We’d been married for less than forty-eight hours.
How much would they possibly charge to sign a few papers?
It wasn’t like I was going to sue him for spousal support, or anything.
Now, that would be ridiculous.
We just needed to file the papers, and get the show on the road.
“Oh, and I still owe you for half the wedding costs, too.” I pulled out my phone and tapped into my banking App. “How much was it? I can send it to you now.”
Trey took a few moments to answer as he stared at me with a weird expression on his face.
“You can’t remember, either?” I asked, then started searching for the wedding chapel we’d gone to. “They might have their prices online.”
Suddenly, my phone was snatched out of my hands.
“Hey, what the heck?” I asked, trying to grab it away from him.
He glared down at me. “You really know how to kill the romance, don’t you?”
Romance?
What in the world was he talking about?
“Trey, I pay my own way. Can you add your email address to my contacts, please? I promise I’ll only use it to send you money,” I said in between jumping up and down for my phone.
Trey held it up high out of my reach.
“Yeah,” he said, then turned to walk away, “I’ll get right on that.”
I followed behind him, wondering why his mood had changed from playful to icy.
“What are you doing? Give me back my phone,” I said, body checking him slightly to get his attention. He didn’t even look at me.
Once we got to the black, iron gates, he finally stopped, and spun around to me.
“Did we not have a great fucking weekend?” he angry whispered to me—with an even angrier expression on his face.
Wow.
I had not one clue why he was so ticked off.
“We did,” I said, and leaned toward him. “What does that have to do with me owing you money?”
His mad face slid off and was replaced by his blank face. “I don’t want your fucking money, Lexi.”
I stood up straight, fists on my hips. “I don’t care if you want it or not,” I leaned in, and said, “Trey. It’s what I have to do.”
His eyes narrowed on me. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
For real, we sounded like a couple of kindergartners out here, arguing about what couldn’t be more than a few hundred dollars, or so.
“Give me your email address,” I insisted, then tried again to swipe my phone out of his hand.
He was just too tall.