She began to pace, not unlike a caged animal. “This is wrong. You can’t just get a passport for me without my permission. I’m not a child.”

"Look, you don’t have to be such a pain about it. It's a f*cking honeymoon, okay? We'll spend a few days in Miami, do some shopping, wolf down some Cuban sandwiches and Key lime pie, suffer mild sunburn and get our asses back to Boston before you know it. Now pack."

She stopped her stalking, her feet rooted to the ground as she waved her clenched fist at me. "You plan to drag me on a plane without prior notice like I’m a Chihuahua you can fit into a handbag and you expect me to just pack? What if I have plans for the week?"

"Postpone them." I was losing my patience. The Paddy Rowan business was so much more important than girl-time with her friends.

"And what if I don't want to?" She crossed her arms over her chest, jutting one hip forward, challenging.

"Christ." I closed my eyes, trying to control the impending arrival of another twitch.

Was this what marriage felt like? I was starting to seriously consider giving up the assets and money my father had left me. Any other woman would probably jump up and down with joy to hear I was taking her on a honeymoon, housing her in a luxury suite and shoving a credit card in her hand. Sparrow? She acted like I was going to kidnap her and deliver her straight into the arms of ISIS. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they, too, found themselves struggling to contain the wrath of this girl.

Red walked to the corner where Cat and I f*cked, and my stomach knotted. She stared at the exact spot where Cat banged her head against the wall. There was a trail of makeup right underneath my Yoskay Yamamoto painting. My heart picked up speed. Why did I care? This marriage meant nothing to me. I shouldn't give a damn if she found out.

She blinked slowly, turning her gaze back to me, and serenely asked, "Was this really necessary?"

She knew.

I hitched one shoulder up.

Red chuckled bitterly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, like she was gathering strength for her next sentence. Despite everything, she didn’t lose her shit. It made me eerily proud of her. When she’d stood before me and repeated her vows, I’d imagined the girl I married would break in no time. Little did I know that Sparrow possessed the same quality I had when it came to people: For the most part? She didn’t. Fucking. Care.

I changed my mind. Cat was wrong. She was not a kid—she was a woman who refused to turn a blind eye when it came to her husband’s infidelities. She was more of a woman than my mom and Cat, combined.

"If you can afford a Maserati and a penthouse the size of a medium-sized island, you can also afford a nice hotel room downtown. This…” She pointed at the wall - was she able to detect Cat’s sweet, unbearable fragrance? - “Is the last time it happens under the roof where I live. God, I can’t believe I messed around with you. I feel so filthy."

There wasn't anger in her voice. I was so used to crazy-ass women tailing me around, begging for what Sparrow had carelessly rejected, I was almost disappointed with her reaction.

But I just leaned toward her, my posture relaxed. "If I tried to take you right now on the floor, you would do it all over again. You can run. Run all the way across the country, but you can’t run away from your mind. And Sparrow, my little birdie…” I flashed her a confident smile. “I’m deep in your head, and you know it. Now, pack."

She tipped her chin up, marching straight to the walk-in closet, and disappeared between the vast, dark-oak shelves.

“You need a suitcase?” I got up from the bed.

“I’ll find one myself,” she snapped from the depths. “Meet you downstairs.”

Hesitating only for a moment, I turned around and headed for the living room. Fuck it, I wasn’t a gentleman, and if she wanted to handle a heavy suitcase, I really wasn’t going to argue with her.

It wasn't until I walked into the kitchen and saw Connor's head under the running tap as he gasped for air, crying like a goddamned baby, that I realized that I’d just had my ass handed to me on a plate by a twenty-two-year-old virgin.

She didn’t even give me a side of ketchup.

Just sent me to the f*cking naughty spot.

I narrowed my eyes on the sturdy man in front of me, furious that he was being more of a * than my underweight, five foot three wife.

"Connor, you're fired. Take your shit and leave. I'll send you your last check when I get back from Miami."

His mouth fell open, water dripping from his hair in fat drops straight to his mouth. His imploring eyes fell to the floor, and he pushed himself slowly, depressingly, to a stand-up position.

"But what about your wife? Who's gonna watch over her?"

"She doesn't need watching over." I snorted, opening my front door and prompting him to get the hell out of my place. "Just look at the state of her and look at the state of you."

SPARROW

HE CHEATED ON me in our room.

In my room.

This was crossing the line. Hell, it was sprinting right past it, crossing a dozen more lines I never knew even existed. Yeah, we weren’t a real couple, but this had nothing to do with love. It was about respect.

Obviously, Troy had none for me.

After a silent cab ride, in which I stared out the window and moved my jaw from side to side while he made some cryptic business phone calls, we made it to the airport. We checked in, light-jogged our way to the terminal, two strangers with a mutual destination but very different paths, and waited for the flight wordlessly, both of us engrossed in our cell phones.