ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜰᴏᴜʀ

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     𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜

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𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜

"I don't want to go to work," I groan as I stretch myself awake. Well, technically that stupid husband of mine woke me up because I'm "too late".

"You've been staying home for the past month, Sierra," he reminds me, pulling the blanket away from my body. Is it reasonable to kill my husband simply for being there right now?

Not that I don't want Atlas around. He's good to me, too good sometimes. He really tries his best to be everything one would want in a husband.

That doesn't mean I appreciate him disrupting my beautiful sleep. The one I barely ever get anymore. Lying in bed is uncomfortable. But so is lying anywhere else.

"What time is it?" I ask, opening one eye only.

"Eight thirty in the morning. I'm more than late for work," he tells me, looking at me as though he's about to lose his patience.

"You could've left, you know."

Atlas shakes his head, grasping my wrists as he sits me up. One of his hands comes up to my chin, lifting my head to his. He presses his lips to mine in a sweet and gentle good morning kiss, one he's giving me every morning since we've gotten married.

"I'm not leaving without my wife," he says against my lips, right before he kisses me again. "Get dressed." Atlas pulls me to my feet, lifting me up like I still weigh nothing at all.

"I don't think anything fits me anymore," I let him know, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "I might have to go shopping instead of going to work."

I've gotten lazy, so sue me. My body is changing. Everything feels sore and I barely manage to get a good sleep. Well, I do eventually...but not when Atlas keeps waking me up at 8:30 in the morning.

"I'll take you on a shopping spree on the weekend then. But, sweetheart, I know you still got some clothes that fit you very well. It's a nice try though."

I roll my eyes. "I recently bought them," I admit. "Oh, that reminds me...I still have your credit card. I might never give it back though."

Atlas shrugs like he doesn't even mind it at all. "Spend as much as you please." He picks me up from the floor, my legs wrapping around his hips instantly.

"You won't mind when I completely empty out your bank account?" I ask as he carries me downstairs, here and there connecting his lips with mine.

"You can try," he says, sitting me down on one of the barstools in the kitchen. "I doubt it's possible to spend it all. But if you do manage to do that, let me know. I'll throw a whole party for you."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Using who's money?"

"Yours," he answers, making his way over to the fridge. "Sierra, I make like a hundred thousand dollars every half hour. That doesn't include what goes into the company's account. You spending some money really won't hurt me."

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