Page 15 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

ROSE

You realize you’re my wife (ew) not my mother, right? - S

S ierra is usually so laid back she’s practically horizontal. Seeing her this rattled is… something else.

I have to force my jaw closed as I watch her go, her black hair streaming behind her. What the fuck was that?

Not that she was particularly clear with all the shouting, but I can’t wrap my head around the problem.

Marriage is nothing more than a legal document—it’s not a big deal.

It’s not like a marriage makes a relationship.

Well, not an emotional one anyway. I can’t imagine Jazz and Liam’s feelings for each other changed just because they signed a piece of paper, or Maggie and Cal, or Eliza and Danisha.

Or Sierra’s parents. Marriage has nothing to do with how strong their relationships are.

If it meant anything, my parents would have some kind of affection for each other, surely.

And if a little piece of paper had any bearing on feelings, Sierra and I wouldn’t hate each other the same way we always have.

We’ve spent more time together in the past two weeks than we have in a year of living together, and, while I have a newfound appreciation for the ease with which she lies, I still can’t stand her.

It’s not like she’s had a personality transplant since she put the ring on her finger. Or since I did, I suppose. I eye her heels, kicked off by the door, and sigh. She still has no regard for our shared space.

I throw off my blanket and walk toward the door, picking up her heels to put them back neatly.

They’re nice shoes, and her legs did look amazing in them.

And the pants… God, the pants. Tight burgundy leather that accentuated every curve.

Then there was the semi-sheer lace shirt.

Knowing about the snake inked on her sternum has admittedly been a little problematic for me.

It’s not like I think about it all the time, but it pops into my head at the most inconvenient moments.

She really was onto something tonight, going out and trying to meet someone. I didn’t exactly check that off my list in Vegas, thanks to her. It’s been a while. But the thought of finding someone on an app, getting all dressed up, going out, and trying to impress them sounds exhausting.

I look toward Sierra’s bedroom door. I can’t hear anything, but I am on the other side of the apartment.

My mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t, wondering about things I have no business wondering about.

Like how she touches herself; how she likes to be touched; what she looks like writhing in the covers; what she sounds like when she?—

Shit, no. I shouldn’t go there. Because once I think it, I can’t unthink it.

And as tempting as it is to drag my feet across the floor and knock on her bedroom door, if I open that door, I can’t close it.

And casual sex between roommates is a bad enough idea, let alone casual sex between roommates who hate each other and are also kind of married.

Things are already complicated—I shouldn’t complicate them further.

But…

Things are already complicated. What’s the worst that could happen? We already don’t like each other, we already wish we weren’t living together, so there’s no danger of us fucking up a civil living arrangement.

And while I don’t think I’d have the same hang-ups about sleeping with other people as she does, there’s always a worry I’d run into a colleague or a friend of a friend while out flirting with someone. I don’t want to go three months without sex, and I bet Sierra doesn’t either.

This has all gotten so out of hand.

My feet take me across the apartment before I can stop them, but I pause before raising my fist. I can’t take this back, and Sierra’s already spiraling about things. But maybe she just needs an outlet. And I could be that outlet.

I knock—three short taps on the door.

There’s a rustling noise before Sierra answers, sounding just as pissed off as she was before she disappeared. “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Do you have to?”

“I want to talk.”

I hear her huff. “Fine.”

The hinges creak as I force open the door—force, because Sierra has clearly just dropped her leather pants where she was standing. Jesus, it’s a mess in here.

I’m pretty sure if you looked up maximalist on Pinterest, Sierra’s room would pop up.

There are bright splashes of color everywhere, from the pink quilted headboard to the yellow and blue floral comforter.

The walls are covered in shelves with little trinkets, frames with completely mismatched art prints, and there’s a giant lesbian flag hanging above her bed with a smudged Sharpie autograph I’ve never been able to make out.

And then there’s the plants. There have to be three dozen, if not more, dotted around the room.

I have no idea how she sleeps in here—it’s so chaotic.

She’s lying in bed, the comforter pulled up to her chin.

“I’m kind of busy,” she says. “Did you miss that I was clearly planning on spending some alone time with my vibrator?”

“I’ve seen your vibrator—you leave it in the bathroom after cleaning it sometimes—and, if you’re planning on staying celibate for the next three months, you really should upgrade.”

She gasps as I perch on the edge of her bed. As messy as her room is, it smells amazing. Like a less overwhelming Bath & Body Works.

“Don’t offend Olivia Newton-John like that!”

“You… named your vibrator after Olivia Newton-John?”

Sierra shrugs and sits up, pulling the covers with her. “I was going through a Grease phase when I bought it. And I would very much like to be using her right now, so can you get whatever you want to say out of the way so I can carry on?”

“Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“I swear to god, Rose, I?—”

I hold up a hand. “Okay, okay. I wanted to say that I don’t understand why marriage is so important to you?—”

“Yeah, I got that,” she interrupts, and I take a deep breath.

“This is going to take a lot longer if you keep interrupting.”

Sierra mimes zipping her lips and gestures for me to continue.

“As I was saying, I don’t understand, but I do recognize that you probably have a different outlook on marriage, considering how different our upbringings were.

Look, I don’t like you. You don’t like me.

I get that this isn’t what you dreamed about as a kid, and if you want to call this now, we can get a lawyer and figure out the divorce stuff tomorrow. ”

She narrows her eyes at me, clearly suspicious. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice, I’m being pragmatic. If you’re going to keep having meltdowns like you did earlier, this isn’t maintainable.”

“Right,” she scoffs. “The damage is done now. We might as well see it through.”

“Alright. Well, on that note, if you want me to stay celibate while we’re married, I can do that,” I offer.

Sierra raises a brow. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to.” I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “What if you didn’t sleep with anyone else? What if you slept with me?”

Sierra stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I—what?”

“You don’t want to sleep with anyone else and, honestly, this whole fake marriage thing is taking up most of the energy I reserve for meeting new people, so why don’t we just kill two birds with one stone?”

She just about manages to close her mouth before dissolving into a fit of gasping laughter. “Oh my god. Are you serious? We hate each other, Rose. What makes you think either of us would enjoy sleeping together?”

I shrug, my eyes snagging on the crumpled leather pants. “Personality-wise, I don’t like you. Physically… I do. And apparently you think I’m hot, too, according to my sister.”

“I mean, duh. I have eyes. But a lot could go wrong here.”

“Like what?”

“What if you fall in love with me?”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“What if I fall in love with you? ”

“Even less likely. I’m pretty mean.”

“True.” Sierra looks like she’s racking her brain, searching for reasons this is a bad idea. “I bet we wouldn’t even be compatible sexually.”

“What are you into?”

Sierra’s cheeks turn pink, and she clears her throat before answering. “I’m pretty submissive. In bed,” she adds, as if I don’t live with her and know all about how not submissive she is the rest of the time.

Of course she’s submissive in bed. Why wouldn’t the universe make the one person I don’t want to want exactly my type?

“Well, I’m not submissive. Like, at all,” I say, trying not to sound pissed off about it.

“Oh.” With one word, her entire demeanor changes. Sierra’s uncertainty morphs into intrigue, and it tells me a lot about her. “How dominant are we talking?”

“Not like ‘ collar you and make you crawl for me’ levels, but I’m pretty dominant. I mean, if that’s what you’re into, I could…” I trail off because I can picture it clearly. And I like it. A lot.

“I could be into that,” Sierra says, so quietly it’s practically a whisper. “We would have to have rules, though. Boundaries, you know.”

“Obviously. Like not falling in love with each other.”

“Exactly. And it would just be as long as we’re married. As soon as we sign the divorce papers, we go our separate ways, as planned.”

“Agreed. Any other rules? ”

Sierra draws her lip between her teeth, chewing the skin. “Is kissing okay? Or is it too intimate?”

All of this is too intimate. But it was my idea. “I like kissing. But we should keep it to a minimum. Only during sex or when we’re in public around other people.”

Sierra nods. “Yeah, that makes sense. Also, I’m not really into people being mean to me during sex, so maybe we could keep fighting to a minimum when we’re, you know.”

“I’m not into that, either. No fighting during sex. I make no promises for the rest of the time, though.”

“I’d expect nothing less. Okay, so, we’re doing this?”

“I’m in if you are.”

Sierra considers me for a moment, her dark eyes searching my face. Whatever she sees seems to reassure her, because she nods. “I’m in.”

I clap my hands together, internally cringing at how awkward I am. “Great. We should probably talk everything over and make sure we’re fully on the same page about what we’re okay with and what we’re not. Do you have a safe word?”

Sierra’s cheeks turn scarlet. “I do. But I’m going to pick a new one.”

“Why? What do you usually use?”

She sucks her breath in through her teeth. “Your name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, well, you know how I feel about flowers, and… Anyway, I don’t think that’s going to work here.”

“Definitely not. I’m going to take a lot of pleasure in making you say my name over and over.”