Chapter Seven

Blake’s POV

I woke up early. I couldn’t sleep much last night. The couch sucked, that I regretted giving her the chance to make me take it. My back hurts. My neck was stiff. My new wife locked me out of the bedroom like I was a thief in my house. Where the hell does that happen? And the fact that I allowed her to do that to me just to prove I don't care if I slept on the couch, and she slept on the bed was the most foolish thing I have ever done in my life. Why do I need to prove anything to her?

Anyway… Blake is such a great way to start a marriage.

I stretched, rubbed my face, and did some quick body workout to reduce the pain in my neck and back, and walked to the kitchen. Aside from waking up with body pain, I was hungry and ready to devour anything like a lion. I wouldn't even wait for Jasmine to wake up so she could prepare us something. I wouldn't risk her poisoning me. I opened the fridge, grabbed some eggs, and started cooking. Didn’t care about clothes. I didn’t bother with a shirt. Why should I? It was my house. My kitchen. My rules. So if I like, I cook in the kitchen nude, I don't give a fuck.

I stood at the stove, flipping eggs, humming to myself. One of the things I knew would actually not be a problem for me in this marriage was food…thankfully I could cook right from the start. If Jasmine wanted to act like a witch over food and refused to perform her wifely duties…then I won't starve to death.

I stopped for a second and looked over my shoulders, my ears pinned. I grinned widely as I heard the shuffling footsteps. The little monster was awake.

I continued humming like I wasn't concerned about the world. A few seconds later, she walked in, wearing some silky robe and a frown.

She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. I felt her eyes go wide for a second. Just a second. Then she rolled them and walked towards the fridge, she opened it, sucked on her lips for a while before grabbing a bottle of water and a glass.

“Oh, wow,” she said, finally giving me attention. “This is what I wake up to? Shirtless husband pretending he’s in a cooking show?”

I smirked, and didn't turn around yet. “Morning to you too, sweetheart. Or…” I paused, musing to myself. “…. should I call you little monster? Since you locked me out of the bedroom last night and charmed me into sleeping on the couch. Thank you for the back pain I woke up to." I narrowed my gaze at her.

Her eyes swept over my back and scoffed. “You are just overreacting, Blake.” 

“Back to formalities, are we?” I tutted.

She huffed in fake annoyance, and walked in slower now, arms crossed. “If you wanted to walk around showing off your biceps and that ugly six-pack, at least warn people.”

I turned to face her, holding the spatula. “Ugly six-pack? Did you mean, the one you were staring at just now? The one you were taking your time to stare at?”

She blinked and hissed through her teeth. “I was not staring at your ugly pack”

I grinned widely at her, and she rolled her eyes at me. “You sound defensive, little monster.”

She pointed at me. “You sound full of yourself. And don't call me little monster.”

I walked closer, plate in hand. “Little monster…. Jasmine, as long as we are in this, that is what I will be calling you. Unless, of course, you decide to change your attitude towards me.” I shrugged. "That settled, you can just say it. You’re in love with my arms and my abs.” I dragged the last words, making emphasis on it.

She made a fake gag sound. And then she broke into a fucking mocking mimicking me in the most sarcastic and stupid accent I have ever heard. “Please. I’ve seen better muscles on chicken wings.”

I laughed. “That’s a new one.”

She sat at the kitchen table. “If you’re done flexing, we need to talk. And I could make use of the food, that's if I won't choke to death.”

I looked over my shoulder, arching my eyebrow at her. I dished her food and pushed the plate down in front of her. “Talk? Already? Didn’t we just get married yesterday? What's there to talk about?”

“We need house rules,” she said simply.

“House rules?” I raised an eyebrow. “House rules? Here? What? What for? And definitely not me doing stupid things like sleeping on couches.”

“Yes,” she said, ignoring my last words. “We require house rules, you know, to set boundaries. Let's just say, “Terms of co-existence.”

I sat down across from her. “Co-existence. Wow! Sounds like a hostage deal.”

She glared. “You’re not exactly a dream to live with, you know.” she reiterated with a dangerous snarl

I leaned back and pushed plenty of spoonfuls of the eggs in my mouth and swallowed, not caring she was watching me. “Neither are you, little monster.” I said, after a while. 

“Rule one,” she said, ignoring me. “You stay out of my bedroom.”

I leaned forward. “Then stay out of mine.”

“You don’t have one,” she pointed out, frowning. “You chose the couch.”

“I didn't choose the couch. You pushed me to the couch and locked me out of the bedroom so I couldn't get in. You locked me out,” I snapped. “Maybe I’ll move into your walk-in closet. That way, I’m closer to peace.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Touch my clothes, and I’ll bury you under them.”

I grinned. “Relax. I won’t touch your glitter gowns.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Second rule. We only act like a couple in front of the cameras.”

“First rule, I am not sleeping on the couch, and you are not keeping me out of the bedroom this night or else I would bring the whole roof down on our heads and make sure you don't get a wink of a sleep.” 

She stared at me like she had seen a ghost. And I grinned to myself, having eventually scared the hell out of her. "That's a pathetic threat.”

“One that made the little monster speechless for ten seconds.” I flashed her a grin. 

She rolled her eyes at me and grabbed my juice, before I could pounce on her, she gulped the whole content and kicked her lips in a slow sensual motion. 

“Thanks, honey.” She beamed me a smile.

I stared mortified at her but didn't say a word. “So?”, I prompted.

“Fine, you sleep on the bed, but I will be dividing it. You don't cross to my side of the bed." 

“And how about you don't cross to my side of the bed too. Because I know all girls with high anger issues sleep like they aren't concerned about the world. I would rather not see your legs sprawled over my beautiful bicep and your hair all over my face.”

“I don't sleep that way.” She shrieked indignantly, her cheeks coloring into a red blush sort of embarrassment.

I got her!!! Ten points to me.

I nodded. “Fine. We act like couples, just for public displays only. Outside this house, we’re perfect. In here, we don’t even have to look at each other.”

“Good,” she agreed immediately 

“Perfect,” I pressed.

She stood. “I’m serious, Blake. No funny business.”

I stood too. “Same to you. Don’t start leaving your makeup junk in the bathroom sink.”

She pointed at me. “You’re impossible. You know I am going to do that because I am a woman. Get that into your fucking head. Or just save yourself this stress and sleep in the other bedroom or the guest suite.”

I pointed back. “You’re dramatic for a woman. And I am not leaving my bedroom to you. If you can't contain me, then make use of another bedroom.”

She stepped closer. “I’m trying to be civil, and you are making this difficult for me.”

I stepped closer, too so that it was just a little inch left. “You have a funny way of showing it. You are acting like a spoiled brat.”

“You called me a spoiled brat!” she shouted.

“Because you are one!” I shouted back.

Her mouth opened like she couldn’t believe it. “Take that back.”

“No,” I hissed, folding my hands, causing my bicep to bulge.

Her hands clenched into fists as if she was going to punch me, but then let it fall. “Take. It. Back.”

“Not happening.” I smirked, enjoying her face reddened and destroying her little pride. 

“You think I’m spoiled?” she asked, unbelievable. “Really?”

“You stomp around like a queen, demand everything your way, cry when you don’t get it—”

“I do not cry!” she snapped furiously.

She was losing things.

“Right. Now I am waiting for you to just break things.”

“You don’t know me,” she hissed.

“I know enough.”

“Take it back, Blake,” she said again, stepping closer.

I didn’t move. “Make me.”

She moved fast, her hand pushing my chest. I grabbed her wrist, not hard, just enough to stop her. We struggled. Her other hand hit my shoulder. I caught it too. Now I had both her wrists.

“Let go,” she growled low in her throat.

“Calm down,” I mused, staring at her lips.

“No!”

She pushed again. I pulled and her back hit the wall. She screamed. Her wrists were in my hands. Her chest rising. Her eyes wide. Her lips parted.

I stared down at her, my eyes raking all over her features to check if she was not injured. There were a few inches between us. I could feel her breath.

“You want to play hard?” I said,my voice low. “I’ll play harder.”

She glared. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mr. King.”

I leaned closer, smiled slowly. “Challenge accepted.”