Wedded to a Wayne: A Finn World Holiday Romance

by R. G. Alexander

  I wipe the steam off the bathroom mirror before struggling into comfortable sweatpants and a long sleeve thermal. I know I’ll be grateful for them later, because this new wife of mine likes to keep the heater on low, even though it started snowing last night.

  Hopefully the layers are thick enough to hide the erection that isn’t going to get the kind of relief it wants for a while.

  Not until she’s comfortable. Ready. You promised.

  I step out of the bedroom and into the hall, wiping my damp forehead with the back of my hand and hearing the trio of voices coming from the living room. The boys sound happy. Happier than they’ve been in a while.

  We’re all under her spell.

  “It has computers inside it?” Lang asks, sounding amazed.

  “Microprocessors, but yes, basically. And sensors so I can move more naturally and even ride a bike if I wanted to. I mean, I don’t want to. But I could.”

  Her prosthesis. I lectured them up one side of the house and down the other that it would be rude to bring up something that private just to appease their curiosity.

  I’m surprised they waited this long to disobey me.

  “I like how shiny it is,” Barry tells her. “Is that why you got it? Because you thought it was prettier than your regular leg? Do you ever draw on it?”

  “It is pretty, but I lost my real leg, so I didn’t have the chance to choose. I also didn’t know they’d eventually have something this cool for me to use. So, it turned out okay in the end. And no, I don’t think drawing on it is a good idea.” She says it with a matter of fact tone that tells me this isn’t the first time she’s talked to kids about her “shiny” leg.

  “You’re like that lady soldier from the future who comes back to protect people. Augmented.”

  “The movie that just came out?” She asks Lang tentatively. “I don’t think I’ve seen it yet.”

  “Aunt Shell took me. Not Barry, though. He’s too young for all the explosions.”

  “I am not.”

  Lang is too young for that kind of violence. Shelley will be getting a phone call first thing tomorrow.

  “What’s augetted?” Barry asks.

  “Augmented. It means to make something greater or stronger,” Tanisha defines helpfully. “What you did to the Lego ship today when you added the motor to it? You augmented the ship. But this prosthesis only helps me get back to almost normal. It doesn’t give me any extra abilities. As soon as they invent something that does, I can promise you I’ll be first in line to try it.”

  “Me too,” Barry says enthusiastically. “Especially if it jumps really high.”

  “Real legs are still the best, Barry. Trust me on this. But if you want yours to be shinier, you can use some of my lotion. In this weather, you should anyway.”

  Their banter is doing something dangerous to my heart. They haven’t been in this good a mood in weeks. Since their mom called to tell them she was moving them to Arizona as soon as their custody was sorted out.

  She told them before she let me know she was serving me a summons. It shouldn’t have surprised me. But it did.

  The memory of the fight that followed destroys my mood and I walk into the living room, unwilling to skulk around my own home. “What’s going on out here?”

  Tanisha is sitting in the middle of my couch, her long blue skirt gathered to her knees to reveal her prosthesis and one smooth, curvaceous leg that same delicious honey color as the rest of her. She’s in the process of putting lotion on it, while Barry is laughing and plopping the white cream right on his face. Even Lang is rubbing some into his elbow.

  “We’re getting shiny. This is like Auntie Austen’s pig parties, isn’t it?” Barry asks when I stare at the tableau in silence.

  “You’re getting shiny. I have dry elbows from the cold,” Lang mumbles, as if I’ve caught him doing something wrong. “And it’s Guinea Pig Party. That means she’s trying stuff out on people to see if they grow a third eye or get pimples.”

  This is what’s been making my whole house smell like woman and citrus. This lotion she keeps containers of in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Now she’s putting in on my boys.

  “What’s in that?” I grab the small container and hold it up to read the ingredients. “Lang has sensitive skin.”

  My son conveys betrayal better than any adult I know. “I don’t have sensitive anything.”

  “You get gross rashes,” Barry reminds him unhelpfully. “Like a guinea pig.”

  “Speaking of,” Tanisha says, “you should be safe, Langston. This lotion is actually made by your aunt, so I’m assuming she already tested it on someone else.”

  “What?” I’m having a hard time looking away from her naked leg. I want to write a damn sonnet on the curve of her calf. She must notice what I’m doing, since she pulls down her skirt self-consciously, hiding herself from view.

  I’m not okay with that at all.

  “I’ve been buying from your sister’s beauty line almost exclusively for the last several years, Emerson. My skin has never been so smooth. Austen is a genius.”

  “Aunt Shelley is too,” Barry adds immediately. “She made my pad show movies and call Grandma at the same time.”

  Lang nods in agreement. “She’s good. They call Uncle Thor smart, but all he does is make beer. We can’t even have any of that.”

  “No, you can’t,” I grumble absently, now staring at the design I should have recognized.

  Barry continues rubbing the lotion over his already soft cheeks. “Well…Uncle Hugo can arrest you and fix a broken arm. Probably at the same time.”

  “So can Aunt Bronte. She can fix anything that’s wrong, I think.”

  I cross my arms now, staring at my sons in amusement. “Did they hire you to say that about them? I had no idea I was related to so much brilliance.”

  I know. I’m incredibly proud of my family. I don’t need to brag about them, but I can appreciate their gifts.

  “What about your Uncle Robert?” Tanisha asks with a wondering smile. “Did you forget about him?”

  Barry and Lang both look up at me swiftly, then at each other.

  “He’s funny?” Lang finally offers, shrugging helplessly.

  “Marketing genius,” I intone, raising an eyebrow and looking at him over my glasses. “The next time someone asks you about your uncle, that’s what you say.”

  “What kind of market?” Barry frowns in confusion. “I thought he worked for Aunt Bronte at the gym?”

  Tanisha bites her lips, her rich brown eyes bright with suppressed laughter.

  “He’s very smart,” I assure her defensively. “Finn’s Ring owes most of its business to his hustle.”

  “I’ve met him,” she reminds me. “And I agree.”

  “Fine. Now that we’ve got that settled.” I set the lotion back down on the table and scoop up a fingerful for myself, mimicking Lang and pushing up my shirt to rub some into my elbows. “I might as well smell as pretty and look as shiny as the rest of you.”

  Barry and Tanisha laugh while Lang smirks, and I feel a little less like a grumpy old man. She’s easy to be with. I’ve never dated a woman who was so comfortable to be around. Definitely never been married to one.

  If I didn’t want to fuck her so badly, this might be a smoother transition for everyone.

  But I do. God only knows how much.

  I’m enjoying a moment with my children and my new wife, and as I rub her scent into my skin, all I can think about is that glimpse of leg. Which leads me to think about all the other things I’d like to be rubbing. And how every time I’ve woken up over the last few days, it’s almost felt as if she was rubbing that sweet ass up against my dick.

  “Dad, are you listening?” Barry is tugging at my sweatpants, his voice raised in concern.

  Damn. “No, son. I was thinking too loud to hear you. What did I miss?”

  “Tani said it’s time to eat.”

  Tanisha, I correct in my head, loving the sound of
it. But she wanted the boys to be comfortable around her, to call her Tani so they wouldn’t “ma’am her to death.”

  “It is?”

  Instead of confirming, Barry abandons me to chase after his brother toward the kitchen. I inhale deeply and realize why. I was so caught up in her scent, I missed this one. And it’s almost as heavenly. Spicy and rich.

  How did I not know she could cook?

  The first few nights we ordered in because we were busy unpacking and adjusting to being around each other. Then I was working at home, so I threw something together before she had the chance. She never said a word.

  You thought she only knew how to order delivery or hire a chef?

  Maybe. Like I said, her money pricked at my pride. I’m working on it.

  I still have a lot to learn about my bride.

  I join them, listening to her talk to Lang about their upcoming vacation as he holds up the empty bowls that she’s filling from two large pots on the stove. My stomach growls. When did she have the time?

  I drop my gaze to the curve of her ass. She’s such a little thing, her head barely hitting my chest, but she’s got a good handful there. I want to step up behind her, pretend to look over her shoulder and into that pot so I can get close enough to press myself against her. Let her feel what she’s doing to me. Let her know the kind of ache I’ll be dealing with through dinner because of her.

  Slow down.

  Making this work is too important for me to screw things up by jumping the gun. What if I scare her off? What if she gets bored and leaves? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d lost a wife that way.

  She’d never do that. She’d honor the agreement and stay the year.

  But I want more from her.

  I take the bowls from Lang and carry them to the dining room table, which is already set with silverware, napkins and water glasses. There’s also a plate of flat bread in the center.

  This looks like a real family dinner. I didn’t do this for her, and I should have thought of it.

  I feel like an ass.

  “I’ll clean up,” I announce as the kids climb into their chairs and Tanisha follows at a slower pace. I pull hers out and she sends me a surprised but grateful look.

  “Are you sure? I made a mess in there,” she adds apologetically.

  Guilt slams into me. “You don’t need to go to so much trouble. We usually just make spaghetti or heat up some frozen dinners.”

  “Dad.” Lang is giving me a look that says “Don’t ruin this for us!”

  “I love cooking. Ask Joey. The only reason he survived college was because of this exact meal. It’s one of my specialties.”

  “What’s it called?” I take the open seat beside her and place the napkin strategically on my lap.

  Note to self: We need bigger napkins.

  “Chicken Biryani. Try it.”

  I dip my fork into the colorful dish, and Lang laughs. “He’s so hungry he forgot grace.”

  I did? Shit, I did. “Why don’t you say it this time?”

  The boys clasp their hands and dip their heads the way I taught them. Then Lang prays for dessert, our family’s health and ten feet of snow for Christmas so he can make a two-story igloo.

  I add my own, I’d appreciate it if you don’t give him everything on that list. Thanks.

  I risk a glance at Tanisha and notice the affectionate smile she’s directing his way. We didn’t cover this either, but I’m glad she doesn’t look uncomfortable. Most of my family are holiday church-goers, but I try to get us there at least two Sundays a month. I appreciate the positive examples of community and service it gives to the boys.

  Everything I do is about keeping them safe. Giving them armor to make it through every potential difficulty with integrity and faith. Being a father is my full-time job, and one I’ve never regretted.

  They are why she’s here. Why I’m willing to do whatever it takes, even waiting for her to be ready, if it means I get to keep them with me.

  “Amen,” the boys say, and then they promptly fall on the food like rabid wolves.

  When I take that first bite, I’m almost embarrassed by the moan that escapes me, but fortunately Barry is expressing his emotions with more volume, and Lang is a close second. I still notice Tanisha’s swift glance in my direction. Her blush. The way she shifts restlessly in her seat.

  If she’s even half as aware of me as I am of her, she can’t be too comfortable right now. Is she wet beneath that pretty skirt?

  “Delicious,” I say. “I might lick this bowl clean.”

  She looks surprised. “You will? I mean, uh, thank you.”

  She licks her lips and I nearly groan again. Oh, baby, you’re killing me.

  “We could have it for lunch,” Lang says.

  I stare at him. “You want to eat this for lunch tomorrow? At your grandmother’s house?”

  He has to know how my mother would read that—as his seal of approval on his stepmother. She knows how picky he can be about his food.

  Tanisha doesn’t realize what a fan she has in my older son.

  Or maybe she does, since she’s beaming at him like he hung the moon. “I think that might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. And I made more than enough for you to have for tomorrow. In fact, that’s a problem I have when I make this. I always double my recipe in case my brothers drop in.”

  She looks down at her bowl and I can feel the dip in her mood at the mention of her family. I cover her hand with mine and she inhales, swift and quiet. That’s definitely awareness. Something feels like it’s shifting between us. I can’t decide now if I need to console her or kiss her.

  “We’re grateful for the extra,” I tell her. “If I don’t sneak into the kitchen for a midnight snack, I’d like to take whatever they don’t to work tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “It’s safe to say we more than like it, Tanisha.”

  We more than like everything about you.

  Her skin is softer than anything I’ve ever put my hands on. Is she this soft between her thighs? On the underside of her breasts? I need to find out. Soon.

  I’m still thinking about it after dinner has been thoroughly consumed and I send the boys to the showers to clean up and brush their teeth before getting their pajamas on. They’ll get an hour of television if they’ve done their homework. Maybe two. And then bed.

  Bed. I need to get Tanisha alone in our bed. Not just with the lights out so we can both pretend to be sleeping.

  “I can help,” she says, picking up her bowl and walking to the kitchen, leaving me to follow in her wake.

  “What you can do is relax. You made us a feast and we’re already spoiled. Now go get comfortable in our room and watch one of those shows you told me you liked.”

  She looks up from her position at the sink. “You remember that?”

  “I remember everything you’ve told me. Including the fights you’ve had with your roommate over the remote.”

  “Joey isn’t a fan of reality shows,” she admits with a tender smile. “But he watches them with me anyway.”

  “I’ll watch them with you.” I don’t know where that came from, since I have no desire to see real housewives argue over drinks, no matter what city they’re in, but I’m jealous of that smile. I need it directed at me instead of the friend she’s so close to.

  And I think I’ve just found my solution. What do they call it? Netflix and chill? Sounds like a plan to me.

  “You will?”

  “Let me get the boys settled,” I tell her. “But start me off easy. Maybe something about houses or accountants who whittle. Because I’ve been thinking about learning the skill. Does that exist?”

  Her smile slays me. She’s so damn pretty it hurts. “I think I know a few you might like.”

  “It’s a date then. I’ll meet you in the bedroom within the hour.”

  We have a date. It’s time for me to start seducing my wife.

  Chapter Five

>   Tanisha

  J-Pop: You can come with us.

  T-Diddy: I’m not a hobbit, Joey. We just had this conversation at our meeting. You remember? The one you left three minutes ago?

  J-Pop: Three minutes is a lifetime. New Zealand isn’t all about hobbits. Bring your kids and the hubby. How weird is our life now? We have kids. We’re not just watching them or hiring people to watch them. Speaking of, should I stay to do that in-home visit we were talking about?

  T-Diddy: I can handle the Stein family. We’ll be fine for a week without you. You deserve a trip before Elliot has to be all baseball, all the time.

  J-Pop: Did I tell you we’re stopping at home for a few days so he can meet Rick and Matilda? He wants to bring them balloons. It’s our thing now.

  T-Diddy: I approve of your thing.

  J-Pop: I can’t believe you said that. I miss you.

  T-Diddy: Literally just saw you. Now go. And hug your parents for me.

  J-Pop: I didn’t have the nerve to ask you in person. Did you…? Has that happened yet? Has DOT DOT DOT happened?

  J-Pop: You would get the reference if you liked musicals. ABBA? Nothing?

  J-Pop: Are you still there?

  T-Diddy: You have reached the voicemail of Nonya Business. Please leave a message at the bleeped expletive. *&^%#$

  J-Pop: You haven’t. How am I supposed to leave now? What if you need me for The Talk?

  T-Diddy: You want to give me The Talk?

  J-Pop: I would rock The Talk.

  T-Diddy: Would you rock the—one of these things is not like the other—talk?

  J-Pop: Good point. Can I reserve you in advance for Rue’s The Talk? Keep in mind that I’ll panic for the next several years if you say no.

  T-Diddy: Leaving now. Talk later.

  Less than an hour later, Derek drops me off at my front door and I unlock it quickly, impatient to get inside and have some time to myself. Joey and I spent hours on that work call, putting out fires and planning for his trip. I wasn’t sure how long it would take, so Emerson’s mother agreed to pick up the boys up from school and keep them until he gets back from his meeting with the lawyer.

  When I knew I could come home early, I took the opportunity without letting anyone know I was free. I feel guilty about it, but on the other hand, I haven’t been able to catch my breath for close to two weeks now.