by Lexi Scott
I twist my hands, nervous, but Adam keeps a steady grip on my hand, comforting me.
“Enzo,” Cece warns, shaking her head.
Adam looks at me, his gorgeous eyes locked on mine for a single, quiet moment. I feel like he’s trying to tell me something or warn me, or—
“Genevieve married me so that I could stay in the country,” he announces, his voice firm and solid.
There’s a moment of shocked silence so palpable, it’s almost suffocating.
“Are you shitting me?” Cohen finally asks, his hands planted on the table, two threatening fists.
Mom and Dad look back and forth between each other, their faces drawn and shocked, unsure what to make of the bomb that Adam just dropped.
“That’s not true,” I cry, my voice frantic. “Why would you say that, Adam?” I try to meet his eyes, to plead with him not to do this, but he won’t look at me.
“Your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez…your daughter is amazing,” Adam plods on, focused in his resolve. He shakes his head and rubs his palm across his cheek. He hasn’t shaved in days. I’ve never seen him look this wild. Everything about him feels different right now: uncivilized, unhinged, and unfamiliar.
Mom folds her hands on top of the table, her expression a barely controlled mix of fierce and stern. Shit. “Yes, she is, Adam, what is—”
“What the hell is this about your green card?” Cohen asks, half-rising from his chair, his dark eyes bright with rage.
“Stay out of it,” Maren whispers, nudging his ribs with her elbow and dragging him back into his seat.
“Do you have any idea how stupid this is, Genevieve?” Lydia says. “Do you know what sort of trouble you’ve just thrown yourself into? And me, I’m an officer of the court and you’re off breaking federal law. God.” Lydia shakes her head and pushes her plate away, disgusted.
Adam ignores everyone at the table but Mom and Dad. He keeps his eyes trained on them.
“I was so wrapped up in this experiment that I’ve been conducting, that I didn’t keep up with my student visa paperwork. I was going to have to go back home to Israel. But your daughter stepped in and had a solution,” he explains, telling each detail of our crazy journey with painful detail.
I wish he would…
“Stop, Adam,” I plead, my voice rough and desperate. “Just stop,” I whisper.
“I’d like to hear the rest of what you came to say, Adam,” Dad says, looking at me with disappointment heavy in his eyes.
Adam thinks he’s helping, but he’s not. He’s ruining everything. My body sags under the weight of all this shame, our secrets exposed too fast. I want to crawl under the table and hide. Five minutes ago, I felt like everything was going to be okay, and now I know that it will never be. Not with Adam spilling his guts to everyone in the family and making our private situation spiral out of control.
“She offered to marry me so that I could stay in the country,” Adam reiterates, his voice attracting the attention of everyone at the table. No one can look away, and no one can stop him.
“Genevieve, would you do that?” Mom turns her watering eyes on me, and she seems too stunned to continue after that single damning question.
“Does marriage mean so little to you both? You make a scam of it?” Dad’s words tremble on the edge of outrage. I’ve never felt lower than I do at this moment. My parents’ shame chokes out every other feeling in my body, every other emotional vibration in the entire room.
“It wasn’t like that. Not for me, at least.” I attempt to explain, my voice stabbed with desperation. “It wasn’t just about keeping Adam here for school. I wanted to marry him. I love him. I love him so damn much.” I drag a hand down his arm, but he’s staring at my parents, intent on telling the entire sordid tale.
Cohen leaps up, knocking his chair back, his chest rising and falling with his labored breaths. “I ought to take you outside and kick your ass for screwing with my sister like this.” Maren tries to hold him back, but he’s deaf and blind to any interference.
I open my mouth to tell Cohen to stop, but Adam makes everyone at the table jump by standing up wildly and pushing his chair away, meeting Cohen’s stance with his own ferocious posturing.
“You want to go?” he growls at Cohen, his voice rumbling through the room. I reach over and tug on his arm, trying to get him to sit back down, but he won’t budge. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, but I’m laying it out right now. I’ll fight anyone and anything to hang onto Gen.” He looks down at me, his eyes wild.
Cohen bristles, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Adam calmly pushes up his sleeves and sits back down in his chair next to me.
“I married your daughter for selfish reasons. I needed to stay in the country to complete my research, and Gen offered a way to make that happen. But from the second she proposed, I realized that this wasn’t a marriage of convenience. This wasn’t some bullshit—excuse me—this wasn’t a scam. I love your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez. I’ve loved her for a long time.”
Adam turns to me, finally, and my heart leaps at the way his eyes pry my emotions wide open. “I love you, Gen. I know I’ve said it before, but I want you to know that I mean it. I love you. I’ve loved you since the first day I met you. I want to be married to you.”
“Oh, immigration troubles? You need to stay married how long before they stop being suspicious?” Lydia asks, her lawyer side popping up and calculating just how much help we’ll need.
“We’ve already been to the immigration office,” Adam says.
“Genevieve!” Mom shouts, holding a hand to her throat and looking at my father, who’s white as a ghost. The immigration office plagued his father for years, and he has a bone-deep fear of that entire arm of the government. “What kind of trouble have you put yourself in!”
“Sorry, sis, this was a really stupid idea.” Even dependable, sweet Cece shakes her head, and the last leg of my stubborn hope collapses.
“We’ve been to immigration and everything is fine. I talked with our case worker today, and our file was approved,” Adam announces, grabbing my hand and squeezing tight.
“It was?” I squeal, praying that I heard him right. It’s the first happy sound to escape my lips in days.
“It was,” he says. “I bumped into Mrs. Johnson in the parking lot, and she told me.” He reaches out and clutches my other hand, tugging me close to him and his triumphant smile, and I feel my entire body relax at his touch.
“That still doesn’t make this okay, Adam. What you and Genevieve did was wrong,” Dad says, his voice tight with a panic that won’t be easily quelled. “Lying to us, lying to the government…”
“But we weren’t,” Adam says, pulling me close to his side. “I am so in love with your daughter, sir. That’s what I came to say. That I needed to stay because of my yeast experiment. But that’s all taken care of, I figured out the solution—”
“You did?” I ask, my head spinning. I grip his hands harder. “Adam, that’s incredible!”
“My experiment is almost finished, and I’m here. I’m here with Gen. Where I want to be. Because I don’t give a damn if I’m in journals or get a full-time position at the university. None of it does any good if I don’t have you along for the ride.”
Adam’s eyes, full of truth, bore into me. He’s a scientist, which means everything about him is practical, analytical. So seeing him here, word-vomiting his love for me all over my parents’ expensive teak table without worry of the consequence is unnerving. Adam is all about calculating risks, about anticipating outcomes, but he’s thrown all of that caution to the wind and is here spilling the truth, knowing that Cohen and Deo and Enzo may have not let him leave without a limp, knowing that I may turn him down and he’d be left sitting here, completely alone, without a single ally.
“We got married for what seemed like the wrong reasons, but I’m here, telling every one of you now, that I’m in this for all the right ones. I’m broken without you,
Gen. I can’t sleep without you next to me.”
I pull my hand back from his and link my fingers together in my lap, then let my gaze follow to my empty hands—empty without him, but desperate for answers he hasn’t given yet.
“But you never called,” I say, knowing as the words tumble out that this isn’t the kind of conversation you should have at a family dinner, but unable to stop now that Adam is here, saying all the things I’ve been wishing he’d say, but am having a hard time believing.
“Do you guys want to take this to your room, Gennie?” Cece pipes in. Enzo glares at her.
“Genevieve, I can’t even explain the guilt that I’ve felt the last few days over what I’ve put you through. All of it. It’s been eating me alive. Putting yourself and your future on the line for me? That was such a selfish thing for me to ask you to do.” Adam says, his eyes never leaving my face, his words rough with a passion I know he feels from the bottom of his battered heart.
“You never asked me to do it, Adam. I wanted to,” I say, my voice raw. Adam reaches over and brushes the hair from my face so that he can see me closely, clearly. The curtain is lifted, and all of the emotion that’s built up over the last few days is on full display.
“Gen, look at me,” he orders, his voice is steady and firm. “Look at me.” I tip my head to meet his eyes. “If you want to call this entire thing off, I understand. I’d rather have known you and loved you for this short time than have spent my life feeling nothing at all. But if there’s a chance that we can make it work, if there’s something that I can do to make it all right, name it, Genevieve. Tell me what you need from me and it’s yours.” His words grate out, harsh and desperate.
“I’d do it again,” I vow, grabbing at him, pulling my husband close to me. “I’d marry you again. No question.”
“Genevieve, we aren’t happy about the lies, but I think you need to take this discussion home. It sounds like you and your husband have a lot to sort out,” Mom says, her regal voice leaving no room for argument.
“Get a room,” Enzo coughs.
“I think that’s the first thing one of your brothers has said that I actually agree with.” Adam stands and holds his hand out to me, his eyes narrowed with worry. “Genevieve, will you come home with me?”
All I can do is nod, follow him, and wait with bated breath, as my husband leads me back to our home, one phrase falling from his mouth over and over again: I love you.
We repeat it, bouncing it back and forth between us, and it feels new and unbearably sweet each and every time.
Epilogue
“So. Israel.” I squint at the hot summer sun blazing through our bedroom window, shining on all our unpacked suitcases and the clothes and toiletries we have tossed over every square inch of space, and I sigh. “Are there beaches? Please tell me there are beaches, and we’ll go to them and relax. At least one day?”
“Yes, there are tons of beaches. Topless ones,” Adam informs me, mischief making his eyes glint with a sexy fire.
I roll onto him, my eyes narrowed because I can’t trust the innocent look on his face. It turns out that, when it comes to teasing me, my husband has a poker face I’d kill for. “Really?”
“Really.” He traces his fingers lightly along either side of my spine and spreads his hands over my bottom, squeezing until his fingers bite pleasantly. “The Dead Sea is known for all its thousands of health benefits. You think you can get all of them through your clothes, Genevieve? No. You need to be naked. Totally naked. Not a stitch of clothing. Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”
I feel a smug smile tug up on my lips. “Naked on a public beach? Hmm. I guess there’s nothing to be freaked out about. I mean, your sex drive probably isn’t all that typical for the average Israeli man, right? So I won’t have to worry about hordes of men looking…” I let my voice trail off and run my hands over my body. “You know. Looking at my body. My totally naked body.”
Adam presses hot kisses along my neck and runs his hands along the same path mine just took. “Do you always have to be such a brilliant smart-ass? And why is it that, at the end of every argument, your husband is the one who has to suffer? That seems so damn unfair. To me.” He nips at my bottom lip and hums contentedly against my mouth as we kiss deeply, sweetly.
“Suffer?” I scoff as I pull back and brush his dark hair off his forehead. “I worked all semester for straight A’s so I could get ahold of our credit card and buy the sexiest bikini ever made with my bonus. Let me tell you, Adam Abramowitz, there won’t be a single man in the Dead Sea or all of Israel who isn’t dying of jealousy when he sees your wife in her scandalous swimwear.” I roll over and straddle his lap, my hair brushing his chest, my hands on his shoulders. “It’s basically a whole system of strings. And knots. All the sexiest, brightest red you’ve ever seen. And I’ve been laying out, so I’m nice and tan.” I sit up and give him an up-close and personal perspective on my perfect tan.
He yanks me down, and his lips work fast and hard over my neck. “You realize that you could wear a burkha and I’d be the luckiest man in the Dead Sea.” His fingers move over my body with quick, knowing stops at all the places he’s sure will make me pant with want.
And I do.
“Do you think your family will like me?” I ask, switching tracks completely. I don’t mean to sound so damn pathetic, but Adam’s inclusion into my family was nothing short of a trial by fire. I admire him with every atom in my body for pressing through and proving himself. This might be awful to admit—but I don’t want to have to jump through the same flaming hoops. I pray that they’ll just accept me with open arms because I’m already his wife.
“They will love you,” he assures me with a deep set of kisses that hints at the fact that he has other things on his mind. “Who wouldn’t love you?” His hands squeeze my skin appreciatively, and I love him. I love him so damn hard.
“I think you’re biased.” My words slip out on the edge of a moan that I need to pull back from. I need to let him know how I feel, untangled from all the blazing hot physical stuff. “Adam, your father was so upset when you told him about the marriage. Are you positive he’s over it?”
“He was pissed I did it without telling him,” Adam concedes, stopping his assault of my most sensitive areas so he can look directly at me. “Who would be able to meet you and not fall in love? Even my father isn’t that much of an asshole. He did win my mother over.”
I stroke my hands over his hair gently. “Are we going to visit her grave?”
His muscles stiffen, then he presses his cheek to my hand. “Of course. Damn, I wish you could have met her. She would have loved you so much.”
I scratch his scalp in that way that I know drives him completely crazy. “I wish I could have met her too, baby. I know she and I would have loved each other.” I cup his face in my hands. “I can’t wait to meet your aunts. I picked up a blank recipe book so I can ask them to share family recipes with me.”
Adam shivers. “I’ve worked so hard to get this body, doll. You have no idea what a lard I’ll turn into if you start cooking with duck fat. That blank book is going to give me a heart attack.”
“We can start exercising together,” I suggest, pinching at the nonexistent fat on his stomach.
“Not a good idea.” He shakes his head, his deep green eyes wicked. “My army buddy, Uziel, taught me my exercise routine, and…I’m sorry, but it just would turn you on too much. Not safe.”
I snort. “Are you even being serious? Try me.”
Adam flops off the bed, lies face down, and puts his hands, palms down, on the floor under his chest. He raises himself up on his toes and nods for me to come over.
“What?” I ask, giggling as I admire the long, athletic line of my husband’s body.
“Sit on my back,” he orders. The muscles of his arms are strained, but his voice is completely relaxed.
“Excuse me?” Now I can’t contain the giggles that spill out and won’t stop.
“Your se
xy ass. Sitting. On my back. Now.” He holds his entire body weight on one arm and waves me over.
I get off the bed, pad over, and sit gingerly on his back.
“Sit. Like cross your legs. I need your whole weight on me,” he demands, his voice impatient.
“Adam! I’m not that light,” I argue, but he looks back at me, his face twisted in exasperation, and I sit as I’m told, worried that I’m going to buckle his back.
I don’t.
My husband braces his arms and levers his entire body weight plus mine on them. “Count,” he orders.
I do. He presses up and comes back down as I recite the numbers out loud, a little tingle pulsing through my body.
I make it to ten. My giggles stop, and I feel a familiar pulse of heat spread low in my body.
I count to twenty. I can’t believe the feeling as I sit on his back, like I’m weightless but carried. Like I’m being supported by the strength of the one man I know loves me beyond the limits of any love I’ve ever known before.
I count all the way to fifty, and I’m flush with a desire so strong, I’m surprised Adam doesn’t feel it pulsing through his back. “Adam?”
“Fifty-one,” he mutters as I spread my fingers across the bulging muscles on his back.
“Adam?”
“Fifty-two,” he says, and I run a finger along the line of sweat dripping off his face. “What is it, doll?” he asks.
“I want you. Right now.” I can’t keep the need out of my voice.
“I could keep going,” he assures me, his arms bulging with muscle I know can support me and will. For as long as I need. There’s not an ounce of doubt about that fact anywhere in my mind.
“I know. But don’t waste your energy on push-ups when your wife needs you in bed. Now.” I can’t help giggling again when he lies down, rolls over me, and pulls me close to his body.
“So, what was that you were saying about wanting me in your bed?” he asks, running his hands up and down my body.
“I think I said we needed to pack,” I tease, leaning over and pressing his mouth against mine.
