Greg is…being odd. There’s no other way to say it. I’d woken up the morning after an amazing sexathon to find my work clothes put out and him in the kitchen cooking pancakes, of all things.
I felt a little sorry for Rose-the-tyrant, seeing the awful mess he’d made, but I’d eaten every bite, despite my hatred of syrupy pancakes — okay, and my crazy OCD about the kitchen being that dirty — and watched him the whole time, half expecting a little green worm to slither out of his nose and crawl away, freeing my Greg from its terrible mind control.
I’m still waiting on it and still watching my husband act so out of character I can barely breathe for anticipating his next move. Which is another thing: the man has been dogging my steps like a mad person.
I’d come out of the bathroom at work yesterday to find him waiting. Waiting for me to finish peeing just so that he could walk me back to my desk and give me the sandwich he’d gotten me for lunch.
With his newfound stalking abilities I’ve found it exceptionally difficult to duck and dive him long enough to arrange his party. And here comes the super painful part of this experience: I’d been forced to call his mom for help because apparently I can’t even go potty without him there.
Needless to say, every phone call and quick planning lunch with the girls has been a 007 mission, but I’ve done it, I’ve gotten every detail planned, down to the gift I’ve gotten him, and now all I have to do is get him home tonight without a glitch.
“Han, come in here for a minute.”
I look up to see him poking his head out of his office, and throttle the growl working its way up my throat. Goddammit, I’m waiting for the live band to call.
“I’ll get it,” Kim whispers as I pass her desk, and I nod thankfully, following him in only to find myself swung up into his arms and on the sofa in a blink.
“You need to eat lunch,” he mutters, and I sit up long enough to see a mountain of Chinese food.
“Good God…that’s…a lot of food.”
Chinese food.
Another thing I’ve noticed lately is his expression when I seem less than spellbound by his actions. It’s strange, but he seems to take it personally when I don’t eat everything he’s trying to feed me, or when the coffee he’s brought me has too much sugar — a gallon, I think — which I now feel chugging its way to my hips. I felt so bad, I forced myself to drink the whole thing.
“You don’t like Chinese food. Goddammit, I should have asked,” he mutters angrily, going to grab the cartons.
“Whoa, hey, wait! I — of course I like it,” I assure him, silently apologizing for the lie and grabbing the carton with a deep breath.
“See? Yum,” I say brightly, choking on a noodle that feels like sludge sliding down my throat.
We’re seriously going to have to sit down and talk about our likes and dislikes soon, because at this rate I’ll be a tub of freaking lard, and I take exception to getting that way eating things I don’t even like.
We spend lunch eating — yuck — and talking about the ‘family dinner’ we’re having for his birthday tonight.
“Now I know you and my family don’t really get along, so I’ve made reservations at Starlight. That way we can get rid of them quickly and just head home.”
Okay, Han, don’t panic, just…I am so totally panicking as I think of what the heck to do. It doesn’t escape me that this is him trying to be nice and give me an easy out on the whole Lucas family card, and it makes lying to him so much harder.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the old Greg, who wouldn’t have given a crap about my feelings long enough to think that planning his wedding to another woman is okay.
Shit.
“Um…uh, but Rose has gone to all that trouble with the food and planning the seating and getting the house cleaned, and I…I like your mom?”
It hurts to say it, and I feel like I’ve earned a lifetime of free passes with that one, but it does the trick.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just thought we could go out after and do something special…but you’re right,” he says.
I can see the disappointment in his eyes, and I feel the overwhelming need to hug him just to take it away, but the band still needs directions, and I have to call the caterer.
Plus, a small part of me really enjoys making him suffer a little. What? It’ll make the surprise so much more exciting. I hope.
“Okay, so I’ll get back to work and call Starlight to cancel. Oh, and Chris called and asked if she could sleep over, since her plumbing’s being fixed, so prepare yourself for a houseguest.”
I leave him scowling and wondering when I’ll ever say happy birthday.
God, I feel like shit.
***
I’m so excited by the time we turn onto our street I can hardly sit still, and it takes a huge does of willpower to keep me from jumping up and down with glee.
“The Marshalls must be having a party. Look at all those cars,” he says wistfully, not mentioning that the Marshalls have done me a huge favor with the parking arrangements.
I hum an agreement and scour the drive as we drive up, fiddling nervously with my phone. I’ve texted Lena just to let her know we’re close, and I thank God for Greg’s distraction on the drive, or I would have no doubt been interrogated the whole way here.
Have I said what a stalker my husband has become?
“Huh. All the lights are out. And Mom and Dad aren’t here yet.”
I give him my now customary shrug and watch his hands clench in frustration. Just a little longer, Han, just a few seconds, and then you can finally say it.
He stops at the front door, his key swinging, and turns to me, a questioning look filling his eyes, and it hits me that he’s waiting, has been waiting the whole day for me to say it.
“Darlin’, I know things haven’t been—”
I kiss him just to shut him up and smile softly.
“Shut up, Greg, you’re gonna ruin it,” I whisper, swinging the door open and pulling him in to the deafening roar and bright lights as everyone yells, “Surprise!”
The look on his face is priceless, something I’ll carry with me for as long as I live ,and the feeling is so overwhelming I feel myself tear up.
“Happy birthday, Greg,” I whisper, laughing when he swings me up into his arms and kisses me through the huge grin splitting his lips.
We’re all laughing by the time he releases me, and I feel it then, that magical something I’ve been searching for since we got married. Who needs the words when I feel so… His eyes tell me what he feels, even if he can’t bring himself to admit it.
“You sneaky woman.”
I want to spend the night basking in this glow, the shining brilliance that is him at this moment, but we’re inundated by guests, and when I look up from hugs and greetings he’s been swallowed up by the mob.
“You rock,” Chris grins, smooching my cheek loudly.
“Yeah, she really does. This is great! You should see the backyard. It’s lit up like the Fourth of July, and… How the heck did you get that band?” Lena demands.
“My mother-in-law helped.”
“Yikes.”
I totally agree, but can’t say so when Patricia herself comes barrelling my way, her blonde hair coifed and shining in the lights, her mouth so pinched I worry for the health of her lips.
Lena and Chris scatter — the traitors — and I’m left alone as the dragon approaches.
“This is so…”
I cringe and bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Do not be rude to her, Han. She pushed your husband out of her vagina, so you have to be nice.
“Thank you, Hannah. You’ve made my son very happy.”
It’s so surprising I feel my mouth flapping as I search for words. This is a first. I’d assumed I’d only get a compliment after the first four or five grandbabies.
Looks like I can stop praying for the state of my vagina.
“Thank you, Patricia. You were a great help and�
��I want you to know that I understand why you hate me, it’s just—”
“I don’t hate you, dear,” she says quietly, stopping my speech with a hand at my wrist.
I feel bubbly for all of five seconds before she hits me with a roundhouse.
“I just don’t like you. Now, be a good hostess and make sure the caterers are doing their jobs.”
With that parting shot I’m left alone to see her perfect head bobbing along through the crowd after the birthday boy.
“Well, that wasn’t the most terrible thing she could have said.”
I turn and roll my eyes at Flick and Flack as they melt out from behind the corner.
“Tell that to my ego,” I snort. “Where’s Nana? Greg will want to say hi.”
“She went on a date with one of those guys from the last home she was in, a Mr Licks, I believe she called him. Don’t worry, Josey’s chaperoning. And don’t get all twisted up, she said she’s not into ‘young people parties.’”
I stopped listening the minute she said “Licks,” and it takes me two glasses of wine and a canapé to stop speculating about the name. And the wrinkled old man who comes along with it.
Ew.
Two hours later the party is really going strong. I’m already exhausted just running around after the caterer and her staff, and I can’t imagine another two hours of this.
Thank God tomorrow’s Saturday.
“Well hello there, darlin’, care to dance?” I hear.
I turn with a smile to see Greg strolling toward me where I’m sitting in a small alcove off the patio, just trying to catch my breath and rest my aching feet.
We’re both still dressed for work, and my shoes are killing me.
“Not a chance, birthday boy, my feet feel like minced meat. How about sharing that glass of water you’re drinking?”
He sits at the opposite end of the bench and hands me the glass, pulling my bare feet up and onto his lap. When he starts rubbing, I know exactly why I married the man. He’s perfect.
“God, that feels wonderful. Remind me never to wear heels to a party where other people are getting wasted. It’s like putting your feet on a train track and inviting the bastard to have a go.”
“You’re a sneaky woman, Mrs Lucas,” he murmurs, and I crack an eyelid to give him a smug smile.
“You made it really hard, Greg. It’s been almost impossible to plan and get everyone on board with you dogging me so closely lately. I thought for sure you busted me the other night when Chris and Lena called. Thank God you’re a man and you think with your penis, or I would have been so busted.”
His hand tenses around my abused foot, and I squeak out a protest.
“Easy on the merchandise, buddy.”
“That was…you were on the phone with Chris and Lena?”
“Yeah, of course. Who else—”
The end of that conversation comes back to me, and I narrow my eyes and try to pull my feet back, which of course he won’t allow.
“Who exactly did you think I was talking to?” I ask in a deadly tone.
He has the grace to look sheepish, and I harden my heart against the little boy pout.
“Han, I—”
“How can you even..?” I rip my feet back and make to stand, feeling so much fury I can hardly breathe. “We’re married! God, what do you take me for? You must think so little of me!”
I’m furious, raging as I lean down to grab my shoes, only to find myself smashed up against his chest, his face so close I can smell the champagne on his breath.
“Goddammit, darlin’, calm the heck down.”
“No! You think I’m some kind of whore? How can you even think I would do that to you?”
“Because I’d deserve it!” he yells.
A few passers-by stop and stare long enough that he grabs my hand and tows me inside and up the back stairs. When we reach our bedroom he slams and locks the door, still keeping me pinned to his chest.
“You even stopped telling me you love me. I’m a lousy husband to you, and I know it. For Christ’s sake, I spent ninety percent of our honeymoon avoiding you.”
I stop struggling and push back to see his face, all the fight leaving me at that quiet admission. So he was avoiding me.
“Why? I mean, you’re so into sex, and…a honeymoon is a free for all sex marathon. I thought you’d jump at the chance to nail me on every surface at any time.”
Gosh, I’d been looking forward to that.
He finally sets me down, and I sigh in frustration when he starts pacing.
“I…I wanted to prove to you that I don’t just want you for sex,” he mutters, and it takes me a minute to process that statement before a laugh bubbles out.
“On our honeymoon?”
I’m doing my utmost not to laugh so hard I snort, but it’s almost impossible when he stops pacing and glares at me in that oh so familiar way.
“Possibly a miscalculation,” he concedes before throwing me a dirty look. “You didn’t exactly help either. I almost lost an eye when you walked out of the bathroom completely naked.”
“Ah, so you did notice.”
He curses and mutters, giving me a sardonic look.
“Of course I did. I had to walk to another cabin with a hard on that took an hour to subside. An old lady and her husband caught me. And winked. It was the most embarrassing situation I’ve ever been in.”
“I bet that gave them something big to talk about,” I snort.
“Very big.”
He smiles as he says it, and I giggle, feeling relieved and lightheaded at once. Relieved because, well, hearing that my body is banging hot enough to get that sort of reaction is great. Lightheaded because now I kinda don’t need him to say it anymore.
Even if he doesn’t love me, that’s as close as it gets, and that’s more than okay.
“I love you, Gregory Lucas,” I whisper, choking up a little. “Even though you tortured me on our honeymoon and made me miserable the first week of our marriage.”
I tack that on because, while I’m feeling charitable, I’m not dumb. He still has a lot of making up to do, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
His face lights up and he grabs me, kissing me so thoroughly my toes curl.
“Say it again. Please.”
“I love you. Love you. Love you,” I whisper against his lips, peppering him with soft kisses that promise so much more. “Wait. I haven’t given you your gift yet.”
I push away and dart to the closet, coming back with a nervous skip. He frowns and takes my offering, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You already gave me what I wanted, darlin’.”
He’s so solemn and cute I can’t resist another kiss before urging him to open it. I’m so excited and jittery I have to fight the urge not to open it myself.
It’s worth the agitation, though, when he carefully pulls back the wrapping to reveal the small rectangular box. A laugh bubbles up, and I grin, knowing that look.
He thinks I’ve bought him man jewelry — as if — and his trepidation about opening it is hurting my feelings.
“Darlin’—”
“Oh shut up and open it already. I’m dying here.”
When he does finally swallow and lift the lid, I’m actually jumping up and down and clapping like a five-year-old. What I’ve gotten him is a very rare baseball card that I practically had to sell my soul for, it’s so rare.
Let’s just say I’m super grateful I don’t actually need my paycheck, because it’s gone.
“Where? How?” he breathes, running reverent fingers over the thin card.
“Your mom told me. I found this collector, and, well, let’s just say I made him an offer his wife couldn’t refuse. Your mom went and got it for me, seeing as Mr Suspicious wouldn’t let me out of his sight,” I mutter pointedly.
He blushes and pulls me close, burying his face in my chest.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Nope. Now come on,
birthday boy, your guests await.”
It’s hard to say, and even harder to pull back when his tongue peeks out and licks at the valley between my breasts.
“Make them go away. I want to stay here, with you.”
I laugh all the way downstairs, and as he blows out his candles.
Chapter Thirty Five
They say bad luck comes in threes, so I figure I deserve a good threesome in the “good things come to those who wait” department. But thinking is not reality, and I realize that when my now slightly tipsy husband presses a plate of birthday cake into my hand and informs me that his parents will be spending the night.
Yay.
The party finally winds down by one in the morning, and I close the door with a groan and kick my shoes off in two different directions. God, what I wouldn’t give for a foot transplant right now.
“A true lady would disrobe in the privacy of her own bedroom, Hannah. But then, I don’t suppose you know any better,” I hear, and I come away from the door with a grunt of annoyance.
Just what I need, another lecture from the world’s biggest lemon.
“That’s enough, Mother.”
My lips curl upward at the sound of Greg’s voice, and I make my way to him with a moan.
“Come on, hot stuff, let’s go to bed.”
I’m not looking for an argument with his saintly mother, and I’ve had such a good night I just want to fall asleep still feeling happy.
“No, we’re not going anywhere till Mother apologizes to you.”
Okay, maybe I can consider this a good thing. And expect one more happy moment. Threes, right?
“Never mind, Greg. Let’s just—”
“No,” he says harshly, shutting me up. “She just insulted you for no good reason, and I can’t accept that.”
My arms are pulled down from around his neck, and he turns me, pulling my back to his front, and forces me to face Patricia. Her mouth is even tighter than usual, if that’s possible, and I can see her light brown eyes glazing with what can only be shocked anger.
I’m shocked too, and a mite hesitant, and while he’s slightly buzzed and loose of limb, I can feel the tension and his own anger radiating out of him.
“Mom.”
His voice is a low bark of command that makes me cringe.
JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) Page 49
