Chapter Nine

Blake’s POV

I prowled after Jasmine but turned around the corner to check the power supply as the headlights overhead the house flickered. I fixed the light and made a mental note to call the power supply house to send someone to fix the light the following day. I walked into the kitchen because I smelled coffee. Who was brewing coffee this hard and beautiful? Jasmine? Can she make use of kitchen utensils and equipment and talk more of brewing coffee? No it can't be! Probably my now is deceiving me as usual. But I was wrong. I didn’t expect to see her there, sitting on the counter, phone in one hand, a cup in the other.

She wore some short robes again. Like always. She never cared to dress normal around the house. It's not really like we have even lived for a week for me to monitor how she dressed but the last hours, she just dressed carelessly as if she was toying with me. As if she was testing out my patience. Maybe she thinks I am going to fall into her little seducing trick and make a fool out of myself.

“I didn't know you could make use of the kitchen, little monster." I teased, leaning on the doorway, my arms folded across my chest as I watched her.

She sipped her cup and looked at me from the rim of the edge. She grinned toothily. “Don't judge a book by its cover, honey.”

I laughed. I didn't know why I was doing that but it just came out. I should be hating this girl but here I was feeling like I needed to have a conversation with her every now and then. Maybe I like getting on her nerves. It gives me joy to see how pissed off she can really be. And my agenda is to push her to the edge and soil her pride but so far so good, I haven't gotten near damaging her ego. She was quick to respond, her mouth was sharp like a typewriter as she gave me word for word. It was supposed to be annoying, yeah? But I find it so cute. No woman had ever dared to challenge me or even stood up to me but, Jasmine, this woman's father made me get married to, was something else. She was the definition of a hot-classy-crazy-b****h. She was my prayer and I was her sin. She was a thorn in my flesh and I delighted in her taking it out on me.

I turned my gaze back to her, her long beautiful legs moved back and forth as she scrolled through her phone. Then suddenly, she laughed. It wasn't a small laugh, it was a loud one. You know the kind that said she just read something too good to keep inside. And she didn't care if I was here or maybe she didn't realize I was still here. She laughed like the whole world was funny. Her laughter was intoxicating and mesmerizing. 

I stopped near the fridge and looked at her. She kept laughing. And I smiled.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, craning my necks to watch her.

She heard me but didn’t answer.

She kept laughing. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and kept scrolling.

I walked closer. “Seriously, what’s funny?”

She laughed again, and this time even louder. Was she doing this intentionally to throttle me? Was she getting on my nerves? Yes!, she was. 

I moved fast without thinking, reached out and snatched her phone from her hand.

“Hey!” she shouted, jumping off the counter. “What the hell?”

I turned the screen to face me. There were pictures of us at the gala. And there were headlines everywhere. My eyes took in words like “Perfect Couple,” “Blake and Jasmine’s Hot Chemistry,” “Real Love on the Red Carpet.” “Loving this marriage." 

And damn, there were thousands of comments, millions of likes on some posts and hundreds of thousands of shares. People eating it up like candy.

I raised an eyebrow, and masked my features . I gave him this father-reprimanding look. “This? This is what you’re laughing at?”

She grabbed the phone from me, fast. “Don’t you ever do that again.” She jabbed her finger at me and turned around, perched carefully on her seat and grabbed her coffee.

“Why were you laughing like a maniac?” I couldn't help but question. I shifted closer to her and rested my elbows on the table as I watched her.

She snorted and leaned on the counter, so we were inches away. “Seriously, you don't have the slightest idea why I might be laughing at the post?" 

“No! Indulge me, little monster." 

“Don't call me little monster." She hissed, rolling her eyes at me 

“You know one day, your eyes are going to fall off your socket. That's if you keep on rolling it at me." I grinned.

She rolled her eyes again and smirked a challenge at me. “Because everyone out there thinks we’re so in love.” she answered, staring at her phone.

I stared at her. “And?”

She smirked. “And if only they knew the truth.”

I tilted my head. “What truth?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “That I hate you.”

I blinked back, stunned at her response. She never ceases to amaze me. Always showing me different sides of her. “Even with my cute face? These lips? These arms?” I flexed one, just a little. “And the abs? Come on. Be honest.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d fall out. “You’re ravishing,” she said, her eyes glinting at the words, she even locked her lips. “Absolutely stunning. But I’d sooner cut off my eyes and tongue before I take any pleasure in you.”

I smiled, tauntingly. “Is that a dare?”

She shook her head, and waved a hand at me. “No. That’s a promise, honey.”

She grabbed her coffee again and turned around like she was done with the conversation.

“I’m going to bed,” she said. “I have real work tomorrow. Office and deadlines.”

I moved toward her and grabbed her wrist before she could walk away. “Wait. You’re going to work tomorrow?”

She looked at me like I was slow. “Yes. That’s what people with jobs do. And I do have a company to look after, so yes, I am going to work.”

“You didn’t check the schedule?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

She frowned. “What schedule?”

“I added PR events for tomorrow,” I said. “And two interviews. And the brand shoot. It’s all on the calendar.”

She pulled her hand away from me. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t just run off to work now,” I frowned slightly . “The press is still watching. You need to stay on track. We need to stay on track.”

She stared at me like she wanted to throw something.

“You don’t get to schedule my life like I’m your property,” she snapped, pointing her fingers at me. I was tempted to snap one in my mouth and watch her reaction. But she was mad right now, so I was going to put my life on the line.

I didn’t flinch. “You signed the contract, Princess. I own your time.”

She stepped closer, her voice sharper now. “You don’t own me. Don't you for once think in that direction.”

I stepped closer too. “I own the image. And you agreed to it. Don't forget what comes with this price? Your precious little company which ran into debt is going to be cleared from this?”

“Image!” she shouted. “That’s all this is to you. A fake show. A camera game. And don't you dare being my company knot our conversation. I wasn't the one who ran into debts and had to force myself into this marriage.”

“You agreed!” I shouted back. “You wanted this! You made the deal!”

“I made the deal for survival,” she said. “Not to be your puppet.”

“You’re acting like a spoiled brat again,” I said, shaking my head.

“And you’re acting like a king with no crown,” she snapped.

We stood close. The air between us was heavy. Then she stormed off toward the hallway. I followed her.

She turned around before I could speak again and slammed a paper on the hallway counter.

“Here,” she said. “Rules. Real ones. Roommate rules. Learn them. Follow them. Stick to them.”

I picked up the paper. Read the first few lines. Curfew. No entry after midnight. No touching. No name-calling. No crossing bedroom lines. No sleeping into bed lines and so much rubbish.

I laughed and ripped the paper straight down the middle.

She gasped. “You…!”

“We’re not roommates,” I said. “We’re husband and wife. We're fire and gasoline. Let’s not pretend this isn’t exactly what you want.”

She shoved me, hard but I didn’t stumble. I grabbed her wrists and held them. Her breath hitched. Mine did too.

Our eyes locked. Her mouth parted but she didn’t pull away.

“You don’t get to touch me,” she whispered.

I leaned closer. My face near hers, and our lips inches apart.

“Then stop looking at me like you want it,” I whispered.