by Lexi Scott
“Deo hates Greek,” I finish for her, unable to catch the words before they tumble awkwardly out of my mouth.
Adam and I lock gazes from across the room, and his is pure, bitter jealousy. My blush makes me feel like my scalp is on fire.
“Have a seat, Whit,” Adam says, striding over, his eyes still locked on mine. He pulls a chair out for Whit just as I set down the fritters and salad.
“This looks incredible.” Whit clears her throat and twists her napkin around her fingers. “Deo’s been so beat from work lately I can’t seem to get him to move past ordering sushi and pizza most nights. I had no idea you cooked like this, Gen.”
“You should join her. There’s plenty for two.” Adam’s voice is as icy as his eyes. He pulls his sweater from the closet and tugs it on.
“Um, I don’t want to intrude.” Whit half stands, but Adam waves her back down.
“Not an intrusion. Besides, I was just leaving, and I’m sure Gen could use a friend.”
I wouldn’t exactly call Whit a friend, but I’m sort of glad she interrupted the crazy that was going on.
He leans in close to me as he scoops up his keys. His face dips a half-inch away from mine, and he growls in a low whisper only I can hear, “You look really nice, by the way. I was looking forward to having you for dessert.”
I feel a fresh blush creep across my face and down my neck, and I dart a look at Whit, who clearly missed my husband’s provocative words.
He slams the door on his way out, and I stand shocked. Adam is usually really good at controlling his temper, especially in front of other people. I wish our fight hadn’t ended the way it did. I wish we’d been able to resolve things before Whit showed up.
“I’m really sorry if I interrupted you guys,” Whit says, and I rush back to the kitchen area, feeling flustered and exposed.
I pull two plates down from the cupboard and set one in front of Whit and one at my place at the table, then slide into the chair across from her, ready to cover my domestic blowout with girl talk. I feel torn apart, but I don’t want to show it. And I won’t. I plaster a smile on my face.
“You didn’t. What’s up? I don’t usually get visits from you. Is everything okay?”
It’s surreal to be sitting—here in the aftermath of my first real married fight—with Deo’s wife, of all people.
Whit looks at me for a long second, like she wants to ask something, but seems to change her mind. “Everything’s fine. I just needed some help plotting Maren’s bachelorette party.”
“Already?” I ask, trying to remember when Cohen said the official date for the wedding would be. My own wedding and marriage has been consuming every single extra brain cell lately. I scoop a piece of chicken out of the pan and onto Whit’s plate and try to click back into hostess mode. “Help yourself to the salad and stuff. And to drink? What can I get you?”
“Water’s fine. I know it’s early, but I’d like to do something really special for her. She wouldn’t dig a Vegas thing or something flashy like that, but I wanted to know if you had any other ideas?”
Her mouth falls into her signature frown, and I realize that it’s not because she’s angry that she makes that face. At least not all the time. Right now it’s just that she’s lost in thought.
I put the water bottle next to her plate, take my seat across from her, and stare at my food. I’m no longer hungry, and the last thing I want to talk about is weddings and parties.
“I’ll give it some thought and let you know.”
“Okay, thanks. Maybe, like, up to San Francisco or something? Isn’t her mom up in Nor Cal? We could do Napa? What do you think about that?”
Whit cuts a bite of chicken, and I notice the plastic wrap on her wrist.
I think about how much I’d hate to leave Adam, and then I think about how pathetic that thought is, so I attempt to distract my fragmented brain.
“New tattoo?” I ask as I take a tiny bite.
She swallows and nods.
“Yeah, you want to see?” Before I can answer she peels the tape that’s securing the plastic wrap and holds her wrist up proudly. The fresh, dark ink is bleeding into the red skin. “I just had Rocko do it tonight.”
Looking at the tattoo brings a full, real smile to her lips. I reach over and take her wrist in my hand, careful not to touch the raw skin. It’s a compass, with the words, “be the one to guide me,” around it and a small anchor that’s encircled by the words, “but never hold me down.”
“Nice.” I read the words, but don’t fully process what they could mean. “It goes with the anchor tats you and Deo have, right?”
Whit shrugs and pulls her arm back, looking at the tattoos with a whole different frown. This one seems defiant.
“Sort of. This marriage thing is hard, right?” she asks suddenly, her eyes pinning me.
Panic makes me feel exposed. The last thing I need is Whit realizing what a failure I am at this, what a charade my entire marriage really is. She and Deo are attached at the hip. If she mentions anything to him, he’ll tell my brother, who will pass it on to my family. They will never let me live it down if their fears—that I got married too young and too quickly to a guy I didn’t know long enough or well enough, for reasons other than love—are confirmed.
“I guess. I mean, Adam and I are just starting out.”
She re-wraps her wrist and nods.
“I think that’s the hardest time of all. When you’re still figuring each other out. How to live together. How to be good for each other without stifling what the other person wants.” She picks up her fork and takes another bite of chicken, chewing slowly. “So, when Deo and I first moved in together, that was my biggest worry. That we might try to change each other. I sort of had this vision of what we’d be like as a married couple, and what it actually turned out to be was a lot different than what I had in mind. Probably the same for Deo, too. And honestly, it’s hard to not be annoyed with this person that you’re around all the time, you know?”
“Yep,” I say, pushing my food around my plate.
I wish Adam hadn’t stormed out like he did. I wish he were sitting here and not Whit. I don’t want to fight with him, and I don’t want to hear about how hard marriage is from the one person I’ve invested so much time into not liking.
“Genevieve?” She wipes her mouth and puts her fork down. “Um, I heard you guys arguing.”
I tense up, blushing hot yet again, not sure what to do.
Deny it? Order her to leave? Demand to know why she was eavesdropping? Beg her not to mention this to anyone in my family? Or anyone who might tell anyone in my family? The panic rolls in like a slow, choking fog.
“I mean, I didn’t hear everything you were saying, but I heard you yelling.” She fiddles with her own wedding band, twisting it around and around on her finger. Her voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it before. “And I…I want you to know that I haven’t been married that long, but it’s work. Every day it’s work. Even on the days that I’m so damn head-over-heels in love with Deo I can’t see straight. But I see—we all see—how Adam looks at you, hon. And it’s so obvious how much he loves you.”
“Yeah?” I don’t mean to ask with such pathetic enthusiasm, but there it is. Evidence of how unsure I am about Adam’s feelings.
“Yeah. So, I hope you guys can find a way to bend together without trying to change each other so much that one of you breaks. Because that’s the biggest trick of it all, and that’s what this tattoo means to me.” She runs her fingers over the crinkly saran wrap. “That Deo loves me enough to stand with me and help me when I need him, but he isn’t trying to change me. He isn’t ever trying to hold me back from anything. He just wants to be beside me. And I need to remind myself to do the same for him. For us, at least, it’s the key to our happiness. It’s what keeps us in a good place. Together.”
I lean back in my chair, realizing that I haven’t given Whit near the credit she deserves.
“I think I know what you m
ean,” I admit.
The rush of relief that comes with saying those words feels like an enormous weight has been lifted off my neck.
“You do?” She eats her last bite of chicken and nods. “Well, good then. And, I really am sorry for barging in like this.”
“No, not at all. I’m actually really glad that you came by, Whit.” I make sure I meet her eyes when I say, “Thank you.”
“Okay. Good. I’d better take off. I just meant to stay for a minute. I didn’t even tell Deo I wouldn’t be coming straight home.” She piles her fork and knife on her plate and clangs them together, flustered. “But thank you for dinner.” She carries the plate to the sink before I can get it and says, her eyes on the faucet, “You’re pretty incredible, Genevieve. You always surprise me. Adam is really lucky to have you.”
Whit turns around and smiles a genuine smile that catches me off guard, and I instinctively throw my arms around her. She takes a minute to recover from the shock of my touch, and then hugs me back.
“You guys are going to be okay, Gen. Just remember all the reasons you got married in the first place. I mean, Adam is a hottie, but I know that it’s deeper than that for you both. You wouldn’t fight if you didn’t love each other like you do.”
Instead of answering, I just squeeze her tighter and laugh at how unpredictably right an unexpected perspective can be.
Chapter Thirteen
Adam
The apartment is dark when I get home. I drove up and down the coast for hours, trying to figure out what the hell I could say to Genevieve to make her understand that I’m not looking to change her, but I do want what’s best for her, especially considering I grapple daily with guilt over the fact that she got the short end of the stick in our marriage of convenience. I just don’t think spending her time waiting on me—or any man for that matter—is what will make her life as fulfilling as it can be.
I open the door, and my hopes fall when I realize Genevieve must be in bed, since she isn’t parked in front of the TV watching Dancing with Whoever like she normally would be on a Tuesday night. The kitchen is spotless, except for the dish on top of the stove that’s covered in foil. I flip the shiny aluminum back and see that it’s a plate of food, likely for me.
After every shitty thing we said to each other tonight, Genevieve was still thoughtful enough to set aside a plate for me.
I debate for a minute whether or not to just crash on the couch. I silently push the door to our bedroom open and curse the creaky floor as I make my way to the closet to get something clean to wear to bed.
I shower and change, and though I’m pretty sure it’s fucking presumptuous as hell, I slowly slide into bed next to Genevieve. Her back is to me and her breathing is slow and steady. I shouldn’t disturb her—that fiery temper may be even scarier if I wake her out of a peaceful sleep—but I can’t fight back the need to touch her. She’s wearing a tissue thin nightdress thing and her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
I love seeing her like this, without the glitter and push-up bras. I love when it’s just Genevieve stripped of all the glamor that only distracts from how naturally gorgeous she is. I reach over and run my palm along the length of her arm and a smile tugs at the edge of my mouth as I watch her skin prick up with goose bumps.
“You awake?” I whisper.
She gives a small, silent nod.
“I’m sorry for waking you. If I did…wake you. And I’m sorry for walking out like that. I just felt like things were getting really out of control, and maybe if you talked to Whit for a little and I drove around for a while, then maybe we wouldn’t…hurt each other. Because I don’t ever want to say or do anything that hurts you, Genevieve. I honestly just want what’s best for you. I want you to be happy. And you deserve to be so, so happy. You’re amazing. And bright. And so, so damn sexy. I don’t deserve to know you, much less get to call you my wife for however long this lasts. I know this situation is crazy. And I know you put a lot on the line so that I could stay here. And now I’m at this point where I wouldn’t even really want to stay if you weren’t…”
I sigh. She hasn’t moved or said a word, and I feel like a total asshole. “I wouldn’t even want to stay here anymore if you weren’t in my life, Genevieve.”
Her body shifts under the hand I still have on her arm, and she rolls to face me. Those eyes. God, those eyes.
“Really?” she says, her voice raspy with sleep.
“Really. A big part of the reason I was so bummed to get deported was that I’d miss you. You’ve made this country feel like home for me, Gen. You feel like…home.”
“Thank you. Thank you for saying that,” she says, reaching up to stroke my cheek. “I love that you think of me that way.”
I scoop her up in my arms and roll her on top of me. I knot my fingers into her hair and pull her face to mine. “You’re my best friend. I only want to protect you, to make you happy,” I say against her lips.
She kisses me deeper, harder, and I roll her under me, grabbing at the hem of her dress, dragging the fabric up over her thighs. I try to pull the top down, but the straps don’t go further than halfway, and all I wind up doing is binding her arms. I press up and tug the cloth off. She giggles in the middle of my attempts.
“Why are you always giggling during sex, Mrs. Abramowitz?” I ask, kissing the tip of her nose.
“Because you always turn into a crazy man during sex.”
“Not crazy. Just a man,” I say, tugging hard at the fabric that’s keeping me from getting Genevieve naked.
Maybe I am going a little crazy, but who could blame me? With a wife this hot, not being able to get her naked would drive any sane guy nuts.
“You’re going to shred my nightgown,” she says, catching my bottom lip between her teeth and biting down with a wild nip. “How can a man who unravels the scientific mysteries of the universe have no clue how to take off a simple dress? Watch and learn.”
She rolls out from under me and hops off the bed. I lean back, my arms folded behind my head as she pulls the dress over her head, stretching her arms high. She walks slowly into the hall to turn off the lamp I left on before I came to bed, and her gorgeous, naked body is silhouetted in the golden light.
“Leave it,” I say, my voice suddenly tight.
“You like the light?” She takes her time coming back to bed and topples onto me, all long limbs and silky hair everywhere.
“I like the light when it means I can see you looking so damn sexy.” I run my hands over her, loving the way she tangles herself around me and twists me into her warmth.
“I’m sorry we fought,” she whispers. “Can I make it up to you?”
My mouth goes dry and every attempt I make to swallow fails, so I just nod. I can tell by her voice that whatever she has in mind is going to make me go totally mad.
She gets up in a flash, rifles around in the closet, then darts into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she peeks out the bathroom door.
“Adam?”
I roll onto my stomach and look at her face, pink with embarrassment. I put my head down on my arms, eyes closed, and try to control my raging hard-on. “What do you need, Genevieve?”
“I feel silly.” I can hear her worry, but I have no idea what to say.
The thought of what she might look like in the lingerie I know she has on is giving me serious wood. I need to see this.
But she says, “I think I’m going to just take it off.”
“Please don’t!” I yell into the mattress.
A few seconds pass before she calls out, “You really want to see?”
I groan and look up. “Genevieve, are you seriously asking me if I really want to see you in lingerie? Seriously? You’re killing me. Slowly. Torturously. I—”
I stop because my brain is splicing. She’s standing in the hallway in a bustier top and a tiny pair of lace panties. Fishnet stockings hug her never-ending legs, tied at the top of her thighs with little bows.
Like the best pr
esents imaginable.
I sit straight up on the bed.
“Come here. Right now.”
She follows the sound of my voice and stands in front of me, her fingers nervously adjusting the fishnets. “I know, right? It’s silly. They went kind of over the top and—”
“Are you crazy?” I grab her hand, and press it between my legs. Her gasp makes me screw my eyes closed and grit my teeth to avoid throwing her on the mattress and having my way with her right then. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbles.
“That’s how hard I got in the three seconds since you stepped into that hall. No girl ever made that happen before. You are so damn sexy.” I tug her closer, and fold down the cups of her bustier, pulling one nipple, then the other, into my mouth, running my tongue over each one and sucking until her breaths turn to pants. “And you’re mine,” I growl, my hands going around her thighs and grabbing tight onto her ass. “Tell me.”
She straddles my lap and kisses my mouth hard, rubbing her body against mine in one long, slow slide. “I’m yours,” she declares between broken moans. “I’m yours, Adam.”
“Yes, you are.” I push the little strip of lace between her legs aside and slide my fingers deep into her, but it isn’t enough. I turn her over and lay her on her back, spreading her legs and kissing her thighs. “I’m going to eat you out now.”
“I… Adam, no, I…it’s not something I really l-l-l-like—” She stutters as I suck her clit into my mouth. I move my lips lower, loving the salty-sweet taste of her that overwhelms my taste buds. I let my tongue work in slow, deliberate circles and strokes, moving faster when she bucks and pumps, slowing down when she draws back.
“Do you like this?” I ask, licking her clit as I slide my fingers into her.
“Yes.” She has her face turned to the side, so her voice is muffled by the pillows.
“And this?” I spread her legs wide and lick up and down the length of her. I know by the way she shivers, and the goose bumps on her legs, that she likes what I’m doing, but I want to hear her say it.
