Page 201 of The Unwilling Bride
When he sees me. When it feels, for one terrifying moment, like I have found exactly where I belong.
I settle against him and let myself breathe. I like this domestic closeness more than I should. It feels easy and natural and devastatingly right. Right enough to make my stomach bottom out.
I could get used to this.
I should not get used to this.
Because this is fake. Our marriage is only an agreement. A contract with an expiry date.
So why does every part of me feel like it is the realest thing I have ever known?
57
James
I can’t believe I let her choose The Notebook and I watched it with her too.
I also held her as she sobbed through the ending. I confess, I was surprised to find a ball of emotion in my throat. Not that I’d ever admit that to her.
She then insisted I pick a movie.
I wanted to make sure it was one she’d love watching.
Yep, I actually chose a chick flick, as well, in deference to her tastes. And yes, because I wanted to make her happy. It's only for this evening. Tomorrow, I’ll be back to the tough, tyrannical chef at work. But tonight, I wanted to watch her face as she laughed.
So, I chose When Harry Met Sally. I wasn’t prepared for her clapping her hands in surprise then hugging me to thank me.
I also made us a tub of popcorn and filled our glasses of wine halfway through. When the credits rolled, I found she was asleep with her head in my lap.
I shut off the television and watch her sleep. The curve of hereyelashes on her cheeks, the flush on her throat, the way she curls her fingers into my shirt… A surge of protectiveness grips me. And with it is something softer, more potent, more cutting. Something that raises goosebumps on my skin, makes my stomach roll, and my heart stutter.
Oh fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I can’t be falling for her. I can’t. This is temporary, right? I sag against the settee. Who am I kidding? This has long blown past temporary. This is something else. Something more intense. Something real. Something I don’t want to name… Yet. Not until I’ve had a chance to absorb what it means.
I ease her up and, without waking her, I scoop her up in my arms. She murmurs, then cuddles into my chest. There are dark circles under her eyes. And hollows under her cheekbones. Has she lost weight? It’s my fault. I've been pushing her so hard. But I also want her to be the best in the cooking world. I want people to discover how talented she is. And how disciplined. And how hard she’s worked to get here. She deserves to be the chef of my new restaurant. She’s absolutely the most promising sous chef I’ve had. I should tell her that. It would boost her confidence to know how much faith I have in her. I need to learn to open up more to her.
I carry her up the stairs and into our bedroom.
I need to ask her to move in here with me. After making love to her here, I can’t not think of this bed as ours, and this room, this penthouse, as belonging to both of us.
I place her on the bed; on the side I’m already beginning to think of as hers. Then pull the covers up over her, before sliding in with her. I turn off the lamp, turn her on her side, and spoon her, enjoying the curve of her butt against the outline of my cock.
My sweatpants and her yoga pants are between us, but it doesn’t stop me from enjoying the feel of this warm woman against me.
I lock my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest.
I close my eyes, expecting to lie awake as I normally do, but fall asleep almost instantly.
One second,I’m sleeping a deep, dreamless sleep. The next, I’m awake. It’s that ability to go to complete alertness which I learned in the Royal Marines, and which is now part of me.
I’m aware of my wife’s gaze on me.
I crack open my eyelashes enough to let her know that I know that she’s been watching me sleep.
That I can read the intention glittering in her eyes and that I’m allowing her go through with it.
