Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Meaning well and doing well are two very different things.”
“Ouch, brutal. But not wrong.” He gives me an appraising stare for a moment, arms crossed over his chest. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” I say and step toward the nearest burly movers, ready to tell them to start packing the stuff.
Nothing’s right. I wouldn’t have picked a single piece of furniture in this place. It’s all too masculine. The color palette is gray and deep gray with black thrown into the mix plus a few dark woods. There are too many sharp lines and everything’s too damn modern. It just doesn’t work in a house with so much character.
But before I open my mouth, I have an idea. “Actually, Dante, there is something you can help me with.” A sly grin spreads across my face as the idea being sot coalesce into a plan. “Do you happen to have access to my husband’s money? Did he leave you a card or something in case I wanted to order anything?”
“Well, actually, I do.” He pulls a shiny black credit card from his pocket and holds it up. “I was instructed to give this to you.”
“Wonderful.” I hold out my hand. It’s metal and cold. “Limit?”
“None that I know of.”
“Perfect.”
“What are you going to do?”
“My husband thought it was a good idea to order a bunch of furniture without consulting me.” I turn my back on Dante, grinning wickedly to myself. “I plan on doing the exact same thing.”
I’m sitting on a couch with my legs crossed and a glass of wine in my hand when Gian comes home. I hear the door open and the low stomp of his shoes on the wood. He pauses, probably looking around at the house, before we make it back toward the living room.
I take a long sip of wine as he surveys the space. His eyes narrow, his lips press together, and it’s a few beats before he spots me. We stare each other, gazes locked. I expect him to say something.
Instead, he walks into the kitchen. I hear glasses and something pours. He returns with his own glass of wine a moment later.
“Love what you did with the place,” he drawls. There’s a slight quirk of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Oh, yeah, he’s pissed.
“Do you?” I run my hand over the couch. It’s white—very, very white. “I don’t know.” I get up and move a foot to the left, and sit down on another couch. This one is a deep velvet purple. “I had so much trouble deciding what I like.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
I get up and try the third couch. This one’s a deep walnut leather. It’s actually very comfortable, but I don’t admit that. “There were just too many options and the salesmen were so helpful.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“You mean, you’re happy for us. These are all ours.” I stand and gesture at my collection of couches.
There are ten in total. All different shapes and sizes. There’s a mid-century piece that looks like a spaceship and cost about as much as a NASA shuttle. There’s a basic loveseat that would look great in a Midwestern house in the ‘80s. That one’s vintage and smells terrible. There’s a tuxedo sofa, boxy, very clean, and upholstered in neon pink. Blue couches, green couches. Too many damn couches, all jammed into our moderately small living room.
“They’re beautiful. I can’t imagine picking a favorite.”
“I’m sure you’ll try. Did you see the rest of my collection?”
His lips press tight. “There’s more?”
“Oh, darling. Come right this way.” I shuffle through the maze of couches, awkwardly climbing over them like a little kid playing floor-is-lava, before gracelessly landing on my feet near him. I brush my hair from my face, give him a bright smile, and lead him into the sitting room.
More couches. Six in here. Plus three coffee tables and two china cabinets. Everything’s a different style and nothing matches.
“Let me guess,” he says as he shuffles into the room, contorting to make it past the sleeper sofa with the bed half pulled out. “You met Dante.”
“He was so very helpful. The dear provided me with this wonderful credit card.” I hold it up and let the light gleam off its surface. “Apparently, there’s no limit.”
“No, there isn’t. I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“More than pleased.” I clap my hand together sharply. “Come right this way, dear, we aren’t done.”
He follows me upstairs. We go from room to room, inspecting my handiwork. Multiple beds, dressers, a few very nice desks that were really hard to get upstairs and earned the mover guys really fat tips, rugs strewn about, the master bedroom packed with footstools, ottomans, a Victorian fainting couch (which I’m probably going to keep), and more than a few brightly colored statues of dogs, cats, and lions.