Chapter Twenty-Four
“Movers?” I wait for the punchline of the joke, even if I can’t imagine what it could be.
Art nods. “Don’t you want your stuff at our place?”
“Our place?” I’m not sure if it’s the ungodly hour, but my brain refuses to compute the words coming out of my dear husband’s mouth.
Art sighs. “Married people live together. Right?”
Oh, skunk. That is right. The government people will surely get suspicious if we don’t reside at the same address. So will everyone else.
How have I managed not to realize this basic implication of our fake marriage? I wonder what else I haven’t anticipated?
Ideas flood my brain. Now that we’re official, Art can pull the plug on me if I get into a horrible accident—and he’d own Woofer afterward, along with everything else that’s mine.
I halt t
