CHAPTER 62: FRUSTRATED HUSBAND

AIDEN’S POV

Did I say something about Alexia changing? About her becoming a mature, responsible, maybe even a perfect wife?

Yeah. I take it back.

I take it all back.

Because here I was, back to square one—waking the fucking woman up.

And hell, was she bugging.

"Mmm... five more minutes," she mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head like a stubborn child.

I clenched my jaw. Five more minutes? Did she think this was a democracy?

"You were in bed before me last night," I reminded her, trying to keep my voice even. "You should be up already."

She groaned dramatically and curled deeper into the couch. "Sleep is important for beauty, you know," she muttered. "Maybe you should try it instead of walking around looking like an overworked CEO with a stick up his ass."

I breathed in sharply, closing my eyes for a moment.

Patience.

Patience.

But my patience had its limits.

I yanked the blanket off her, exposing her to the cold morning air.

"Hey!" she shrieked, scrambling to grab it back. "What the hell, Aiden?!"

"You have exactly five minutes to be out of that couch and in the bathroom, or so help me, Alexia, I will personally dump you in a bucket of ice water."

She blinked up at me sleepily, then gave me the most obnoxious, lazy smirk. "You wouldn’t dare."

I leaned down until my face was inches from hers, my voice dropping to an icy whisper.

"Try me."

For a moment, we locked eyes—her daring me, me promising her I was not in the mood for games.

Then, finally, she groaned in defeat and rolled off the couch, mumbling something about "slave drivers" and "marrying the devil himself."

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair as I watched her trudge to the bathroom, half-asleep.

This woman was going to be the death of me.

And the day had only just begun.

Yeah, I had plans for today.

Big, time-consuming, patience-testing plans.

I was taking Alexia to a place where they’d fix her up—hair, nails, makeup, dress—everything. She needed a full transformation for the event tonight, and I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

I had already booked her appointments for eight o’clock sharp, but of course, I had told her she needed to be ready by seven.

Why?

Because I knew her.

This woman had the worst track record when it came to getting ready on time. If I told her the truth, we’d be running an hour late with her still running around the villa, looking for a shoe she misplaced under the couch or deciding whether she "felt like" wearing heels today.

Not happening.

Once I heard the water running, I knew she was finally in the shower—progress.

With that handled, I headed downstairs to where William, the butler, was already going about his morning duties.

"Make her breakfast," I ordered.

He gave a small nod, already moving to prepare something.

I didn’t care what he made, as long as it was ready before she came downstairs. The last thing I needed was Alexia screaming in my ear about starving and how cruel I was for dragging her out of bed without food.

Besides, with how busy she was going to be today, I doubted she’d get the chance to eat again until later tonight.

And if there was one thing I’d learned about Alexia in our short time together—it was that hungry Alexia was more dangerous than regular, bratty Alexia.

And I had zero patience to deal with that.

Patience.

Something I had a very limited supply of, and Alexia was rapidly draining every last drop of it.

I checked my watch. 6:45 AM.

I should be in my office by now, handling actual important matters—not standing in my own damn living room waiting for a woman who had zero sense of urgency.

I exhaled sharply, pacing near the grand staircase, resisting the urge to march upstairs, drag her out of the closet, and throw her into the car myself.

How long did it take to get dressed?!

I had personally made sure her breakfast was prepared, so she couldn’t use that as an excuse. But judging by the pace she was going, I was starting to believe she was deliberately moving in slow motion just to piss me off.

Finally, I heard soft footsteps descending the stairs.

I turned, expecting to see her ready to leave.

Nope.

Not even close.

Alexia was barefoot, her hair still damp, and she was tying the belt of her robe as she yawned.

I clenched my jaw. "Tell me you’re joking."

She blinked at me sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Huh?"

"You’re not even dressed!"

"Yeah, well, I just finished showering," she replied, completely unfazed by my growing irritation. "You kind of dragged me out of bed, remember?"

I ran a hand down my face, biting back a string of curses. "Alexia, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" She scoffed, stretching as she made her way past me toward the dining table. "That’s not happening. I still have to pick an outfit, do my hair, eat, and—"

"You can eat in the car."

Her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowed in offense. "What kind of psychopath forces someone to eat in a moving car?"

I let out a sharp exhale. "A busy one."

"Well, I’m not eating my breakfast in a car like a criminal on the run," she retorted, plopping into her seat and grabbing her fork like she had all the time in the world.

I sat across from her, arms crossed, watching as she took her sweet time.

**********

This woman was going to drive me insane.

I was supposed to be at work. WORK. You know, the place where I make the money that keeps this whole ridiculous situation running? But no—I was still here, stuck watching her take her sweet, frustrating, unbearable time getting ready.

First, she took an eternity in the shower. Twenty minutes, at least. What was she doing in there? Trying to discover the meaning of life?

Then, when she finally came downstairs, she took another fifteen minutes just staring at her breakfast.

I watched as she lazily poked at her food, yawning like she’d been forced into manual labor. Unbelievable.

"Alexia," I gritted out, trying not to let my temper snap, "eat."

She gave me a slow, unimpressed look. "I am eating," she said, taking a deliberate, tiny bite of toast.

It took all my self-control not to slam my fist against the table.

"You eat like a bird. Pick up the pace."

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "You’re so bossy. Can’t a woman enjoy her meal in peace?"

"You can enjoy it faster."

She scowled, taking another slow, exaggerated bite just to annoy me.

I clenched my jaw, counting to ten. If I didn’t, I might actually throw her and that damn toast over my shoulder and march out of this house.

This was exactly why I had to personally take her to this damn appointment.

If I left her to go on her own? She’d ditch—just like she ditched class yesterday.

Oh yeah, I didn’t forget about that little stunt.

She’d happily stay curled up on that damn couch all day, napping away like a spoiled cat, if I didn’t physically drag her out of here.

I checked my watch. 6:45 AM.

We were already behind schedule.

"Alexia," I snapped, "you have five minutes to finish your food and get ready, or I’m leaving without you."

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "You wouldn’t."

I raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

She huffed, finally shoveling food into her mouth, glaring at me the entire time.

Good. Progress.

But then, just when I thought things were moving along, she disappeared upstairs to ’get dressed’—and didn’t come back.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After fifteen minutes, I stormed upstairs, slamming the bedroom door open.

She was standing in front of the mirror, just staring at herself.

"Are you serious right now?" I bit out.

She turned to me with an exasperated look. "I don’t know what to wear!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying for patience. "Wear anything. We’re not going to the damn Met Gala. You’ll be changing into an outfit at the appointment anyway!"

"But I need to look presentable!"

"Presentable? You’re literally going to a salon! They don’t care what you look like when you walk in, they care about what you look like when you walk out."

She crossed her arms. "Well, I care."

Kill me.

I stormed over to the closet, grabbed the first half-decent thing I saw, and threw it at her.

"Wear this. We’re leaving in three minutes."

She gasped. "You can’t just choose my clothes like I’m a child!"

I leveled her with a cold stare. "Watch me."

Three minutes later, I was dragging her out of the house—finally.

I don’t get paid enough for this. Heck who am I kidding I am not paid a dime.