by Lucia Franco
"I hope you know I only ever want to be with you. I just don't think we need a piece of paper to prove we're committed to each other."
As soon as the words leave my lips, I hold my breath.
Fuck. This is harder to talk about than whether or not I wanted kids, and talking about that terrified me. This is making my stomach twist into knots while I wait to hear his response. I don't want to lose him, but I'm not going to lie to him either. This is a conversation of truth.
I should've made sure we brought the cognac in before we came inside. Who knew James was going to get all serious with me right after giving me the best orgasm of my life?
My lips are flattened. My lungs ache from holding my breath. I'm worried I may have made a huge mistake, but I couldn't lie either and give him false hope. Not over something like this. He's asking about marriage, not which restaurant I want to dine at.
James is staring. He's thinking too deep and it’s making my stomach cramp from anxiety. I can see the wheels spinning in his mind, and I don't like it.
"You don't want to get married? Is that what you’re saying?"
My teeth dig into my bottom lip. "Yes," I say quietly. "I don't want to get married."
His brows deepen the longer he studies me. His eyes though… the crystal blue are sharper than broken glass. It cuts my heart in half seeing James hurt.
I feel this large shift between us opening up. James isn't happy, and his lack of response is spreading the gap wider. My heart thumps in my throat and my stomach is a rotating disaster the longer he stays quiet.
"You don't want to get married," he repeats, a statement this time instead of a question. All I can do is shake my head while I look into his eyes full of disbelief.
James pulls away to sit up and my biggest fear is brought to the center of us. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to look away from me but I can still see his eyes. My pulse skyrockets in my neck. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I watch as his eyes scan the space around us like he's looking for an answer. He wasn't prepared for my response, and I wasn't ready for his.
With his back to me, I can feel this distant energy burning inside of him. A nauseating feeling slithers through my veins leaving me unsure of us now.
"James," I say, sitting up and reaching for him.
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I scoot closer to him and hug him from behind. He grabs my wrist like he's prepared to tell me to stop so he can get up and walk away. I feel it, and when he tightens his hold, my thoughts are confirmed. Only, he doesn't move. Relief exhales from my lungs and I close my eyes resting my head on his back.
We're quiet for a moment. His hurt over my refusal is felt tenfold and it makes me feel so guilty. I love James, the last thing I want to do is upset him.
"Just because I don't want to get married doesn't mean I don't want to be with you."
"It does, Aubrey," he says, and he shakes me off to stand.
My heart plummets with my fucking jaw. I don't like the tone he used, like he's aggravated with me.
"I just don't want that piece of paper between us. It always ruins a good thing," I say, my voice urging him to understand me. I climb to my knees and pull the sheet around me.
James remains quiet. His silence lengthens the tension and it only makes this that much worse. He doesn't turn around to look at me. He just folds his hands behind his head and arches his back until his muscles are straining.
"You really think that's what breaks up a good thing? Sweetheart, you're smarter than that."
James's back flexes as he speaks to me. Dread fills my veins fearing the worst.
"You're mad at me," I whisper.
He looks over his shoulder at me and I'm speechless. "You are mad," I state.
"Yeah, I fuckin' am. I want you as my wife, Aubrey, and I thought you wanted it too."
Nine
"Why can't we just leave what we have alone and not jinx it?"
He shakes his head in annoyance and looks away. "Who says we're going to jinx anything?"
I blink, a little hesitant to proceed. The last thing I want is to get into an argument over this while we're on vacation. One he surprised me with at that.
"I'm just worried we're going to ruin a good thing with a piece of paper that in the long run means nothing. I love you, James, and no piece of paper, or lack of one, is going to tell me any different. I've read countless stories about how people change before the ink even dries. I'm not saying that would happen with us, but I don't want to chance it either. Isn't what we have good enough?"
"No, it's not. Good enough is knowing you're mine in every sense of the way. Peace of mind. Peace of heart."
I deflate. How could he not know I’m his in every sense of the way already? "But you already know I am. What's the paper going to do?"
"It signifies that you're mine and I'm yours in the eyes of the law and everyone."
"Why does it matter what the law or anyone else thinks? Shouldn't the only thing that matters is how we feel?"
"I want to be able to call you my wife."
My heart melts for this man. "So, you still can," I tell him. I'd love it if he did.
James shakes his head. "It's not the same thing and you know it, Aubrey." He sounds like he's been defeated, and it kills me. "You won't have my last name."
"It's the twenty-first century. A lot of women don't take their husband's name anymore."
"Call me old school. I'd like to introduce you as my wife and not my live-in girlfriend. I want you to have my last name. I want to marry you. There's a security behind the marriage, you know."
I'm taken aback by his brash tone and increasing bite in his voice. I thought we already had security. Never once did I second-guess us. I exhale slowly, trying not to allow the hurt to take over completely because he's offended that I don't want to marry him, but I can’t help that it does. We're both passionate people, so the hurt we're feeling spreads to anger, and that's not a good thing for us. Neither of us likes to back down.
"You can't possibly think there's a security behind marriage after your last marriage." I spit out before I could stop myself. I clench my eyes shut and wince, regretting it.
James's arrogant chuckle under his breath causes chills to run down my arms. "How'd I know you'd say something like that."
It was immature of me to use that against him. We don't have the same relationship he had with his ex-wife and it's wrong of me to ever use that against him.
Standing up, James walks over to the dresser and yanks the drawer open to pull out a pair of gym shorts. He steps into them then slams the drawer shut with his knee and levels a quiet stare at me. He's waiting for me to change my mind. My heart is cracking down the center the longer the silence spans between us. The truth is, I can't give him what he wants.
I remain quiet. The guilt is eating away at my stomach.
Bending down, James reaches for a shirt I left on the ottoman this morning and throws it to me. It falls into a soft heap right in front of me. I don't reach for it because I can't seem to steer myself from looking at him. His eyes probe me longer, deeper, like he's begging me to change my mind so he can make me his wife. Still, I remain quiet. He exhales a breath through his nose and I feel the frustration flaring from him. I love him so much and I'd give him anything else he asked for, but I can't give him that.
I swallow thickly as he props his hands on his hips. The colorful hues of his inked arms flicker against the low lighting in our room. My gaze lands on the flower he had tattooed onto his forearm. It was a moment, our first one, and one of the first tattoos he'd gotten on his untouched arm. The flower matches the dress I wore when we first met in Bryant Park. To this day, it's still his favorite.
"Do you have no desire to get married? Or does the idea of marrying me repulse you?"
"Repulse me?" I repeat. "You think marrying you repulses me?"
I'm shaking now over his asinine words.
Men are so dumb sometimes.
I need to
count to ten, but I'm beyond hurt that he thinks he repulses me.
My eyes flare, instantly filling with tears. How could he even think that? He has to know what he means to me. James is taking this the wrong way.
My heart is a burning ball of fire right now confined inside of my chest. I grab the shirt and let the sheet fall to my hips to slip it on. It's inside out but I don't really give a fuck. I jump out of bed and march right up to him with determination. Lifting my chin, I say, "If marriage to you repulsed me, would I even be in a relationship with you? Just because I don't want to get married doesn't mean I don't want you."
"What's the reason then, Aubrey?"
My lips twitch, anxiety filling me instantly. "There's no reason."
He takes a step closer to me and a little gasp crests in my throat. I ache to lean into him. I'm so drawn to him. How could he question any of it?
"There has to be."
There is, but now isn't the time to bring it up. Not when the tension is increasing by the second.
"You won't ever marry me, will you?".
His voice is a clamp on my pulse. I'm reminded of the day I walked away from us the first time all those years ago in his home. How he looked when he threw his glass across the room—the way it shattered against the wall—knowing there was no changing my mind. He feels ruined, again, because he won't win.
I don't say anything. It's not possible when I'm pressing my lips together fighting emotions I know he can clearly see. I can't bring myself to utter the words.
My lungs are straining for air, my chest taut with what feels like skin being stretched.
Stepping around him, I walk through the French doors to the patio to where we were sitting earlier in the night. I pick up the glass I was drinking from and toss the rest of the contents back, then I refill it. It burns good going down my throat. Hurts a little, but I like that bite, feeling like I deserve it.
The wood creaks under James's footsteps. Instinctively, I refill his glass then reach out to my side to hand it to him blindly.
He takes it and stands next to me. We're staring at the slow wake of black waves brushing up against our private bungalow together. Unspoken words remain floating between us that thicken the salty air.
Pressing the glass to the center of my chest, my voice is flat as I say, "We don't need a label to make it official, James. Look where your marriage got you. Look where it got my parents. Even my grammy lost my grandpa. They waited until he left the Naval Academy to get married, only for him to pass away a few years later. The only people I know who were married—including you—and look how it ended for them, for you. I only have you and Natalie in my life. I don't want to chance losing you guys too. That’s what I feel like comes from having that dumb paper. You're my family," I add, my voice breaking a little.
James lifts the glass to his mouth and tosses back what is equivalent to three shots like it's nothing. His throat bobs once. He's not handling this well.
He hands me the glass and I place it down next to mine. "I never intended to marry Kathleen, and you know that. I never loved her the way I love you. This is different. I thought you knew that."
I wish I could cave, but the way I see it, I’m doing us a favor.
"We don't need a piece of paper to dictate our relationship."
Ten
James turns toward me.
Eyes illuminated by the soft lights on the deck, James takes my hands in his and lifts them to his mouth. He kisses the back of my knuckles and rubs the center of my palm with his thumb. The fine lines around his eyes are tight with worry. He makes me feel like this is a deal breaker for him.
Licking my lips, I swallow hard. I pray to God it’s not. I don't think I could handle it. In fact, I know I couldn't. Just the mere thought makes my stomach knot with dread. I wouldn't survive it a second time. I barely did the first time.
My heart does this odd little flip and my eyes widen from the way it dips into my stomach. I hate the way it only happens when anxiety is consuming me the way it is right now. It's worst when my stomach and heart join forces to produce a nasty panic attack I have to talk myself down from.
But the way he's looking at me confirms my fear. Inhaling and exhaling quickly, I blink rapidly, trying to mentally ease the tightness in my chest. Maybe I'm overthinking and I'm wrong. James tugs me closer, and instinctively I try to pull away from him. The thought of James leaving me cripples me to the point that I'm breaking down inside. I'd marry him if I absolutely had to, but I really hope it won’t come to that. Then every day I would live in some state of fear that something was going to take him from me.
My knees are shaking. I'm weak and on the verge of fainting when James wraps an arm around my lower back and pulls me to stand against him. The warmth of his chest soothes my anxiety and I feel a settling in my soul that only he is able to give me. He nestles his cheek against mine and holds our hands pressed to his chest. The scruff of his beard is oddly comforting. He's holding me up knowing I can't handle another second longer. I feel like he's always holding me up, though. He's my rock. My silent warrior. He didn't ask me for anything, he didn't expect anything. Now that he was, I was rejecting him.
I sniffle, upset we're at odds over this and press myself into him. James holds me tighter and I love him more for it, but I can't help but fear he's going to leave me now too. The feeling is too gut-wrenching to ignore, no matter how hard I push the thought from me.
"Can you at least consider it, sweetheart?" James asks. "Marriage is something I really want with you. Nothing is going to happen to us. We're only going to get better. I promise you that. If you think for a second it's ruining what we have, we can get divorced and go back to dating. But please, all I'm asking is for you to think about marrying me."
"You don't know that, James," I say, my heart is in my throat. "You mean too much to me to risk it."
"I would do anything for you," he responds, his words like knives jutting between my ribs.
James's voice is one of the things that drew me to him. Deep and in the back of his throat, his spoken words can't be mistaken for anything other than validity. There's something about that I'm drawn to explicitly. He hits all the right notes in my body easily by simply talking. His vibe exudes old New York and that ups his smoking hot factor by a margin.
But when he's deep in his emotion and basically asking me to marry him, he’s fucking savage on the ears.
"You know that, right?"
I nod. "I know."
"Maybe I am old fashioned," he continues, "but I want to know that the rest of my days are sealed with yours. You're my world, my light. You give me a reason to wake up every day. Be mine forever in the way that matters most to me."
My heart is racing a mile a minute. I'm standing in nothing but a sleep shirt that just barely covers my ass. I'm completely naked underneath while James is only in a pair of basic shorts.
And I'm fairly certain James did just ask me to marry him… in a roundabout way.
I blink again, unsure what to say. I don’t want to ask him if he just asked me to marry him. I won’t set myself up like that, but I’m not sure what he meant by that either.
"If it doesn't work out, then we can say we gave it a shot. We can be that couple that never learns and keeps marrying each other."
Fuck. He did.
James turns so his back is to the wall now and pulls me to lean on him. Our legs are pressed together and there's a cool breeze drifting across the back of my thighs. Rising up on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck. I draw James into me as a soft moan escapes my throat. My nipples harden in response and I shiver. God, I love the feeling this man creates inside my heart for him. If love had one specific feeling, this was it. This type of mood, this attraction and undeniable chemistry, is only meant for one person. Only for one person to evoke from another. My other half. James Riviera.
His embrace awakens a desire in me that spreads warmth throughout my body like a damn tidal
wave. My shirt lifts, exposing my bare flesh. His palm skims over my rounded ass. He gives me a firm squeeze at the base of my cheek and my eyes roll shut. Little flames pop over every inch of my skin and my head falls to the side. I can feel his hand itching to move higher. I want him to. James knows I love when his dominate side comes out to play.
His thick erection strains against my stomach. He's hot and long, and feeling his frame fit perfectly against my curves makes me want him even more. I've joked to him before that we fit like two puzzle pieces, but we really do.
His hands roam my thighs in a feather soft touch. Arching my chest into his, I slip my hair over my shoulder as his teeth find my tender flesh. Our bodies create this sultry friction that intensifies by the breaths we take. We're both fighting for something we believe in. Both wanting to give each other what they desire.
His lips brush over the shell of my ear and my pulse quickens. I catch the faintest scent of cognac that reminds me of a crackling fire. My skin flushes with need. He knows my body like the back of his hand.
There's something deeply intimate about being alone with James under the dark sky that amplifies the enormity of tonight’s conversation. In the dark, we're vulnerable. His hands tell me what to feel and his kiss silences my fears. Our desires are exposed without regret but sated with ecstasy.
A salty breeze glides past us and my hair feathers around us. I'm hoping we're done talking about the topic of marriage seeing as tomorrow we leave for home. I don't want to go to bed fighting with him. We don’t need to end the trip on a negative note.
I need James's lips on mine so I can show him we don't need a paper to claim what we are. We've been doing that. We know what we are. He is mine, and I am his. Always. End of story.
