Page 37 of The Marriage Narrative
“Because that’s our time. Bondingmoon. Bungalow date night. Whatever you’d like to call it.”
No one else in his family hadanyscheduled off-camera time.
“I bet they’re not happy that you asked for that time off, huh?” She tried to smile to hide her nerves. Pissing everyone off by getting special treatment was only going to make her job that much harder.
“I didn’task. And no, they’re not, but I don’t care.” He gave her a serious look. “You were right. We jumped in. I thought it wouldn’t matter that my dating history is…uh,what it is, but it does. How can I be a good husband when I’ve only ever been a terrible boyfriend?”
“That’s a good question.”
“I want to know you, Zinnia, and I want you to know me. We do that by dismantling the marriage fantasy and replacing it with reality one night at a time.”
“Wow, you really have been to therapy.”
“You know, I didn’t tell you my medical history so you couldtease me about it.” He laughed, not at all offended. “Therapy isn’t for everyone, but it’s definitely for me.”
“And I love that for you.”
“For a long time, I used ‘needing to keep my family’s identity a secret’ as an excuse. I really thought that was the reason why I just couldn’t trust anyone.”
“Until being desperate changed your mind.”
“Until I foundyou,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “And yet, somehow, I still fucked up. I’m clearly the problem in both instances. Saying that I’m working on being better probably doesn’t mean much right now, but I am. You’ll see. I promise.”
Zinnia figured the magic sheen from his heartfelt apology would’ve worn off by now, but when she looked at him, she still felt hopeful. And curiously happy. She raised her mug and said, “Cheers to second chances.”
Breakfast was nice, tasting just as good as the day before, and conversation was borderline unremarkable until Zinnia asked, “Oh, do you want me to call you Alfie while we’re filming?”
He winced. “No. Never.”
“Gotcha.” She scrunched her nose. “For family only?”
He leaned closer to her. “I like that you’re the only one who calls me Jordan here. I like the way you say my name.”
Whydid that make her smile? “How do I say it?”
“Not how—it’s the feeling behind it. Like a reminder that I’m allowed to be who I want and not who my family expects me to be.”
She wondered if that was a new development. Did he not always remember that? Not wanting to get too existential first thing in the morning, she didn’t ask. After they finished eating, she volunteered to wash the dishes to be fair. The sink was empty. He must’ve washed them last night.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” he said.
“I do,” she said, collecting their empty plates. “I have this thing about bugs—”
“They’ll be washed. You just don’t have to do it.”
She frowned at him. “Are you going to do it?”
“No,” he said patiently.
“Then who is? Invisible elves?” she joked.
“Housekeepers. They clean everything daily. Think of it like living in a hotel. Everything goes back into the delivery basket, and we set it on the porch for pickup.” The tightness around his eyes made her think he was embarrassed—either by her not getting it or by the fact that his family had staff.
“I’m washing them anyway.”
Before he ran away, Jordan grew up rich. He’d said he lived completely on his own now, but also that he hired someone to deep clean his apartment. Whoelsedid he employ for his personal life? A driver? A butler? Was Beta Carotene one of those trust fund cats?
He’d already gently suggested that they revisit the allocations for their joint marriage account in the future while signing their prenup. That offer made her nervous as all hell. Having her rich husband pay for everything sounded amazing in theory, but she’d heard too many horror stories about spousal financial abuse to just say yes.
