Page 55 of Bargaining

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

He’d already helped me into my pajamas and guided me between cool sheets. I’d been able to slip my bra off discreetly through the arm of my pajama shirt.

“Nothing. You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.” He rested his head on the pillow. “I’ll stay just in case you think of something.”

I had no strength to argue, and I didn’t want to. His calm presence soothed me. Nobody took my migraines seriously. Tiff dismissed them as headaches, even though she was a drama queen if she caught even a sniffle. I closed my eyes, praying for the fog that clouded my brain to lift. The medicine had taken the edge off the pain, but a dull pulse still thrummed behind my eye.

“I don’t want to miss out on Rome. I’ve always wanted to be here.”

“If you’re not better in the morning, I’ll get you a doctor first thing.”

“What are we doing tomorrow?”

He shifted his position on the bed. “I’ve organized a private tour for you. The guide will take you to the sights.”

“What about you?”

“I have work to catch up on.”

I rubbed the tight tendons at the back of my neck. He was planning to spend the honeymoon working? It’s not like I had legitimate grounds for company, since it wasn’t a real honeymoon, but I’d at least hoped for a companion to explore with. Disappointment ground in my gut, but I kept it from my voice.

“Are you going to take any time out to explore?”

“I’ve got a lot on.”

“But this is Rome. History-nerd heaven. You can’t just stay in the hotel.”

“I’ll survive,” he said quietly.

“You’re not even coming to the Sistine Chapel?”

“No.”

A pang pulled at my heart. I could convince myself it didn’t matter, but it would be a lie. All of these sights would be better in Cole’s company. Was he really going to send me off alone with a guide? This was a sham marriage, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t negotiate it in a companionable way. I’d expected too much of this man, and given his track record, I should have known better.

In the dark silence, the conversation we’d had earlier drifted to mind and rankled me anew. “I meant what I said before. I’m not changing my name.”

“We need to share a name. It’s about how it looks. Let’s not talk about it now. You need to rest.”

Another wave of sickness passed over me. Pain and frustration sharpened my voice. “This isn’t me just trying to be awkward. Plenty of people don’t take their spouse’s name. It’s not unusual.”

“Not now,” he said quietly.

Resolve hardened my heart. I had no energy, but I’d have to fight him on it. It was too important to back down. “Give me this one thing, Cole. I don’t care about the rest of it. You can bring me on honeymoon and pawn me off with a guide because you can’t be bothered to spend time with me. Work yourself into the ground in the most beautiful city in the world if that’s what you want. I’ll take it without complaint, but please give me this. I’m an Ackroyd.” My voice broke. “I can’t lose another piece of my dad.”

Silence. Cold water from the compress on my head dripped uncomfortably down my neck. Cole would never capitulate. “What about Ackroyd-Thorner?”

“It sounds ridiculous. Too long,” he said.

“How are we going to get through this year if you’re never willing to compromise?”

Silence wrapped around us again.

“You’re right.” His low, clipped voice shocked me. He’d been quiet for so long I thought he’d fallen asleep.

“I am?”