Chapter Twenty
My stomach clenches beneath the new tattoo. “We got married.”
Art rubs absently at his chest, smearing a thousand calories worth of dessert in the process. “It seems like we followed the plan.”
“Sure.” I imbue the word with enough sarcasm to make an army of teenage girls jealous. “Everything went according to plan.”
He throws a glance at my naked belly and the message written there. “Fair. But marriage, at least, was part of the plan.”
“We never agreed to consummate it!” My Spartan yelling is back, and it amps up my headache a few notches.
Art grabs his head in his palms in the style of “The Scream” painting. “Maybe we didn’t?”
I hurriedly run my gaze over the room. “There!” I point at a nightstand where a used condom is lying inside an empty dessert bowl. “I bet that
