufflinks. Like he kept them there in case he came across their matches.
Deciding I’d wasted enough time, I got off his bed and got to work spreading my things around.
I picked the bedroom nearest to the pool. First, because it was a pretty view. Second (and most important) because it was the furthest from Harrison’s bedroom.
That said, for maximum effect, I spread all my makeup, hair products, serums, lotion, and clothes through all the bathrooms.
I was behind on my reading from my aunts and cousin and the book club all my girl cousins and I belonged to. So books got spread around the common areas.
Mismatched mugs from my travels sat next to Harrison’s matching set in the cabinet.
Fluffy blankets were draped over the backs of the couches.
Several pairs of my shoes were lined up behind the door.
Hair ties and claw clips found new homes everywhere. Sweaters, hoodies, and slippers wound up in the dining and living room. Even Harrison’s office for good measure.
And finally, for extra fun, I saved all my shows and movies to Harrison’s streaming services. Changed the thermostat. Turned lights on in rooms I didn’t even go in. Rearranged all the cabinets to ‘make things easier to find.’ Reorganized the pantry so that instead of ‘like’ items all clustered together, it was in alphabetical order. Instead of being (rightly) next to the angel hair pasta, the linguine was right next to the lentils. The brown sugar no longer sat beside the white sugar but was with the beans instead.