Page 18 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

I don’t care that we’ve just landed after a flight that took twice as long as it should have, thanks to an unexpected refueling stop. I don’t care that my legs ache so badly I might collapse right here and now. None of that matters.

Because this is unacceptable!

Jonathan glares at me. “You act like I’m asking you to sleep outside.”

“You might as well be.” I huff, arms still crossed.

His expression turns incredulous. “Then don’t.” He gestures toward the living area. “There’s a perfectly good couch in the other room. Feel free to take it.”

I gasp, genuinely offended. “That’s not how you treat a lady! Especially your wife!”

Jonathan mutters something under his breath, but I catch every word.

“I’d have been better off marrying a random woman off the streets.”

I whip around so fast my hair nearly slaps him. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”

He lifts his hands like he’s already regretting his life choices. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh no, please finish that thought, Jonathan.” I place a hand on my hip, glaring at him. “Because I’d love to know exactly how some hypothetical street wife would have been a better option than me.”

Jonathan sighs and mutters, “At least she probably wouldn’t argue with me over a bed.”

I let out an exasperated laugh and throw my hands up. “Right. Because I’m the one being unreasonable here. This entire thing is already a mess, and now I’m supposed to share a bed with you? I’d almost rather sleep outside.”

“Be my guest.” He waves toward the balcony. “I hear the mosquitoes here are very welcoming.”

“You are impossible,” I hiss.

He folds his arms, unbothered. “And you’re dramatic.”

The moment we arrived, we learned that our luxury honeymoon in Bora Bora was, in fact, a honeymoon on an islandnearBora Bora. The driver assured us it was just as stunning, but so far, all I’ve seen is disappointment.

And nowthis.

One room.

One bed.

I inhale deeply, counting to three so I don’t launch a pillow at his smug face. “You should sleep on the couch.”

He scoffs. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m the woman.”

Jonathan blinks, then slowly tilts his head. “Wow. Okay. So we’re pulling the gender card now?”

I arch a brow. “Oh, so now you’re progressive?”

“I’ve been progressive.” He crosses his arms. “In fact, I believe in true gender equality. Which is why we should share the bed.”

I stare at him.

“Jonathan.”

“Yes, Emma?”

I take a deep breath. “If you sleep on the couch, I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

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