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“Do you seriously own fitted sheets?” Cressida asked, eyeing the laundry as though it had caused her harm.
“Obviously, because I live in the twenty-first century,” Morven said. “Now, are you going to help me, or just stand there and look, princess.”
Cressida bristled at the nickname. Morven smirked. Her girlfriend was so easy to wind up.
“Fine,” Cressida muttered, delving into the laundry basket.
“What’s your issue with them, anyway?” Morven asked as she flapped the sheet to unfold it.
“They just get themselves untucked and then ruck up awkwardly when you’re trying to sleep.” Cressida raised her eyebrows, giving an exaggerated scoff. “Although I guess I shouldn’t expect much from the woman who doesn’t sleep on a silk pillowcase.”
“Fucking hell, what is it with you and silk?” Morven said, snorting when Cressida threw a normal pillowcase at her, satisfied that Cressida was unable to hide her smile.