Page 88 of The Wrong Husband

"Don't call me dude."

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm your husband, not a dude."

"You call me baby."

"That's an endearment."

"So is dude."

"You only say it when you're pissed and…." We bickered all the way home. It was awesome.

Epilogue

Damian

"Ithought we were meeting Becky Plude to talk about acquiring her gallery." I looked around the bar at the Bellagio and saw no sign of the owner of the chic Las Vegas gallery we wanted to acquire.

Duncan shrugged. "She's on her way."

"I thought we were late. She's later," I complained. I was the big kahuna in this equation, not fucking Becky Plude with her tiny ass gallery.

"Just order a fucking drink and stop being ornery," Duncan growled and checked his phone.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" I asked as I waved to the bartender.

"Your wife is driving me up the wall?"

The bartender came to me. "A Glenlivet."

"Make that two," Duncan snapped.

"What did Em do?" I asked. We’d now been married for almost a year and a half. Life had never been more frustrating or better. I loved my wife. Absolutely. I also wanted to wring her neck every time she questioned how I spent our money on us.

If I had to hear the question, 'how much did that cost?' one more time, I was likely to put a hole in the wall of the loft, which was made of solid concrete. That was the level of my frustration.

Ah, I kid. I loved arguing with Em. I loved the fights. I loved the makeup sex. I loved her.

"Your wife’s a pain in my ass," Duncan grumbled.

I had barely taken a sip of my drink when Duncan's phone buzzed again, and he sighed. "She's here."

I looked around. "Where?"

"Upstairs in a suite. She'll see you there."

"Me? I thought we were both going to this meeting."

"Just fucking go, alright."

"She's late and I'm not running to her like a little bitch, so I'm going to finish my—"

"There's no meeting. Your wife is in the suite you first fucked in waiting to surprise you. So, go already before she sends me the forty eighth text in one fucking day.”

I heard what he said and let it digest. "Emilia actually paid for a suite at the Bellagio?" My wife was stingy when it came to luxuries.

"No, she made me pay, said I owed her. How the fuck long am I going to be owing her for not telling her that you lied to her about why you married her?"