"What's my name?"
"You look like a Gerald."
I couldn't help but rub the bridge of my nose as I tried my best to mimic a believable frustration. I didn't worry about my act that much— after all, nobody is a worse actor than Luther.
I must admit I quite like this roleplay. As much as he denies the memories with me I get to lie about ridiculous things and he has to act on them— if he wants to keep the terrible lie.
I do wonder what he thinks that he will accomplish with it, but —whatever it is— it brought me unexpected entertainment.
I tilted my head, let my eyes drag up his legs like I was admiring a museum piece — or a particularly temperamental houseplant.
"You look like a Gerald.", he repeated.
He stared at me.
I took a sip of coffee.
He continued to stare.
"You're not funny," he said flatly.
"That's rude to say to your husband."
"You're not my husband."
I gasped, clutching my chest.
"Wow. Amnesia and divorce in one week? I'm not sure my heart can take this."
