— What are you doing here? — I exclaim and pull the blanket back over myself that he managed to toss aside.
— How do you mean? — he asks, settling on my bed. — Clause seventy-nine of our contract. Remember?
Oh, sure—how could I forget? It’s a hundred-page contract! I didn’t have time to read that much!
— I’ll help you, — he says in a slow, insinuating voice, and I already hope there’s at least something good in it… but then… — The wife must take care that her husband is in an excellent mood. I can feel I’m one step away from ruining my mood. You could say I’m barely holding on!
— I dare remind you: you and I have a fictitious marriage! No intimacy. Otherwise, you’ll have to pay a fine.
— Really? — He pauses for a moment, then leans over me and exhales into my lips: — I don’t care. I’ll pay!