All Chapters of My Nemesis Became My Husband : Chapter 71 - Chapter 77

NEVEAH By five o'clock, I had answered emails, reviewed two reports, approved a proposal, survived a meeting that should have been an email, and ignored Sebastian's messages for almost forty minutes. He celebrated my silence by sending a photograph of himself sitting in his car, one hand on the steering wheel, his shirt collar open and his expression entirely too pleased with himself. Sebastian: Your handsome husband is waiting. I stared at my phone. Me: The husband needs a hobby. Sebastian: I have one. Me: Unfortunately, I know. It's annoying me. Sebastian: I thought my hobby was making you smile. I pressed my lips together. Me: Find a new one. Sebastian: Why? I'm rather good at this one. I put my phone down, then picked it up again. Me: Are you actually outside? Sebastian: Yes, sweetheart. Me: How long have you been waiting? Sebastian: Long enough to wonder if you're keeping me here because you enjoy the thought of me waiting for you. I rolled my eyes. Me: You are

NEVEAH I knew something was wrong the moment Sebastian asked me what I was doing on Friday evening. Not because the question was unusual. My husband had developed an irritating interest in my schedule, my meals, my sleep, and practically every other detail of my existence. What made it suspicious was the way he asked. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and watching me spread butter on my toast. Casually. Far too casually. "Are you busy on Friday evening?" I looked up. "Why?" "Can I not ask about my wife's availability?" "You can. I can also ask why you're asking." He smiled. "Fair enough." I waited. He took another sip of coffee. I narrowed my eyes. "Sebastian." "Neveah." "If you're planning something ridiculous, I'd appreciate a warning." "That depends on your definition of ridiculous." "Anything that involves you looking at me like that." He placed his cup on the counter. "I'd like to take you on a date." My hand stopped halfway to my

NEVEAH The problem with having a husband who was falling in love with me was that he had become annoyingly difficult to dislike. Not that I had ever particularly enjoyed disliking Sebastian Blackwood. It was simply a habit we had developed over the years, like breathing or arguing over who had the better grades. Disliking him had been convenient. It had given me something to do whenever he smiled that infuriating smile or made a comment that deserved to be met with a well-aimed insult. Now, however, he was making everything unnecessarily complicated. He remembered how I liked my coffee. He asked about my day and actually listened to the answer. He bought me things without making a performance of it, and he had somehow developed the habit of looking at me as though I were the most interesting person in whatever room we happened to occupy. It was exhausting. Worse, I was beginning to enjoy it. On Monday morning, I found him in the kitchen, dressed for work and reading something