"Did I hear you correctly, you don't want to get divorced?" Eleanor repeats, and her expression is already dangerous.
Jasper doesn't say a word, only nods.
"Well, let me explain something to you, Jasper from Shoreditch, and Camden and most recently, of Las Vegas," her face is darkening as she narrows her gaze. "A drunken night out where both of us were evidently completely off our faces, and as a result where we were married in a Las Vegas quickwed chapel by an overweight Mexican pretending to be Elvis, accompanied by a drag queen showgirl bridesmaid and an alcoholic lush of a best man is not the most auspicious start to married life," she tells him, putting her hands on her hips.
"And the future of our alleged marriage is going to look even less promising once Mum arrives accompanied by a posse of lawyers and her PR woman to try and undo this as quickly as possible. So I would suggest that you get rid of whatever notions you have in your head that if we stay married for a while longer it is going to end in your getting your hands on more of the Henstridge inheritance, very quickly. No doubt you will get some settlement but I will not be staying married to you just so you can get your hands on my money. Or my mother, if that's what you're thinking," she adds, scowling angrily.
"That's not the reason I don't want a divorce," Jasper denies hotly, and it comes out so vehemently Eleanor looks up at him, startled.
Jasper runs a hand through his hair, and sweat trickles down his back and he curses the vegas heat.
"I mean, now that we're married, I think that we should at least try to see if this could work."
Eleanor shakes her head in quick denial. "As soon as Mum gets here with the lawyers we are getting a divorce. And that's the end of that," she snaps.
She's about to add some further choice words about what will be the remarkable brevity of their marriage when she's interrupted by her phone ringing.
She scans it carefully to check its not her mother about to chew off her ear and is relieved to find it isn't her number.
"Yes," she answers, annoyed at the interruption.
"Hey girlfriend, how you doing? How's that hunk of yours, still as sexy as ever?," the voice asks, fawning.
"Excuse me do I know you?," Eleanor replies, her eyebrows knotting together. Not only does she not know the caller but she's having trouble working out if its even a man or a woman she's talking to.
"It's me. Gigi," the voice comes, back sounding offended. "You know, from last night. Your maid of honour darling," she prompts.
"Oh," understanding is starting to dawn. "So you're the showgirl who was there at the wedding?"
"Of Risqué Caberet," Gigi tells her. "Las Vegas' finest girls on show."
Eleanor pauses, because going by her wedding photos, that's debateable.
"Listen Gigi, me and my, er, husband," she mutters and looks daggers at Jasper, "got a little carried away last night and couldn't recall everything that happened and we were wondering if you could fill us in on it," Eleanor asks politely, thinking that she's going to need Gigi's account of how drunk they both were to streamline the divorce proceedings.
"Girlfriend, you know you can count on me. I'll pop by your house on my way to work in a half hour. Love you darling," she signs off with a flourish.
"Do you need directions to get here,?" Eleanor asks, because she's going to have to pass her to Jasper for that as she has no fucking idea where Jasper's apartment is located.
"I know it like the back of my skin tight sequinned feather boa dancing costume," comes the reply.
"Er, ok then," Eleanor replies, trying not to imagine that picture in her head again.
Jasper's sitting at the couch on his phone once she looks up from getting off the phone. "Our new BFF Gigi the drag queen is coming over to shed some light on what the hell went down last night," she tells him.
A flicker of interest flashes across Jasper's face. "That will be illuminating. But I've been checking my bank statement and one thing that has gone down is my bank balance. It's gone from $5,487 to zero overnight after there were five withdrawals last night and this morning at Stratosphere," he tells Eleanor, with more than a hint of accusation in his voice.
"Oh," Eleanor's face is a picture of innocence. "Well I'm sure you'll recoup your losses in our divorce settlement. And some," she bites, because no one ever married royalty and came away worse off afterwards.
Jasper raises an eyebrow, "Like I said earlier, I'm not signing the divorce papers," he says stubbornly.
"Are you doing this just to piss me off?," Eleanor demands, "because if you want this marriage to end with me stabbling you with a kitchen implement, you are going the right way about it," she steams, jabbing a finger against his chest.
He catches her hand as it reaches her chest and then grabs her other wrist in his hand, vice like, and then she is being pulled towards him, into his chest and his voice is sharp, "Eleanor," he growls, warningly and she falls suddenly silent as he's watching her intently, angrily.
"Eleanor," he says again, but this time softer and gentler, as his grip on her tightens and he slides his arms around her back, pressing her close into him until his face is only a few millimetres from his and she wonders, breathlessly, if he is going to kiss her.
A series of tiny barks emanates from the kitchen, breaking the moment and Eleanor goes rigid in his arms and puts a hand up to his chest, pushing him away from her.
"Prince Rufus is hungry and he doesn't like it when people shout," she tells him, turning away to make for the kitchen where she fixes him some tuna and puts out a bowl of water.
She pulls open the cupboards again and scrutinises them carefully one more time. "We'll need to get him some proper puppy food," she adds, making a note to ask if the CIA agents can arrange this.
She makes her way over to the chair opposite where Jasper is sitting, doing her best to ignore the way he is still looking at her, because she is done falling for that sexy, stubbly scoundrel.
She picks up her phone and pulls up her twitter account, then spends a minute scrolling through her newsfeed.
"We are apparently on twitter as well. And you're in an interesting choice of costume," she tells him, as her lips form into a smirk.
Two seconds later he's behind her, leaning down to grab her phone, and she ignores the shiver which runs down her body as he brushes against her shoulder.
He lets out a string of curses.
"Yes I do rather wonder why you are dressed like a crossdressing prostitute Jasper? Were you trying to recover your gambling losses?," she questions, the very same smirk now firmly embedded on her face.
"It's a Vegas showgirl outfit and I'm pretty sure they're your gambling losses, Princess," he snaps back. "And anyway you're the one who looks like a prostitute in that photo," he adds rudely.
"Those are my normal clothes Jasper," Eleanor sounds thoroughly offended. "In case you hadn't noticed Las Vegas is like some kind of fucking inferno, I don't want to be too covered up, I would fry," she adds, defending her choice of a skimpy miniskirt and skin tight singlet. The same outfit she is currently sporting while draped over his couch.
She's turned around and she's glaring back up at him, and he gives her a look up and down that turns her legs to jelly. "Well if you're too hot Princess, you're free to take your clothes off again. I'm always happy to fulfil my responsibilities as your husband," he tells her, running a hand down her arm in a slow caress.
She's half tempted to stay exactly where she is and let him keep lulling her back into submission to allow him to keep touching her, but she reminds herself that she's already made enough bad decisions in the past twenty four hours to give her mother fuel for a lifetime and she's not going to let Jasper Frost, now her bloody husband, be one more.
She stands up and puts her hands on her hips and sets him straight. "Very soon you won't be my husband any more. And then we will be able to put this whole sordid incident behind us and move on with our own separate lives. And the sooner you accept that Jasper Frost, the better for both of us."