In Want of a Wife

by Noelle Adams

  She hoped he didn’t think it bothered her a lot.

  It didn’t bother her.

  She didn’t care about his opinion of her.

  At all.

  “What are you going to wear?” Jane asked. She had her own bathroom attached to her bedroom, but she’d come to Liz’s bathroom so they could get ready for the party together.

  “I’m not sure. Probably my black capris. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

  “Wear the green top with them. It matches your eyes and makes your boobs look fantastic.”

  The green top was a little too sexy for Liz’s mood at the moment, but she nodded anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to look sexy even if she wasn’t feeling it right now.

  “I’m going to wear my blue dress.”

  “That’s perfect. Charlie will be blown away.”

  Jane blushed slightly.

  “Make sure you flirt with him,” Liz added after a moment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Try to flirt. Make an effort. Make sure he knows you’re into him. Guys are usually wusses at heart, and they need some encouragement—even ones as smitten as Charlie obviously is.”

  Jane frowned. “He’s just coming off a bad breakup, so I don’t think he’s looking to be serious yet. Anyway, I’m not any good at flirting. I feel like an idiot when I try.”

  “I know. Me too. But do your best. He might not be ready to be serious, but he’s definitely interested in you. You don’t have to do anything embarrassing. Just make sure he knows you like him too.”

  “I’ll try.”

  That was as much as Liz could hope for, so she didn’t pursue the topic.

  The truth was, she wasn’t any better than Jane at flirting. She saw a lot, and she instinctively understood the interactions she observed among other people. But when it came to her own relationships, she wasn’t particularly adept at winning men’s hearts. She dated fairly regularly, but she hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since college. It always felt like she was playing a role when she went out on dates—like she was trying to be someone she wasn’t. Someone who laughed at men’s jokes and asked wide-eyed questions and secretly wished she was back home in her pajamas watching Netflix.

  Sometimes she wondered if she’d always be that way, if she was like Em and would be happier alone.

  It was possible.

  A lot of guys didn’t want a smart woman with a lot of backbone.

  Liz was fine with that. She didn’t want a guy who didn’t want to make an effort.

  It would be nice to have sex occasionally, but she could do without if she had to.

  A sudden visual of herself in bed with Vince hit her hard and unexpectedly, leaving her flushed and breathless.

  She shook the thought away and checked herself out in the mirror. Her hair looked tousled, but it never looked anything else. Her makeup was discreet, and her face looked pretty and natural.

  She looked as good as she was likely to look.

  “Wear the green top. I bet Vince will start calling you the Sexy One.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She was going to wear the green top, however.

  AN HOUR LATER, SHE was dressed in heels, her green, low-cut wrap top, and her favorite black capris that made her butt look good. She was lighting candles in the glass-and-iron hurricanes on Em’s terrace.

  Em had been a surprise child for her middle-aged parents, and her mother had evidently not wanted the change in lifestyle a child had brought. She’d walked out on the family when Em was three, and it had been Em and her father ever since. He’d had a lucrative legal practice, and he’d inherited money from his own parents, so he and Em were very well off. He’d bought the best unit in Pemberley House the day it went on the market. The southwest unit on the upper floor—four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and a two-story library in the tower on the corner of the mansion.

  Liz loved the unit, and she loved Em’s sweet but needy father. He was already upstairs in bed with his soundproof headphones so the party wouldn’t bother him.

  She normally would have been excited about hanging out this evening, but the thought of seeing Vince was making her antsy.

  She’d lit the last candle and was staring out at the sun setting over the wide expanse of manicured lawn and blooming gardens when a voice from behind her surprised her so much she jumped.

  “Liz.”

  She whirled around, although she knew who it was even before she saw Vince standing on the terrace a few feet away from her.

  He wore a black Oxford and a pair of well-tailored gray trousers. He looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a catalog, and his face was sober as he looked at her.

  She forced her nerves into submission so she could give him a blithe smile. “So you do know my name.” She made sure her tone was light and teasing.

  He wasn’t going to know that he’d upset her the way he had.

  He gazed at her for a long moment without speaking or smiling. “I’m sorry.” His eyes dropped on the words.

  “For what?”

  “You know.”

  She bit her bottom lip, caught off guard and at a loss for words. She certainly hadn’t expected him to confront the issue directly. She never would have imagined he’d apologize.

  She had no idea how to respond.

  He was waiting for an answer, so she finally found something to say. “You didn’t know I could hear.”

  “No. But I shouldn’t have said it anyway. It was...”

  She leaned forward unconsciously as he trailed off, trying to follow the words he wasn’t saying. “It was what?”

  “An asshole thing to say.”

  She couldn’t have said it better herself. Her mind buzzed and her heart pounded and her stomach just wouldn’t sit still. “Oh.”

  “So I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.”

  She needed to say something else. Anything else. She needed to not stand here like a stunned statue. He was going to think the whole thing meant more to her than it should. “It’s not a big deal. I did get the one Brandt painting, and I just figured you weren’t a morning person.” She was pleased that her voice sounded light and unconcerned. “Some people are grumpy before they’ve had their coffee.”

  His eyes lifted, and his brows drew together like he was trying to see something in her expression.

  She didn’t want him to see.

  She couldn’t let him see that this felt serious to her.

  She gave a little laugh. “It’s really fine. Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t supposed to hear what you guys were saying, so I’ll pretend I never did.”

  He didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. If he didn’t have to talk, he didn’t. She had no idea what he was thinking.

  “Excuse me,” she said at last. “I better see if Em needs any more help.”

  She moved past him quickly and escaped back inside, leaving Vince standing by himself on the terrace.

  VINCE HAD FELT SICK to his stomach since yesterday morning. He’d thought he’d feel better after he apologized, but he didn’t really.

  It didn’t feel like it had made anything better, and it bothered him more than it should.

  He’d been weird and awkward growing up—never knowing what to say to people and usually saying the wrong thing when he tried. He’d only had a few friends, and those were mostly kids he’d grown up with, who were used to the way he was. He’d gone to UVA for college, resolving to be different. He’d pretended to be a different person there. Someone cool and confident and detached. He’d been convincing enough to make friends and to start dating. He’d kept up the act when he moved to Blacksburg and started working, so he’d had a decent social life there too.

  But there was something about moving to a new place, one where his mother lived. It turned him into that weird, awkward boy again.

  He wasn’t comfortable here, and he reverted back into his worst habits—inc
luding completely putting his foot in his mouth around women he was attracted to.

  Part of him wanted to simply ignore Liz—pretend that nothing had happened and not have to humiliate himself any further by apologizing. But he felt so guilty he knew he couldn’t just let it go. Not if he was ever going to get rid of this sick feeling in his gut.

  He’d feel better if he believed that Liz had forgiven him, but he was pretty sure she hadn’t. She’d smiled and pretended it didn’t matter to her, but he wasn’t convinced her smile was genuine.

  And he had no idea what to do to fix it.

  So he felt as stiff and awkward as a boy as he stood against the wall in the huge room while everyone else laughed and chatted around him.

  He wished he were anywhere else, even if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Liz’s lovely, smiling face.

  This unit was incredible. Fourteen-foot ceilings, elaborate plaster work, a breathtaking chandelier, and elegant antique furnishings. It didn’t feel like the kind of place where a normal person lived, but it was clear that Em Woodson was indulged by a rich father. She was obviously used to getting her way and supervising other people. Even with the generously hosted party, she was always giving directions about where everyone should go, whom they should be talking to, and what they should be eating and drinking.

  He’d called Em the Bossy One, and it was clearer than ever that the appellation was appropriate. She’d walked over to Liz and Anne and was saying something he couldn’t hear. But the gesture in his direction was as loud as words.

  She was telling them to go over and talk to him since he was standing by himself.

  Liz glanced over to him, and their eyes met across the room. She looked away quickly, but not before Vince felt a rush of exhilaration that was becoming far too familiar to him.

  Neither Liz nor Anne appeared enthusiastic about talking to him. He wasn’t surprised that Anne was reluctant. She’d dated his brother all through college and then dumped him unceremoniously right before Robert was getting ready to propose to her. Vince wasn’t sure Robert had ever gotten over the heartache. Naturally, Anne wouldn’t be eager to get chummy with Robert’s brother.

  And Vince obviously knew why Liz didn’t want to come chat with him. He was surprised when he saw that Liz allowed Em to drag her over to where he was standing.

  “What are you drinking, Vince?” Em asked him with a smile. She was very pretty in a fair, elegant way with a long neck and a graceful posture. Despite her bossiness, her smile was genuine, and she seemed to sincerely care about people. Vince surprised himself by liking her.

  “I had the cab. It was excellent.”

  “I’ll get you some more.” With a slanting smile for Liz, Em grabbed his glass and walked over to the table set up as a bar.

  Liz smothered an annoyed expression and gave him a rueful smile.

  “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want,” Vince said.

  “Of course I do. Em dragged me over here for exactly that purpose.”

  “Ah. Then you can say something about the weather.”

  Liz’s green eyes glinted briefly. “It was a beautiful day today, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed. Very warm.”

  “And not too humid.”

  “And the breeze was very pleasant.”

  “They’re saying it might rain tomorrow.”

  “That’s too bad.” Despite the rush of blood in his veins, Vince’s humor was tickled by the wryness of Liz’s tone and expression. “But I suppose we could use the precipitation.”

  Liz made a sound in her throat that might have been a suppressed laugh. It gave Vince a thrill of victory.

  Before he could think of some way to follow up on this success, Em returned with a full glass of wine for him. “What are you all talking about?” she asked with a mischievous expression.

  “The weather,” Liz said.

  “The weather,” Vince said at exactly the same time.

  Em chuckled. “Sounds stimulating.”

  She was starting to say something else when Liz elbowed her. “Look who showed up.”

  Vince turned in the direction Liz nodded to see a man standing in the entryway by himself, dressed in jeans and a camp shirt. He looked to be in his mid- to late thirties, and he was giving the room a leisurely once-over.

  Em visibly perked up. “I can’t believe he came! I better go grab him before he changes his mind and leaves.” She hurried across the room toward the man.

  Vince gave Liz a questioning look.

  “That’s Ward Knightley. His family used to own this house and estate.”

  “Oh. Yeah. He’s the one who still manages the property?”

  “Yep. He lives in one of the cottages. He’s a really nice guy, but this isn’t exactly his crowd, so Em wasn’t expecting him to come.”

  “She’s into him?”

  Liz shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. She’s known him since she was a little girl. He’s like family to her, I think. She treats him like an older brother.”

  Vince glanced over to Em’s face as she greeted the man, and he wondered if that assessment was entirely accurate. But it wasn’t his business, and he could be wrong.

  It didn’t matter anyway—not when Liz was looking at him with something other than veiled contempt.

  “Are you interested?” Liz asked.

  He blinked. “In what?”

  She nodded over toward Em and Ward Knightley.

  His eyes widened. “In Em, you mean?”

  “Yes. You were asking a lot of questions, and you haven’t seemed to be interested in anything else since you’ve gotten here. So I was wondering.” Her eyes met his in what was almost a challenge, as if she were daring him to reply honestly.

  “Are you always this direct?”

  “Yes. Why shouldn’t I be? Are you embarrassed about who you’re interested in?”

  “I’m not interested in her.” He was thrown completely off-balance by this conversation, so he couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I just asked a couple of questions. She’s not my type.”

  “Then what’s your type?”

  Vince opened his mouth to reply but then closed it again because the truth was he didn’t know the answer to her question.

  He’d dated all kinds of women in the past. He’d liked women of all varieties. He hadn’t liked any of them enough to get serious, but he genuinely didn’t know what type of woman he liked the best.

  “You aren’t going to answer?” she asked, her expression both playful and confrontational in a mingling that was absolutely enchanting.

  He couldn’t tell her he didn’t know what his type was, so he settled for something else. “No. I’m not going to answer. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not polite to go around demanding what a man’s type is?”

  “I didn’t think you cared about politeness.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’ve been rude every single time I’ve met you.”

  “I have?” He knew he’d been unforgivable in what he’d said about her, but he wasn’t sure what else he’d done that would have been rude.

  Her eyes widened into saucers. “Yes, of course you have! Do you really not know?”

  “No,” he admitted, unable to look away. “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes were holding his gaze too, and her cheeks flushed slightly. “Well, you have.”

  “I have?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was slightly breathless. “You have.”

  He’d lost track of the conversation as he was washed with a flood of attraction and desire. Her full lips were gracefully curved and expressively agile. He wanted to feel them against his mouth, his skin, his body. Her eyes were both laughing and intelligent and full of such depth that he felt like he could drown in the substance of her personhood.

  It was the oddest feeling. To be as drawn to a woman’s spirit as he was to her body
.

  He tilted his head down toward hers. “I’m not sure what I can do about that,” he murmured, startled when his voice was huskier than it should have been.

  “You can...” She swallowed and licked her lips. “You can... not be rude.”

  “I’ll try not to be.” He wasn’t going to be able to hold back anymore. He was going to kiss her right now, right here, right in front of the crowded room.

  “Lizzie! Lizzie!” The voice came from a far corner but sounded like it was approaching them.

  It broke them both out of the moment. Liz turned to look, and her face changed when she saw her younger sister.

  Riot.

  He’d never really liked Riot, and he definitely didn’t appreciate seeing her now.

  He’d been so close to kissing Liz, and he knew it would have been good.

  But it wouldn’t have been smart.

  Liz didn’t even really like him, so there was no point in liking her too much.

  LIZ WOKE UP EVERY MORNING for the next week thinking about Vince.

  It was more than a little annoying.

  Things should feel settled with him now. He’d apologized, and they’d had a mostly civil conversation at the party on Saturday night. She should be able to put him out of her mind, assured that he wasn’t going to trouble her again.

  It didn’t exactly work that way, however.

  She had a habit of sitting on her terrace in the mornings, drinking coffee and preparing herself mentally for the day. And every morning she would see him leave for work, striding determinedly from the building to his car, wearing expensive, professional clothes and carrying a travel mug. So then she’d end up thinking about him, wondering what kind of mood he was in and how he was adjusting to working in the store with his mother.

  He left for work at about seven every morning, and he came back around six. She knew because three times that week she’d been hanging out with Jane or Em on her terrace at exactly the time he was coming back home.

  He would give them a brief wave when he saw them, but he never lingered. He certainly never came over to hang out with them.

  Which was fine. It was perfectly normal. After all, people weren’t usually best friends with their neighbors. But Charlie found reason to drop by three times during the week—once right at dinnertime so he’d been invited to join them—and Vince never did.