Hitched & Hitched Again: A Comedy of Marital Mayhem

Chapter 128

“My name’s Tarin, and that fella is Tarquin. We have no more relationships.” © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Elysia just blinked.

Tarquin fished out an old–fashioned key and unlocked the front door, pausing before stepping inside. to issue a reminder, “Look, I brought you here to cheer him up, not to wind him up. If he throws a tantrum, just ride it out, will you? And don’t go poking around about his mother. It’s a sore spot.”

Why, oh why, should she take flak from this guy? Why couldn’t she give as good as she got?

But what could she do? She was outmatched, and her kids were only five. She had to cope.

somehow.

Elysia psyched herself up and pushed down the irritation to ask, “So what’s the deal with his mother? Why did she take off? You two weren’t getting along?”

Tarquin’s frown was immediate and telling. “Don’t ask what you shouldn’t. That’s off–limits!”

Elysia was taken aback.

Wasn’t it standard procedure to get the lay of the land before attempting to treat a patient?

“I just…”

“Get in here!” Tarquin cut her off.

Elysia entered, speechless with frustration. She was starting to realize that having a normal conversation with this man was like talking to a brick wall.

Once inside, she took a quick inventory of the place.

It was a cozy, not–too–shabby three–bedroom with a living room, kitchen, and bathroom–looked to be around 120 square meters.

The decor was rustic charm all the way: hardwood floors, matching cabinets, a dining set, and even a coffee table that all screamed vintage.

The only modern touch was the large flat–screen TV on the wall.

place was spotless and homely, with the wooden furniture complemented by white lace curtains and a couple of tall, leafy houseplants making the room feel warm and inviting.

She never would have pegged Tarin, Mr. Cold–Shoulder himself, for a guy who’d spruce up his home like this. She’d thought his world was all shades of gray, never the warm hues of wood.

Tarquin had already slipped into his house shoes and was heading toward a guest room. He opened the door just a crack and peered inside.

Elysia guessed he was checking on his son and bent down to switch her shoes too. There was a new pair of lady’s slippers on the rack, obviously set out for her. She slipped into them without a word.

But as she was about to follow, Tarquin closed the door to the room.

Elysia’s curiosity was piqued. “Where’s Elijah?” she asked.

“Still asleep.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet?”

“Mm–hmm.”

“Then why the heck did you drag me here at the crack of dawn?”

She had assumed Elijah was awake, and that’s why Tarquin had driven to pick her up. But if the kid was still asleep, what was she doing there? Staring contest with the man?

“There’s food in the fridge. Make breakfast,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, then closed the door behind him.

Elysia didn’t know if it was her imagination, but she thought she heard the click of his lock inside his

room.

She was stunned.

No ‘please‘ or ‘thank you“? Just a command to whip up breakfast, like she owed him?

Well, she did owe him–fifty million.

With the money in mind, Elysia bit back her indignation and stormed into the kitchen.

When in Rome, right? She opened the fridge and surveyed its contents. It was impeccably organized, and the ingredients were fresh and plentiful.

What to make?

Elysia pondered briefly before knocking on Tarquin’s door. She wanted to cater to Elijah’s tastes. She might despise the man, but the kid was innocent.

After a single knock, no response came.

She knocked again, but still nothing.

Elysia rapped on the door a few more times more assertively, “Hey, open up. We need to talk.”

The next second. Tarquin opened the door, now dressed in pajamas instead of his suit and shirt.