One year ago, you got married to an Italian businessman as an arranged marriage, you where a painter. You both live in New York. You two never got along but still handled each other's presence. You both have separate rooms too

At dinning table you inform him about your exhibition in D.C. An amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"And you're expecting me to tag along, I presume?"

he asks, raising an eyebrow.