Familiar Strangers

Sleeping Arrangements

Pretending not to notice them—because acknowledging them would require effort—Antonio headed straight upstairs.

Grandpa called after him, “Freshen up and come down for dinner, quickly!”

Marissa helped Grandpa toward the dining table, rolling her eyes behind Antonio’s back.

When he finally joined them, she and Grandpa picked up their conversation right where they left off. They were laughing, trading stories, enjoying themselves like they’d known each other forever.

Antonio, meanwhile, poked at his food like it had personally offended him.

Ten minutes in, he gave up entirely, grabbed an apple, stood, and muttered, “Goodnight, Grandfather,” before disappearing upstairs again.

After dinner, Marissa took Grandpa for a slow stroll around the property. When they returned, Grandpa escorted her to Antonio’s door, only turning away once she stepped inside.

Antonio, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, looked up sharply.

“What are you doing here?”

Marissa shut the door behind her. “Relax. I don’t exactly want to be here either. If you’ve got a complaint, grandpa’s right outside. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to entertain it.”

She made her way toward the bed, ready to climb in—until she caught him staring like she’d just violated some ancient law.

“I already freshened up before dinner,” she said, deadpan. “Goodnight.”

“We’re sleeping on the same bed?” Antonio asked, tone flat but edged.

“Oh, that’s your problem.” She shrugged. “Yes. We’re married. The bed is big enough for three people. You’re not into me, I’m not into you, and nobody’s crossing any lines. Simple.”

He still looked like she’d suggested something outrageous, so she added:

“If you’ve got an issue with it, the couch is right there. Enjoy.”

With that, she lifted the duvet, laid down, and got comfortable—completely unfazed by the thundercloud sitting on the other side of the mattress.

With that, he grabbed his book and a pillow, switched off the side lamps, and marched to the couch like a martyr. But comfort? Yeah, no. The guy had slept on luxury his whole life—trying to crash on a couch felt like punishment. He twisted, turned, flipped, rotated… then finally gave up.

He stood beside the bed, eyeing it like he was calculating distances, boundaries, and potential land-invasion from the woman sleeping on the other side. After a long mental debate, he slipped onto the bed.

For a minute, it seemed the night might behave. Both of them stayed in their lanes—until one person didn’t. Marissa.

Antonio jolted awake to a full-body assault—something heavy dropping on his chest, a hand clamping around his neck, and a leg trapping his thigh. With zero hesitation, he yeeted the rogue limbs back to their owner. She stirred, almost waking, but slipped right back into dreamland like nothing happened.

He tried to sleep again. Bad idea.

Minutes later, the attack repeated itself. This time he was done. Sleep? Cancelled. He got up, grabbed his book and phone, checked the time—barely past 1 a.m.

He left the room in defeat.

Yeah… that was all the sleep Antonio Johnson was getting tonight.

Completely unaware that she’d nearly murdered someone in her sleep, Marissa woke up glowing. She floated downstairs and found the two men having breakfast.

“Morning, Grandpa,” she chirped, sliding into the seat right beside Antonio.

“How was your night?” Grandpa asked, voice dripping with mischief, the smirk on his face basically screaming I know something you don’t.

“It was good. I feel so refreshed,” she said cheerfully.

Antonio’s eye twitched. Hard.

“Of course you do,” Grandpa replied, way too delighted, clearly hiding nothing at all.

Marissa opened her mouth to ask why he sounded like that when Marcel—Antonio’s ever-timely P.A.—walked in. He greeted everyone, and Antonio took that as his escape route. He opened his mouth, muttered a quick goodbye to his grandfather, and bolted off to work.

After Antonio left, Marissa took a few more bites of breakfast, then slipped out too.

Later, at a quiet restaurant, she sat sipping juice, clearly waiting for someone. A tall, soft featured handsome guy walked in and headed straight for her.

“Hello, sunshine,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheeks like he owned the place.

“You’re late,” she shot back.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, sliding an iPad in front of her. “These are the updates from yesterday. And here...” he tapped a document, “the contract signed by Mr. Tumble. This puts us way ahead of the game. But forget that… how was your wedding?” he added with a teasing grin.

Marissa didn’t even look up. “Well… let’s just say I already regret it. But whatever,” she muttered, scrolling through the iPad.

When she finished skimming the last page on the iPad, Marissa looked up.

“Well, Jackson, we’ve got a lot to do. Let’s get moving.”

They both stood and walked out.

By the end of the day, Marissa was driving toward her condo, exhausted but satisfied—until her phone rang.

“Hello…”

“Where are you, Marissa?” Grandpa’s voice came through.

“I’m driving home now, Grand. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, nothing serious. I just wanted to know if Antonio’s place is comfortable for you, or if you’d prefer we check out another place together tomorrow. You know Antonio wouldn’t care either way.”

What?!

Marissa froze for a second, listening in disbelief. She had completely forgotten about her new status as a married woman and how she is supposed to be living with her husband.

“You know what, Grandpa? I’ll call you when I get there. Bye.”

She hung up before he could say another word.

Immediately, she dialed Antonio’s number—saved under “Mr. Jerk.”

She called once.

Twice.

Five times.

No answer.

Her patience snapped.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she hissed, slamming her hand on the steering wheel. Then she hit another contact.

“Jackson,” she said through clenched teeth, “find out where that jerk Antonio lives. ASAP.”