Hopelessly Devoted(6)

“I don’t know. I heard the way you screamed when you saw that spider in the bathroom. You sure you don’t have a hidden vagina?” I deadpanned.

“Not funny, babe. Did you see it? Hairy big bastard it was. You could’ve put a collar on it and given it to Dave as a playmate. You did kill it, didn’t you?”

“Nope.” I loved provoking him, and his fear of spiders provided endless entertainment.

As predicted, he jumped off the couch and looked around, eyes wild as he searched for the deadly man-eating beast. “What! You didn’t kill it? Why the f*ck not?”

I loved him, so it wouldn’t be right to tease him for too long. That would be cruel. “Dave did.”

“Dave killed the spider?”

“I think so. Last I saw he was batting it around between his paws in a fight to the death, before he picked it up between his tiger-like fangs and took it back to his hidden slave-cave to feed his prisoners.”

Paul calmed down enough to sit next to me on the couch again. He sighed. “I’m surprised he didn’t piss on it.”

Two days later the spider’s mangled remains were found in Paul’s shoe, despite the self-closing closet door.



THE PRE-NUPTIAL disagreement—it had gotten to the point where it certainly wasn’t an agreement, and we’d been bickering about it for weeks—came to a head one Sunday night.

“I refuse to have a pre-nup drawn up.” Paul tilted his head and looked at me defiantly. We had finished dinner and were sitting on the couch in uncomfortable silence. We were both seething from arguing over this same subject yet again, so much so that Paul had found an excuse not to have lunch with me that day.

I took a deep breath to help keep my voice calm and pulled out the big guns. “Have you told your dad?” It was a low blow, and he knew it. His wide eyes told me that, no, Paul Senior had not been consulted.

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

“Yes, he does. If there’s no pre-nup I could ask for a share in his company.”

“But you wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. But people don’t divorce because they’re on friendly terms. When someone f*cks up badly enough, people lash out as a result. They want to hurt each other by any means possible. What if that happens to us?” I took another breath. “The only thing you could take from me that would hurt is Dave.”

“I would never take that little pissing machine away from you, no matter how badly you screw up.” Paul’s eyebrows drew together. “Who do you know that divorced? Your parents are still together.”

“A friend of mine in junior high. His parents went through hell and it was bitter and nasty. They had always seemed happy to me, but when his dad slept around, his mum went for the jugular with a chainsaw. It was horrible for all involved.” When Paul remained silent I continued, “Have you spoken to your lawyers?”

He stood abruptly and stalked to the window before turning to face me. “I won’t have you subjected to them. One of them already thinks you’re just another gold digger and told me I’m an idiot for getting involved with you in the first place. If something happens and we divorce, I will not have you walk away with nothing. You deserve more than that.” He started pacing the living area, but I needed to push him to see reason. I didn’t want his money; I never had.

“What if I screw up so much that you hate me? You’re not going to want to give me a red cent.”

“But you’re not like that!”

“What if I sleep around on you?”

Paul’s nostrils flared, and he continued to glare at me from across the room, his fists clenched tightly by his side. “You wouldn’t.”

I sighed. “No, I wouldn’t, but you don’t know what’s going to happen ten years from now. Or fifteen, or even twenty.”

We stared at each other in silence; neither of us was going to give in. I pulled my phone from my pocket and brought up Paul Senior’s number.

“Who are you calling?” Paul’s voice was tight, and I could tell he was struggling to control his temper.

I hit speaker as the phone began to ring, and I placed it on the coffee table. “Your dad.”

Before Paul could start on what I knew would be a huge tirade, his father’s voice came over the speaker. “Hello, Jason, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you, but your son’s about to blow a gasket.”

“Oh?”

“Has he spoken to you about our pre-nuptial agreement?” I asked. Paul glared at me and stepped closer.

“No, he hasn’t. I assumed he’d already sorted that out.”

I looked at Paul but spoke to his dad. “By sorted out, do you mean not bothering to have one made up?”

There was a brief pause before Paul Senior said, “Is he there with you?”

“Yes, he’s here.”

“Son? I think we need to talk. Meet me in my office tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock sharp.” I felt sorry for my Paul then. Being ordered to the boss’s office in that tone would’ve had me peeing my pants, and I hoped his dad would go easy on him.

Paul continued to glare at me, but answered his father, “Yes, sir.”

I ended the call. The look in Paul’s eyes made me want to shrink into the sofa, before he stormed away, slamming the door to the guest room.