Page 72 of Untying the Knot
“Nah, there’s nothing too pressing. Plus, we can talk while we have dinner,” JP says just as the doorbell rings.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll get that.” Ryot sets his drink down on the counter. “Boys, why don’t you head to the back patio and make yourselves comfortable? I put a cooler back there with drinks as well.”
“Cool,” JP says as he and his brother move to the back porch.
As Ryot approaches me, he says, “Can you have dinner with us? I didn’t know they were coming over until ten minutes ago.”
“A little warning would have been nice,” I shoot back at him.
“I thought you were sleeping in your room. Hell, you’ve been holed up in there and I didn’t even think you’d come out. I’m not entertaining in the dining room because I know that’s your space.”
“Are you trying to be sarcastic when you need me to pretend I’m in love with you?”
He pauses, his spine straightening as he turns toward me. Brows tilted down with a furious expression, he speaks through clenched teeth. “Youarefucking in love with me. I don’t care how much you try to hurt me with your denial. You do love me. So no, you’re not going to have to pretend. You just have to act civilly as if you enjoy being around me.”
“Well, that’s not the case.”
“That much is obvious.”
He keeps pushing toward the door so he can grab the pizzas while I grab plates and napkins from the kitchen. Could I tell him to go fuck himself and not join his little meat parade in the backyard? Probably, but I also know we’re in a battle of wills. And even though I would love nothing more than to grab a slice of pizza and go back to my room, I know that will only add fuel to his fire, and the last thing I need is for him to be pissed at me. Who knows what he’d do?
He brings the pizza into the kitchen, and when I turn to face him, he says, “No more than twenty minutes, then you can fake a headache and leave.”
“Planned on it,” I say with a sarcastic smile.
And then together, looking like the epitome of a happy marriage, we head to the patio with bright smiles on our faces and gracious host mentalities.
“I’ve never tried this place before,” Huxley says as he grabs a slice of pepperoni pizza. “What’s it called again?”
“Big Sal’s,” Ryot answers. “Myla found it. She loves looking up the best places to eat in a city. Big Sal’s had huge reviews, and we hadn’t been able to find a decent slice of pizza since being out here.”
“This isn’t deep-dish, though,” JP points out. “Being that you came from Chicago, I would have assumed you were eating deep-dish.”
“Deep-dish is good,” I say. “But when Ryot took me to New York one year with him on an away trip, I spent my entire visit trying all the pizza I could. I became obsessed, and it set the bar higher for good pizza. So when we found Big Sal’s, we haven’t tried anywhere else.”
“Did you go on a lot of away trips with Ryot?” Huxley asks.
“After we were married, I did. Up until then, I went when my work schedule allowed.”
“Oh, what do you do?” JP asks. I should have known that was coming.
I hate this question. I hate it more than anything.
Because for some reason, our society has deemed it necessary to judge someone’s self-worth off their career. And I really haven’t had a career ever.
When I’m satisfied that everyone has pizza and a drink, I grab myself a slice of mushroom pizza just as Ryot pulls out the seat next to him. When I sit down, he rests his hand on my thigh. I quickly glance at him, but he doesn’t even bother to act like this is anything but normal. And I guess it’s normal for couples not fighting, not in the middle of a whirlwind of anger—not divorcing—but right now, it feels off. It feels off because his calloused palm is penetrating my icy exterior. He’s been on the go for the past few months, and I’m not sure he’s touched me like this in a while. It’s confusing.
“Well, right now, I’m still figuring out the career thing,” I say shyly because I’m sitting at a table with three men who have a clear-cut idea of their purpose. Two of them are billionaires, and Ryot is on the cusp. He’s invested wisely, very wisely, and now with his new venture, The Jock Report, he’s racking up the cash. “But before we got married, I was a server.” I shrug and take a bite of my pizza.
To my surprise, Ryot says, “She’s incredible at interior design and renovations. She has a clever eye for color, modern aesthetics, and mixing textiles.”
Where the hell did that come from? He’s never said anything like that. Then again, we are performing right now. Well, color me convinced because wow . . . it almost sounded like he meant it. And unfortunately, even if he didn’t mean it, it still leaves a mark on me because it’s something I wish I had heard from him more often.
“Really?” JP perks up. “I should get you to meet up with Kelsey. She’s into organizing sustainably. I bet you two would hit it off. She’s always looking for someone who’s as into interior design as her.”
“Oh yeah, that would be great,” I say with a smile, even though I don’t mean it. I have no intention of making friends, not when my future is up in the air.
Smoothing his hand over my thigh, Ryot continues the praise, “Myla’s always had a philanthropic heart too. That’s what she’s focused on the most before and after we moved to California.”
