Page 62 of Arranged Control
“I’m mad about the note, but I’m choosing not to take that out on you.”
“Smarter than you look,” she mutters before pulling away. “Alright, fine. You can upgrade the security. But nothing crazy.”
“I’ll do whatever needs doing to make sure you’re safe.” I lightly brush past her, heading to our bedroom.
“I don’t like the way you said that!”
She’s a smart woman, my wife.
Chapter 19
Alina
This is my nightmare.
I know I’ve had a comfortable and highly privileged life. I’m very aware of how spoiled I’ve been. That’s part of why I haven’t kicked and screamed about marrying Seamus.
It’s always been the deal. My father provides me anything I need and in exchange I marry the man of his choosing.
But this is too much.
“You’ve gone too far.” I storm into the extra bedroom. Seamus has been turning it into his own private study for the past week. So far it’s mostly just a desk, a bookshelf with a bunch of whiskey bottles on it, and a TV on the floor in the corner.
He pivots to look at me, leaning back in his chair. “What’s wrong, my darling wife?”
I throw a pile of clothes at him. Shirts, shorts, pants, a bunch of socks and underwear. It scatters across his floor. “Do you know where I got all that?”
“Goodwill?”
“The bathroom.” I step forward, jaw set. “Behind the door.”
“Oh, right. Makes sense. That’s where I put my dirty stuff.”
“On the floor?! In the bathroom!?”
“Would you prefer if it were on the floor in the kitchen?”
I throw up my hands. “I’d prefer it if you used the hamper like a normal human being.”
I can tell he’s trying not to smile, which only makes me even angrier. This isn’t funny at all.
Ever since he moved in, my world has been flipped on its head.
First, there was the construction. I put up with it since that was the agreement. He installed motion sensors, cameras, high-end locks, and this whole central processing system to keep it all synced up and running. It took me an entire afternoon to learn the stupid app. Getting into my own apartment is like breaking into Fort Knox or something. I know that’s the point, but still.
Then there’s him. Always sitting around half naked. No shirt, no pants. Wandering from bathroom to kitchen still wet from a shower in just a towel. It’s maddening. It’s like he’s doing it just to piss me off. And the worst part is, I can’t even complain. If I do, he’ll know that I’m distracted by his body, and he’ll just start acting even more obnoxious.
I pretend like it doesn’t bother me while actually it drives me absolutely insane.
Finally, there’s the mess.
My apartment is my temple. It’s a reflection of my inner life. I keep everything neat and orderly, just how I like it. He makes jokes, but my organization system keeps me sane and grounded.
All that’s gone with him around.
Dishes in the sink. Clothes on the floor. When packages arrive, he leaves the boxes near the front door and doesn’t bother breaking them down.
It drives me insane.
