Mr and Mrs Nemesis✔️

Bonus Chapter #4

Just for those that have read the other books in this series of spin offs. This chapter is post In Drunken Matrimony, but pre Love At First Text. I won't spoil for those that are yet to read the spin offs.

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Charlotte

There's something hilarious I need to admit, except you might need context first, so bare with me. It started around six months ago, with me on my knees and tears in my eyes.

Elijah is the love of my life.

Elijah is the love of my life.

Elijah

Is the love

Of my life.

I repeat that sentence over and over in my head as I unload the washing, clutching the sopping wet fabric of my new - ruined - dress in my hands. The love of my life. Accidents happen. He isn't a stupid fucking imbecile that doesn't know how to separate colours. Sometimes things sneak by. Obviously, so did the dress that I explicitly told him to not wash with the colours at least nine times.

Elijah is the love of my life.

It isn't working. Not even a little bit. My hands start to sting as my nails dig into my palms.

Life imprisonment would ruin me.

Life imprisonment world ruin me.

I can't get locked away for murder. Oli would never let me hear the end of it.

"Hendrix! Can you come in here for a second?" I cry out through gritted teeth.

Now, I know you might think I'm being dramatic, and that's because maybe I am a little bit. It is only a dress, quite clearly not the end of the world, but the problem here is more the principle. I do the washing every time. I separate the colours from the whites and darks. I hang the delicates on the clothes horse, and tumble dry the durable items. I iron the shirts and pants. I hang them back up in the wardrobe or fold them for the drawers. I ask Elijah to help me out this one time so I can go have lunch with my sister, and I come back to this. I'm sick to fucking death of being the only one who gets shit done right around here. When I fell in love with my enemy, I told myself it'd be worth it. He's testing his luck right now.

"You surnamed me. What have I done?" He sighs as he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

I lay my dress on the centre island and fold my hands together, pressing them against my lips. There if I need something to bite in while I try to manage my anger.

"Can you tell me what we're both looking at?" He looks at me as though I'm stupid. I force a smile. "Humour me."

"It's your dress." He states. My nod is terse.

"Describe it. Tell me what it looks like."

He rolls his eyes and slouches against the door arch, folding his arms. I hate that he does that. He's been going to the gym recently and it's really swollen his biceps to the point his veins bulge. It's so hot, and I'm not in a position where I can afford to become distracted now. I'm mad.

"Well, it's a very pretty dress." He begins, and my nostrils flare and the condescension in his tone. "It's white,"

"Is it?" I snap.

At this point, Elijah starts to lose his patience. "Yes Osborne, it's white. You wanna know why I know it's white? Because when you wore it the other night, I had to tuck a napkin down your neckline because you eat like a slob." One, two, three, four... "And it's also wet, because like you asked, I did the clothes washing and - oh."