by Nadia Lee
“Wake up,” I say, keeping my voice calm but firm.
My wife struggles, her hands clenched into fists. Tears start to flow freely down her cheeks. Her chest shudders, and my hair stands at the sound she makes, one of the keenest sorrow like something infinitely precious has been ripped from her.
“Hey, wake up,” I say again. “You’re okay, beautiful. You’re safe.”
My internal clock tells me it’s after three. I fell asleep, wrapped around her, only to be jerked out of slumber when she started thrashing.
“No!”
Jesus. I turn on the bedside lamp. “Hey.” I jostle her gently. “Wake up!”
“Please! Not my sister!”
Terror contorts her face until it’s a mask of abject horror. Her hair sticks to her sweaty skin. Okay, enough. I shake her a little harder.
Her eyes open, but they look right through me. Tremors run through my wife’s body, and I grip her hard, trying to anchor her in reality.
“I got you, beautiful,” I say. “I got you.”
She blinks, and her eyes finally focus. “Elliot?”
“Yes. You’re okay.” Then I quickly add, “Nonny’s fine.”
A huge breath heaves out of her, and she goes limp. “Thank god.”
I rub my thumbs over her cheeks, streaking the tears. She blinks up at me, her eyes wide. It’s as though she didn’t even realize she was crying.
“I couldn’t save them,” she whispers, her voice broken. “I couldn’t do anything.”
“It was just a dream.”
“No. It’s more.”
The wooden flatness of her voice makes my chest ache. I’ve seen her devotion to her sister, and know the sacrifices she’s made to ensure she gives her sister the best life possible. The nightmare must’ve been harrowing to touch on that. She’s so far away, someplace I can’t quite reach. She’s actually slightly clammy to the touch.
A compulsion I don’t quite understand urges me to make it right. Make her feel safe and protected.
“Shhh…” I whisper, kissing her on the forehead. I rub my cheek against hers, offering her comfort that I can’t give with words. I’m not a poetic guy. If it can’t be done with action, I don’t do it at all.
She tilts her head, angling so our mouths touch. I go still. She’s in a vulnerable state, and I don’t want to misinterpret and take advantage.
Her hand grips the back of my neck and pulls me closer. “Please…” Her breath fans against my lips.
I let her lead, unsure of exactly what she needs—and wants—from me. I’ve never dealt with a woman after a particularly nasty nightmare, so I’m actually in uncharted territory here. It’s an odd feeling.
She strokes my mouth with her velvety tongue. I meet her halfway, then more as she drags me deeper into an endless kiss. Her mouth is a treasure—infinitely tender, sweet and seeking. When I kiss her I feel like I’m a sailor lost at sea, storm-tossed and clinging to the only bit of flotsam that can save me. Her scent, her taste and her softness are overwhelming, and yet I wouldn’t change a thing.
I lose all track of time as we kiss. Desire starts to simmer in my blood. She shifts without breaking the kiss. Her delicate hand slips between our bodies and wraps around my swollen dick.
Her pupils are dark and wide, so dilated that I can barely see the green rings around them. She spreads her legs and guides me to her slick heat.
I pull back. It would be so easy to glide into her without the barrier of a condom, but somebody’s got to be responsible. None of us wants to risk pregnancy—something that would jeopardize our plan to end this arrangement after a year.
I reach into the drawer for a packet. And once I’m fully sheathed, I slide slowly into her.
Her chest rises and falls in a sharp inhale and exhale. Her legs wrap around my waist, her heels digging into the upper swell of my ass. I cradle her face with both of my hands while dragging my cock back and forth along her swollen pussy.
The pace I set is slow and easy. I want her warm, the terror gone from her mind. I want her crying out my name when she comes.
Pleasure clouds her eyes. Her nails dig into my back. Her breaths come out in pants that match my rhythm. The urge to race her to orgasm is definitely there, but I pull it back.
“My god…” she whimpers.
“Not god, beautiful. Just me inside you,” I whisper. “You’re safe.”
Something I can’t quite figure out crosses her face. Red flush tints her cheeks, and this time a very different kind of sweat coats her heated skin. “Please…”
For a split second I think she’s about to say my name, but then a climax spirals over her. She squeezes her eyes shut and clenches her teeth. Her back arches, every muscle in her body going rigid.
The tight grip of her pussy around my dick finally tips it for me, sending me crashing over into orgasm. My breath gusts over her, but the usual satisfaction of good sex doesn’t wash through me.
The odd sensation that’s been bugging me since earlier tonight returns with a vengeance. And I finally realize…
She swallowed my name when she came.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Annabelle
Elliot’s not in bed by the time I wake up. He’s got to be a morning person, although given how little sleep he had last night, I don’t see how he can function.
My face heats, remembering what happened. I was so shameless, using him for comfort and solace. It’s a good thing he didn’t mind. I’d like to blame it on his being a man—what guy says no to sex?—but I know better. I’m beginning to realize that Elliot only has sex when he wants to, with the partner of his choosing, not when just anyone lifts her skirt and spreads her legs.
I don’t know why I had the nightmare. I haven’t had it for over a year now. There’s absolutely no reason for me to doubt my ability to provide for Nonny now. She’ll be in a better school in no time at all, and I’m going to have the means to support her the way she deserves after my year of fake marriage with Elliot is over.
By the time I shower, throw on a T-shirt and skirt and pad barefoot to the kitchen for coffee, it’s seven. Nonny is at the counter, devouring a bowl of cereal. She’s in a brand new yellow dress, cut in a modest but not outdated way. Golden sandals look good on her, complementing the subtle tan of her legs.
“Morning,” I say, pouring fresh java into the first mug my hand grasps. It reads Nothing Says Amour like Paris in gold. In the background is a silver Eiffel Tower.
“Morning.”
“Where’d you get the dress and shoes?”
“They just showed up in my room. Elliot said they were mine when I asked yesterday.”
Guilt twinges in my conscience. I didn’t even think about getting her a new outfit during the last few days. Making sure Nonny’s okay and taken care of should’ve been at the top of my priority list. “Well they look great on you.”
“Thanks!” She beams. “He has such good taste.”
Him or Josephine. He hasn’t had time to go shopping either, unless he can be in two places at the same time. “Have you seen him?”
She nods. “He grabbed a cup of coffee, then went up to his office.” She shovels the last spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “Did you know I’m starting at the new school today?” she asks around the food.
“Chew and swallow before you talk,” I say in reflex. “And no, I didn’t.” Elliot mentioned it yesterday. The man works fast. “Are you okay with the transfer? I thought you wanted to go on the band trip.”
“I did, but…” She shrugs. “The new school has a band too, and they probably haven’t done their trip yet. It’s still early in the year.”
My shoulders sag with gratitude. I seriously lucked out when I got a sister as sweet and mature as Nonny.
“The bus’s coming to get me.” She frowns. “I hope it’s a better school.” And by that, she means a place where she can fit in.
She slides off her stool, her hands smoothing her dress. A silver bracelet with unic
orn charms sparkles around her slim wrist. It’s from our mom, given to her on her twelfth birthday, and Nonny’s never taken it off.
“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic,” I say, giving her a tight hug. Based on what I’ve seen of Elliot, he isn’t the type to put her in just any school. He’s probably done his homework. “Do you want me to drive you?”
“No. It’s okay. I mean…I want to scope things out a little bit on my own, you know?”
“Okay.”
“Thanks.”
I watch her go. I’m tempted to drive her to the new school anyway, but I merely tighten my grip on my mug instead. It’s her choice, and I should respect that. She hasn’t had much control in her life. I want her to start learning to be assertive and confident about her wants and decisions…while making sure she isn’t being reckless, of course.
Cradling the coffee in both hands, I wander around until I find Elliot’s office. It’s the fourth room with an en suite bathroom. The place is spacious, with a huge desk and an executive chair by the window and a couple of pale leather couches long enough for him to stretch out on if he wants to catch a quick nap or something. The walls are barren, and there isn’t any other furniture. The desk is also empty of everything except a desktop computer and a laptop.
“No, absolutely not. They’ve got the causation mixed up,” he says into his Bluetooth headset. A T-shirt and cargo shorts mold to his frame. The morning sunlight creates a stark silhouette, revealing all the perfect lines of his masterfully honed body.
He turns around as if sensing my presence. “Hold on a minute.” He takes a few steps toward me until he’s standing so close that I can feel his body heat. He raises a hand, as though to touch me, but then drops it. “You okay?” His gaze roams over my face, searching.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I was wondering…” I clear my throat. “I want to get started on the reception slash dinner you were talking about. And…yeah, um, I’m wondering where to begin.” I know nothing about planning stuff like this.
“The menu,” he says. “Decide on a theme. But you could also start with the wine, then go from there.”
I have no idea what that even means. What theme? And wine? What do I know about wine, anyway? I don’t even drink.
“Do you need anything else?” he says.
I want to ask him to explain further, but the green light blinking on his headset catches my eye. He’s probably busy. “No.” I curve my mouth into a smile. “That’s it.”
I leave with the coffee and boot up my ancient computer. Since I’m not sure about the theme, maybe wine really would be a better place to start. How hard can it be? Google is my friend.
Except when it isn’t.
Hundreds of results pop up. Some don’t make sense, some mention wine vintages that are no longer available. And the price tags! Over a thousand dollars? Does the wine sing and dance on the dinner table too?
I tap my fingers on the island. Sure, Elliot’s rich, but it’s unlikely he wants to spend that kind of money on alcohol. On the other hand, anything under fifty dollars a bottle might be too cheap for him and his family.
Even though this marriage is a total sham, I care about making the first event Elliot and I are hosting a success. It isn’t going to be the kind that’s featured in magazines, but I want people to enjoy themselves and feel good when they leave.
I glance at the clock. It’s already almost eleven, but Elliot hasn’t come out of his office.
Finally, at noon, he makes his appearance in the kitchen. He pulls out the leftover pizza from last night and nukes it. “If you want something different, let me know.”
“Pizza’s fine,” I say.
“Drink?”
“Water, please.”
He hands me a glass of water, then pours himself a scotch.
I frown. “It’s only noon,” I point out, unable to help myself.
“Five o’clock somewhere in the world.” He knocks it back with ease and exhales roughly.
“That bad a morning?”
“Nah. Nothing I can’t handle.” He pulls the warmed pizza out, serves it on two plates, and attacks one big slice at the counter while standing. His weight shifts back and forth, balls of his feet to heels, and he drums his fingers.
“You know,” I say after a thoughtful bite. “It would be helpful if you can at least come up with the menu or give me some ideas about what kind of wine you like.”
“I’m flexible, as long as it has alcohol and isn’t too vile.” He munches on the leftover pizza with gusto, as if to prove that he is indeed as flexible as he claims. “And nobody in the family’s allergic to anything.”
My teeth grind together. “That’s nice, but I don’t know what they want, how much you want to spend on the dinner or…anything.”
“Don’t sweat it. They’ll eat whatever’s on the plate in front of them.”
“Veggie pizza?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “My brothers and sister will love it.”
“But your parents—”
“Will hopefully not show up at all.”
My jaw drops.
“Trust me. Better for everyone that way.”
I shake my head and drop the slice of pizza back on my plate. “If you’re that ashamed of introducing me to your parents, why did you even marry me?”
“No, no. It’s not you. It’s them. I’m…” He gets a second scotch. “I can’t begin to explain the situation with my parents. It’s like…” he searches for words, “such a cliché that even the worst soap opera would be ashamed to use it.”
“But…”
“Okay, listen. My father’s on his sixth wife”—Elliot’s mouth twists into a sneer—“who will be gone in a pointlessly anticlimactic divorce within a year. Mom married some Russian guy after her previous husband died. Rich, of course, from what I heard. Other than that I have no idea. I haven’t even met the man. Only learned about her latest marriage on the news. The guy she married is apparently a big deal in Moscow.”
My lips part, but I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“Don’t look at me like that. Things are the way they are, and hey, the whole fucked-up situation gave me and Lucas plenty of free time to work on our algorithm. Which gave us all this.” He sweeps the penthouse with one hand. “Independence.”
“That sounds awful,” I say quietly, empathy welling inside.
He shrugs. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to think you have anything to be ashamed of in front of my family. The only person whose opinion matters is you. Just do what you’re comfortable with. In fact, if you want, we can skip the whole thing. It doesn’t matter.”
But it does matter. I’ve seen how close he is to Elizabeth. He’d want to have her over at least. And if he’s half as attached to his other siblings, I want to meet them as well.
“No, we’re going to do it,” I say. “Why don’t you give me your assistant’s name or somebody who can guide me? I’ve never done an event before, so I’d appreciate some help.”
He watches me with a hooded gaze, then shrugs. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Annabelle
The rest of the week flies by. Nonny settles in at her new school and has no complaints. But I’d be surprised if she did. She seems to have a bit of hero worship for Elliot.
The nightmare doesn’t return, thank god. But Elliot takes me like a man on a mission every night, as though he’s determined to make me come as many times as possible. I’m sore all over, especially between my legs. But I can’t really complain when I feel so languid and content.
My biggest worries—the tasks that consume most of my energy—are the reception and finding a job. Since I can’t start college again yet, I want to go ahead and work. Being idle is driving me nuts. And after tonight, I won’t even have the reception planning to keep me busy.
“So who’s coming?” Elliot asks, adjusting his shirt in front of the mirror
in the master bedroom. He’s left the top two buttons undone, revealing the muscular pillar that is his throat. The dark slacks are perfectly tailored to fit him. I’m certain he doesn’t buy anything off the rack. His clothes are cut too precisely to highlight all his key assets—his broad chest, thick arms and that oh-my-god ass.
I don’t bother to glance at my notebook. Everything’s been memorized. “I invited all your siblings, and I think they’re all coming except maybe for Lucas. He didn’t respond, so I’m not sure.” I look at the dresses in the walk-in closet. Just yesterday I knew exactly what I was going to wear, but now I’m not sure if the red dress is the right choice. The color’s too bold for a wedding reception.
A shadow crosses his face. “He isn’t coming then.” He sighs. “I was hoping he would.”
“I’m sorry.” I stop what I’m doing and look at him. “I should’ve followed up more. When I couldn’t reach him the first time—”
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “It is what it is. I knew he probably wouldn’t. But… Did you invite Ryder too?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s coming?”
“He said he was.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Ah, nothing. I just thought he was going to spend the entire year in Thailand.”
“Maybe he’s making a special trip just for you.”
Elliot smiles. “Maybe. You watch, he’ll call it doing me a favor.” He snorts, but there’s warmth in his eyes.
“Your mother didn’t RSVP, but your father’s coming, along with his wife.”
He spins around. “I thought I asked you not to send them their invitations until two days before.”
“And that’s what I did. Your father said yes.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Ah, jeez. Okay. Anyone from your side?”
“No.”
“No aunts, uncles, cousins…?”
“My parents are both dead, and they were orphans. And it’s not like I have any friends I want to invite.” The people who called themselves “friends” turned their backs on me so fast they’re probably still spinning. Even Traci kept her distance. I can’t blame her for being aloof—I’m sure her family suffered too—but I no longer feel comfortable with anybody from Lincoln City.
