Page 44 of Betrothed in Fury
“Horror,” I confess, and his expression twists up.
“Isn’t life scary enough?”
“It’s so scary that I need to see something even worse.”
“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug.
“There, we covered everything else,” I joke, earning a smile that wavers, as though it snuck up and surprised him too.
“So you do have a sense of humor,” he says, “which you’ve been hiding until tonight?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Most of what’s happened has been pretty amusing.”
“Maybe for you.”
The waiter returns to take our orders, and Logan goes first. “Steak and mashed potatoes for me.”
“Anything on those potatoes?” the waiter asks.
I thought we already went over this. “He’ll have a side salad instead of potatoes,” I interject.
Logan flashes me a look that could kill, or in his case, maybe brutally torment before killing. “I’ll have the potatoes, thank you very much.”
I address the waiter. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give him a salad. Maybe some vinaigrette on the side.”
The waiter’s wide-eyed gaze assures me he does indeed know what’s good for him, so I proceed with my order. “And I’ll have the lamb rib with scallops and a salad as well.”
He grabs our menus before heading off, and Logan is fuming, jaw clenched, fists tight.
“And here I thought we were hitting it off,” I say.
His face is bright red, the way it might look if someone were choking the life out of him.
“You were starting to become tolerable,” he fights out through his teeth, “until you corrected my order.”
“You should eat healthier.”
“It’s my choice however I decide to eat, and if you think I’m going to marry you and never eat mashed potatoes again, you’re dead wrong.”
My chest constricts, rage bubbling up. “You know, when someone talks to me like this, they can lose their tongue.”
“When someone tries to control me, they can lose their life.”
Angry as I am with his disobedience, I can’t deny the other sensations it stirs, like when we were rolling around on his bathroom floor.
Regardless, my attempt at making him eat healthier effectively kills the conversation.
It might be better to wait until my temper settles to continue talking with him anyway, and before I know it, our food has arrived, giving us time to spend eating rather than pissing each other off.
I study the way he cuts his meat and ignores his salad entirely, as though holding a personal grudge against me. Old Terror always said marriage was about compromise, but doesn’t Logan care that I was thinking about his health?
I won’t concede. I refuse, not just because I’m right, but out of my own damn pride. Once I’ve decided on something, I don’t waver. I don’t question my decisions. Old Terror also said that if you’re indecisive, you wind up dead. I’ve seen that enough times to know it’s true. Once you’ve decided to kill, you must do it, without hesitation, which…is maybe a little dramatic when it involves mashed potatoes.
The silence becomes louder, and when the waiter returns to refill our glasses, I tell him, “Could you bring us some mashed potatoes?” practically choking on the words, and Logan looks at me in surprise.
What the hell am I doing?
I loosen the buttons on the collar of my shirt, trying not to draw too much attention to my discomfort.
