Gia's POV
I yawned for the thousandth time this morning. My arms were crossed tightly over my chest as I glared hard at my infuriating husband beside me. He had that stupid satisfied look in his eyes—the one he wears when he wins. And right now? He had won.
He actually managed to drag me out of bed. Not metaphorically. Literally. I was minding my sleepy business, wrapped in the warm comfort of our duvet, and this man—this menace—scooped me up like a sack of potatoes, dressed me while I grumbled (and maybe kicked once or twice), and carried me to the car.
"I hate you," I snapped at him for the fifth time this ride.
"I love you too," he replied, flashing that annoyingly charming grin that made my insides twist even though I was committed to staying mad. He was impossible. Curse his stupid face.
