It's cold. It's so cold today and the sun is hiding behind the curtains, toes peeking out, mouth set in a line, and hell, no, she won't come out no matter what I offer and instead maybe I should just join her, for all the assumptions yesterday's post brought.
Raise your hand if you were in denial about what you've read and stand up if you really thought I was kidding about having my whole army here in one place and now sit the fuck down if you still think we have the upper hand. You may as well relax, because we do.
Caleb spends fully half his time collecting rent and being a landlord and the other half checking to see if I'm paying attention as he tries to teach me the nuances of being a high roller, a mogul, or any of the other nicknames I call him. A sugar daddy. Because all of this is mine. Why? He owes me so nevermind that part, just know that he can't pull any fast ones and leave us homeless and he can't go and spend the farm and leave Henry without a legacy because the evil idiot went and put all of it in my name and I think I spend all of my spare time now signing things I must read first because I don't trust him when it comes to business and forcing myself not to daydream while he talks about tax credits and immigration laws until I'm so bored I want to fling myself off the cliff just so he'll shut the fuck up.
Ungrateful? You betcha. Walk that mile in my stilettos and you'd run screaming into the dark the last hundred yards or so, guaranteed.
