#gracinald

Reg stopped in his tracks, only barely managing not to drop the wine glass he was holding out in Grace’s direction. Slowly, he retracted his arm, his eyes just a bit too wide to be normal. “So...you won’t be wanting this then.” With a trembling hand, Reg placed the glass onto the counter, and turned back to Grace. He breathed in, quick but deep. “I. Uh. Are you - ? We used prot -...um.” He racked his brain, trying in vain to come up with what he thought his wife might want to hear. Grace could be volatile, and Reginald definitely did not want to piss her off right now. Finally, he settled on an answer. “And how do you feel about that?”

“No, actually, we’re not sure. She was married before my father...” Reginald shrugged a shoulder and slid a hand to Grace’s lower back as they walked away from his parents; they were at their third charity event of the month and he was as tired of them as Grace was. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you could give her a run for her money if she tried to kill you.”

Reginald rolled over, facing her, his arm propped to shield his eyes from the first of the morning's rays. "You should stay." He replied, a bit nervously, grateful for the sun blocking direct eye contact. He'd been raised to have perfect poise in all situations, so why did this woman have the power to shake him? She was his fake wife, for godsake. But she hadn't felt fake last night...he warmed with the memory of it, and his hand twitched, as if wanting to touch her again. "It's your bed, too, after all." Finally, he smiled, a wicked smile - one she'd taught him.

[text] Hey. So. I know we still don’t really even know each other but, thank you for last night. I couldn’t have gotten through dinner with my parents alone.