11. Proposal
827 Words
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FREYA’S POV
I shouted along to the lyrics of Taylor swift’s Ready for it, booming through the speakers of my phone, the warm water cascading down the naked layers of my body as I stood underneath the shower. Moments like these were my favorite and I know I definitely wasn’t one of the best singers around but who gave a damn, right? Showers and music were one of the best combos to ever exist. I must have taken forever in the shower but I eventually stepped out, the towel tightly wrapped around me while still shouting to the remainder of the song.
“You are quite an awful singer. Congratulations,” I halted, my gaze connecting with Rhett, sitting on the navy-blue couch in the room, a grin dancing on his face.
Well, one way to ruin my morning.
“Good morning, dear husband. How was your promiscuous night?” I questioned, heading into the closet room and I could hear his feet pattering after me. Of course, he didn’t understand the meaning of privacy.
“Not as promiscuous as yours unfortunately,” He leaned by the door, weight shifted against one leg while he crossed his rather muscly arms, “So did you have them both? You know, your former driver and your brother’s right-hand man?”
I chuckled, very much amused by his allegations, “Oh honey, if I had the capability of handling them both at once, I would but as you can imagine, they are too good to have them both at once. How about you? An orgy like the rest or what?”
His chest vibrated with a light laugh, “Aren’t you a little too curious about my s*x life, Mrs. Saint?”
I froze in anger for a mere second. He knew I abhorred that title. Mrs. Saint? Knowing it meant being associated with Rhett Saint of all people, was enough of a death sentence. Ugh! Who in their right mind would willingly marry the king of obnoxiousness? Certainly not me. If only John had informed me earlier of this f*****g marriage, I would-
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I half-turned to him, “Privacy please? Unless you have no idea what it means,”
“Breakfast is ten minutes. So please avail yourself,” He paused on his way out, a conniving smirk building its way over his lips as he added, “Mrs. Saint,”
He was so damn lucky John took my gun away. Speaking of which, I need to have a good chat with my older brother. I couldn’t catch a wink sleep and heaven knows I was exhausted enough. I changed into a pair of blue mum jeans and a baggy white T-shirt before walking out of the room. Thankfully enough we had no guest left and well, the several maids of the house had already cleaned every single space and now the only thing I could smell was the tantalizing scent of breakfast. I didn’t need to ask where the dining room was because the smell of bacon gave it away.
When I walked in, Rhett was sitting down, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked up briefly, a quirkiness detected in in his whole demeanor. Hmm…interesting change. What was he up to? Did he poison the breakfast? Well, I doubt he was that dumb. He knew if he touched me in the wrong way, I’d kill him before John even things of raining grenades on all the Three pack headquarters of Roxen city.
“Breakfast is served,” he announced.
I looked at the table overflowing with delicacies, before raising a questioning gaze, “I get that you are trying to show off, but isn’t this a little too much for just the two of us?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I had the chefs prepare a little bit of everything, “ he shrugged, “In case you haven’t noticed, we are basically in the knowing each stage. Likes, dislikes,”
“I certainly like most of what is at this table,” I drew a seat, running an appreciate gaze over the delicacies, “Just not you,”
“Something mutual,”
I reached over for croissant, “Aww, you don’t even like you. Not a surprise. I wouldn’t like me either if I was you,”
He snapped his jaw, his gaze growing tense but instead of another curt comeback from him, he just chuckled while adding, “So about our agreement from yesterday about exclusivity? How would you like to revise that?”
I stopped mid-chewing the rather delicious croissant, “What?”
“Let’s make an official agreement with some adjustments and who knows? Maybe we’ll both be out of this marriage faster than you think,”
I studied his face, watching for any signs he was joking but none appeared, “Well, what do you propose, Mr. Saint?”
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