Rough Around the Edges

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Then by the power vested in me by the state of California and in the sight of Almighty God, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The jovial-looking priest waited a bit for nature to take its course. When neither nature nor the couple before him did, he stepped forward again and urged, “You may kiss the bride,” in something louder than a stage whisper.

  Kiss. Kitt felt herself stiffening. She’d forgotten about that part. For the sake of the video, she knew she couldn’t protest or demur.

  Okay, here goes.

  Dutifully, she handed Shawna to Sylvia and then turned to the man who was now for all intents and purposes her husband. She raised her mouth to his, not really knowing what to expect, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly burst into tears because she was suddenly feeling strangely emotional and somehow very cheated.

  O’Rourke placed a hand on either of her shoulders and lowered his mouth to hers, determined to make this look like an authentic love match for anyone watching the videotape.

  What happened was that he forgot about the fine line between real and make-believe, and as he endeavored to make the kiss seem real, it became real. So real that he discovered it captured him squarely in its grip and held him fast.

  A sweetness was released within his veins, a sweetness coupled with a rush that sent his head spinning and had him questioning his own hold on reality, which admittedly at this moment was none too firm.

  He lingered over her lips, trying to get his bearings. As if they belonged to someone else, he felt his hands tightening ever so slightly on her shoulders, even as his own body tightened like the string of an archery bow.

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. The refrain echoed in her head like an endlessly looped tape, destined to go on forever.

  What had she gotten herself into? What was happening to her? Where had her knees gotten to? The second O’Rourke had started kissing her, her knees had suddenly numbered themselves among the missing and everything inside of her had gone utterly hay-wire. Was this part of the postpartum experience, too? Was that the reason why the floor was suddenly the ceiling and the ceiling the floor?

  Though she fought to pull everything back into focus, it seemed to have inverted on her, throwing her into complete disorientation. Had his hands not been on her shoulders, holding her up, Kitt was certain that she probably would have discovered herself sitting unceremoniously on the church floor.

  Still and all, it was delicious for all its disorienting powers. She felt herself leaning into the kiss, holding on to it just a beat longer.

  Somewhere in the distance, she heard someone clearing their throat.

  “You may now stop kissing the bride,” the priest chuckled, then pretended to fan himself with the white, gilt-edged Bible he was holding. “I’m not sure if as a man of the cloth I’m supposed to be allowed to witness such displays of affection firsthand.” Tucking the Bible under one arm, he moved forward and took each of them by the hand. He beamed at them as he held their hands for a second. “I have a very good feeling about this.” And then he released their hands. “Go, be happy.”

  Kitt wasn’t sure when she had felt so confused and so guilty all at one time, in her life.

  The scent of cologne subtly seeped into her senses. There was something about the way he was holding her as they danced that telegraphed itself through her entire consciousness, making every fiber of her body aware of O’Rourke.

  Aware of them together.

  It wasn’t as if he was holding her too close. He was being a complete gentleman about it.

  And yet…

  And yet there was this nervousness dancing along with her, claiming her as its partner. It was their first dance together as husband and wife. That was the way the leader of the small band had announced it. Another tradition she’d hoped to meet under different circumstances.

  Desperate for conversation, for distraction, she grabbed on to the first thing she could think of. “This is a very nice restaurant.”

  Lame, Kitt, lame.

  O’Rourke nodded, trying very hard not to notice the way the woman in his arms felt, leaning into his body. As if she belonged there. Which was an absolutely absurd thought, one he’d attribute to too much beer or wine—except that, beyond the few sips he’d had in acknowledgment of Simon’s toast to them, he hadn’t had any.

  “It belongs to Simon’s third cousin on his mother’s side. Simon reserved the room. It’s his wedding present to us.” He hadn’t been able to talk Simon out of it, despite the fact that they both knew it wasn’t a real marriage. Simon’s argument had been that if he was deported, then they would all be out of work, including him. Simon had maintained it was a small-enough investment to make against the future.

  Relative or not, Kitt figured it couldn’t have been cheap to have this room reserved for the reception. “Very generous of him. Did Simon find the band, too?” She nodded toward the trio playing on the far side of the room.

  O’Rourke nodded, glancing at the musicians. “Another cousin, I think.”

  Kitt laughed. She felt a little giddy despite the fact that the only thing she’d had to drink, because she was nursing, was ginger ale when Simon had made his toast. “Lucky thing Simon has such a big family.”

  She’d always wanted a big family. Now she was down to just a brother with wanderlust. The last she’d heard, he was in Oregon, but that was five months ago.

  And she had the baby, of course. “If it’d been up to my connections, the reception would have been kept at McDonald’s with some old man playing songs on the kazoo.”

  The mention of the children’s instrument made O’Rourke smile. “Better than on a comb.”

  “On a comb?”

  “Sure.” He looked at her and realized she didn’t know what he was talking about. He sincerely doubted that the makeshift musical “instrument” was something restricted to his part of the world. “Haven’t you ever done that, hummed something on a comb with a bit of tissue paper draped over it? It sounds a bit like a kazoo, actually.”

  Kitt shook her head, amused. Since O’Rourke had mentioned it with such feeling, she assumed he’d played the thing himself. Try as she might, she couldn’t visualize that.

  “I’m afraid my musical experience is limited to playing the radio.”

  For a second, in his mind’s eye he was back home again, surrounded by siblings he’d always claimed were annoying, siblings he loved dearly.

  “I used to play songs for my sisters and brothers on the comb to keep them entertained.”

  He thought of the years they all did without, and how that had finally broken his father. In his own way, he’d tried his best to help. His best hadn’t been nearly good enough.

  But it had to be now, he resolved.

  He found himself looking down into Kitt’s eyes and struggling to keep track of what he was saying. “There wasn’t much money for things like entertainment when we were very young.”

  A comb and tissue paper. The man knew how to make do. A hint of admiration nudged itself forward. “You sound like a very resourceful person.”

  He’d never done well with compliments. They made him self-conscious. Looking away, he shrugged. “You do what you have to.”

  Which included marrying her. The next moment she wondered where the thought, draped as it was in sadness, had come from. Why should there be sadness? Had to be hormones, she decided. When were they finally going to level off and leave her a sane person?

  Sylvia came up behind them, laying a hand on Kitt’s shoulder. “Hate to break this up,” she interjected, nodding at O’Rourke, “but it looks as if someone’s hungry.”

  His lips curved slightly. “Help yourself to anything on the buffet, Sylvia.”

  “I mean the baby.”

  O’Rourke flashed a grin so quickly, it was gone almost before it registered. “I know that.” Releasing Kitt, he stepped back.

  “You know,” Sylvia mused, looking after O’Rourke as he walked across the floor to a cluster of people. “With a little bit of w
ork, he might not be half bad.”

  Kitt took her daughter from her friend. “No one’s going to be working on him, Sylvia, so stop thinking what you’re thinking right now.”

  Sylvia was the soul of innocence. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  Though she had never come right out and said so to her, Sylvia had never cared for Jeffrey. Kitt could see that O’Rourke was beginning to fare far better in her friend’s eyes.

  “Because I know you.” Kitt turned her attention to more important things. She chucked Shawna under the chin and the infant ceased fussing for a moment. Kitt hoped there was a chair in the ladies’ room. “C’mon, sweetie, time to fill you up again.”

  “It was a lovely reception.” Kitt’s voice sounded a little hollow to her ears as they walked into O’Rourke’s apartment.

  Their apartment now, she corrected.

  The door closed behind her with a finality that echoed in her head.

  It was different somehow, different coming here tonight than it had been all the other times these last few days, despite the fact that O’Rourke brought over all the things Jeffrey hadn’t taken from her apartment so she could feel more at home here. Different from even the first time when she had walked into the living pigsty and shock had greeted her, intensifying with every second that passed and every new place she looked.

  She couldn’t put her finger on why, but it definitely felt different to her.

  Just nerves, she told herself. After all, she was the man’s wife in the legal sense.

  What if he…?

  Without meaning to, she drew her breath in and held it.

  O’Rourke saw the look Kitt slanted toward him. Felt the tension that vibrated around her like some large, vaporous cloud. It mystified him and then he realized what was going through her head.

  She was afraid.

  Of him?

  The thought made him angry and he felt insulted that Kitt would actually believe he would try something with her.

  What kind of a man did she think he was?

  Granted, that kiss in the church had all but scorched the socks right off his feet, but that was no reason for her to think that he—

  Had she felt something then, too? Was it something that not only he had experienced, but she had as well? Was that it? Was she afraid now that he would press his advantage?

  The shock of the idea that she might have felt something made him let the anger go.

  He took a breath himself before answering. “I’ve been to better,” he acknowledged. “Jimmy Allen had a wedding reception the Sunday before I left Ireland that went on for three days.”

  “Three days?” she echoed. She thought of the bride and groom. “Weren’t they tired? Didn’t they want to…?”

  Kitt stopped abruptly, realizing that she had let her tongue get ahead of her brain again. She didn’t want to be giving him any ideas.

  If he hadn’t known where she was going with this to begin with, the vivid blush on her cheeks would have told him. “They slipped off to their honeymoon around midnight of the first day. The rest of us just carried on in their honor.” The reception had been in Jimmy’s father’s house. A widower, the man had more than welcomed the company. “Wasn’t a sober man left standing in County Cork by the time it was over.”

  Both of her parents had been teetotalers, and if her brother drank, she didn’t know about it. The concept of getting pleasantly loaded was completely foreign to her. “Is that what you consider a good time?”

  He could tell by the innocent query in her voice that she was completely unacquainted with spirits. He didn’t really drink anymore, but he didn’t want any lectures, either. Would she be the kind to lecture? he wondered, looking at her.

  He found himself getting trapped in her eyes. “It has its place. But it doesn’t compare to being with the right woman.” With effort, he drew his attention away. “Or so they tell me.”

  He’d aroused her curiosity and she forgot about being tired. “There’s never been a right woman for you?”

  He didn’t feel like talking about Susan. That was something that happened long ago and far away. “I never went looking.”

  Neither had she. She thought of Jeffrey. They’d literally bumped into each other running for shelter from a sudden shower and winding up in the same spot. “Sometimes you don’t have to look. Sometimes you just get found.”

  He wondered about the man who had walked out on her. It wasn’t his place to ask.

  “Never been found, either. Listen, I know it’s late and you’re tired.” Shawna was beginning to stir in her arms. She’d slept through a great deal of the reception—storing up energy, no doubt. “If you’d like, I can take the little one for the night, let you get some sleep.”

  He’d made the suggestion gruffly, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “Aren’t you going in to work tomorrow?”

  He shrugged carelessly, slipping off the tuxedo jacket and undoing the tie. “Yes, but that doesn’t matter. Getting up for the baby doesn’t bother me.” He saw her hesitating. Was it that she didn’t trust him, or didn’t want to impose? “It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

  She slid out of her shoes and instantly became four inches shorter. “I’m not sure what to make of you, Shawn Michael.”

  Only his mother had called him that. His siblings had used just the first name. “The name’s O’Rourke, if you don’t mind,” he corrected her. “And there’s no reason to try to make anything of me at all.” He spread his arms out for her. “What you see is what you get. I’m a simple sort of man.”

  Simple, huh? She wasn’t all that convinced. She began walking toward her bedroom. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll just keep her for the night.”

  He shrugged, turning away. “Suit yourself.”

  No, she thought, she didn’t know what to make of him at all. Maybe he was right, maybe she shouldn’t even try. In any event, she was too tired to analyze anything tonight.

  With a shrug, Kitt took her daughter to their room and closed the door.

  Chapter Eight

  On his way out to the office, O’Rourke paused to hand Kitt a sheet of paper he’d agonized over in the wee hours of the night when sleep had decided to remain elusive, finding no place for itself in a head filled with other thoughts. Thoughts that were increasingly making space for a diminutive blond-haired woman.

  It had been five days since their wedding, five days that had found them settling into a routine of sorts. He hadn’t really known what to expect, maybe that nothing would actually change since they weren’t really married in each other’s eyes.

  But there had been changes. Subtle changes. There was a different feeling when he came home at night, no matter how late. A feeling of sharing. It wasn’t his home any longer, there were two other people in it now, albeit that one of them was a tiny people, but that still didn’t change the fact that he was no longer alone.

  But it wasn’t really an awkward sharing of space, even though he was by and large a private man when it came to his personal life. And, after all, for most of his life, he’d shared space with more than a couple of other bodies. There’d been his brothers and sisters. The six of them had shared one house, bursting to the seams. Granted, as the oldest, he’d had his own bedroom once his mother had passed on.

  That hadn’t changed, either, he thought with a smile creeping over his lips. He still had his own room.

  But this time he felt restless about it.

  Perfectly natural itch, he supposed, for a man being in the same apartment with an attractive woman. It was just that he’d always been too busy to notice attractiveness, or varying degrees thereof.

  He wasn’t too busy lately.

  Especially since the attractive woman knew how to cook. That had been something else he hadn’t expected. Kitt had had meals waiting for him. He wasn’t accustomed to that any longer, not since he’d left Ireland.

  Shifting Shawna to her other side, Kitt took the sheet of p
aper O’Rourke held out to her, curiosity nudging itself forward.

  He’d hardly touched his breakfast, she noted, looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen table and the single plate that sat there. She had meant to join him, but Shawna had decided to recycle her breakfast earlier than usual and she’d had to go and change a very pungent diaper before it ruined breakfast for O’Rourke.

  It appeared she didn’t have to bother.

  Kitt glanced at the lengthy, handwritten sheet. “What’s this?”

  He rather thought that was self-evident, seeing as how he’d carefully written down the general subject and its specific match right beside it.

  “Can’t you tell?” Turning the sheet around in her hand so that it faced him, O’Rourke indicated the first line, which read, “Favorite color: blue.” “It’s a list of my likes and dislikes.”

  Her brows drew together. “And I’m getting this because…?”

  She was going to make him late. Bad enough he’d gotten little sleep last night, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn’t and then suffering the consequences of that wandering by finding himself miserably fully awake. “Because it’s what you should know about me if the INS agent should happen to ask,” he told her, his voice short.

  Someone had obviously gotten up on the wrong side of the daybed, she thought. She looked up from the sheet. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  He didn’t see the point. Words could be forgotten. Hadn’t Susan forgotten the words he’d once said to her, in the shadow of the Forever Tree, where people had come since forever to pledge their hearts? Wait for me, Susan. I’m going to make us a wonderful life. “This way’s more efficient.”

  She glanced at the list. It appeared rather comprehensive. And cold.

  “More impersonal, if you ask me.” If that was the way he wanted it… With a sigh, she folded it with one hand, then slipped it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Does this mean you want me to write a list, too?”

  About to leave, he stopped in his tracks. “Why?”

  The man had tunnel vision, Kitt thought, amused. And yet, there was almost something appealing about the way he thought of himself as the problem….