Married a Stripper

by M. S. Parker

  As Paul and I drove up the driveway, I was smiling, feeling almost content for the first time in over a week. That feeling rapidly faded when the car came to a stop and I glimpsed Edward through the window. He was pacing in front of the door. Back and forth. Five long strides this way, five long strides that way. Back and forth, back and forth…

  He came to a halt as the car stopped and he leaped off the porch, striding toward me. He reached the door just as I started to open it and I hesitated, staring up at him. He took my hand, helping me from the car. As soon as I was standing, he pulled me to him and clutched me close.

  My heart raced, adrenaline surging. What’s wrong…what’s wrong? I patted his back, but I was afraid to ask. So many bad things, so many wrong things had happened lately that I just wasn’t sure if I could spare the emotional capacity to have anything else happen, but it wasn’t in me to avoid something so I made myself ask. “What is it, Edward? What’s wrong?”

  He pulled back, his hands gripping my upper arms. “Are you okay?” he demanded. He pushed my hair back from my face, his expression anxious. “You’re pale. Gabriella, you shouldn’t be on your feet for so long. Why did you want Kendra to leave? You need some help around here. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Uncertain what to say, I eased out of his embrace. With a wary smile, I took a step back. Nothing was wrong. He was freaking out about me.

  “I’m fine, Edward. Just…tired.” I shrugged, indicating it wasn’t a big deal. And it wasn’t. If I sat down for a bit, had some coffee, or better yet, a nice tall glass of sweet tea, I’d feel fine. Even my ribs weren’t hurting too badly.

  “You were in a coma,” he said, his voice earnest, as though he were conveying some vital piece of information that I didn’t already possess.

  “I know that.” I kept my voice as calm as I could manage. “I was in a coma. I could have died. I get all of this. Now I want to live, because being cooped up in the house really isn’t that much different from being trapped in a bed, or even trapped in that coma. I’m alive. Let me enjoy that.”

  We were inside now and inspiration struck. I caught his hand and tugged him to the study. As the door swung shut behind him, I nudged him back up against the door. “Let’s both enjoy it,” I suggested.

  His breath feathered over my face as I rose up onto my toes to kiss him. It had been too long since we’d been together. There was a new ache in my body and it had nothing to do with the accident.

  “This isn’t smart.” His breath hitched a little when I stroked my hands down his chest. I could feel his heart thudding against my palms and I knew he wanted it. “You were lying in a hospital bed not even a week ago. And in a coma for two weeks before that.”

  “It’s not a week ago, or two weeks ago.” I took one of his hands and guided it to my breast. “And I’m not in a bed right now. I’m here, waiting. I want you.”

  Brushing my mouth across his, I leaned closer, letting his body take some of my weight. I was tired, but I was never too tired for something like this. I wanted to feel alive again. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to feel alive. And sex with Edward was definitely a great way to feel that way.

  But he just stood there, still, almost unresponsive, even when I reached up and started to unbutton his shirt. He’d stripped off his jacket and tie so there was less between us, making it easier to push the material away once I’d undone every last button, but he didn’t exactly encourage me.

  Scraping my nails down his chest, I watched as his eyes darken. “You want me to feel better?” His chest shuddered when I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the smooth, tanned skin just above his left nipple. “Then touch me. Make love to me. I want to feel alive.”

  We lay curled up on the couch, a blanket draped across both of us. Edward stroked one hand up and down my naked back, his touch almost absent. I was wet from him, the insides of my thighs slick. His breathing was starting to slow, the sweat on our skin cooling.

  But instead of enjoying the afterglow of making love with my fiancé, I felt like I was going to be sick.

  I’d done something I’d never done before. I’d faked a climax. I didn’t think he’d noticed, and I wasn’t sure if that made it worse or better. I wanted to cry, but if I did, he’d think he’d hurt me and it would just make things even more awful than they already were.

  All I’d wanted was to feel…

  But maybe I should have been more specific about what I’d wanted because I’d felt something alright. I’d felt coddled and cosseted and babied. Not wanted. Not desired. If ever something had been a mercy fuck, it had been what had just happened. I’d faked the climax just so he’d come, and now I was faking sleep, just to avoid the awkwardness of having to talk to him.

  “Gabriella.”

  I didn’t stir.

  If I tried to say anything, I’d either break out into a fit of screams or sobs. I didn’t know which one and if I wasn’t so tired, I might not have cared. His soft sigh came to my ears and then we were both moving. Edward shifted around and managed to ease out from behind me. I could hear him moving and placed the sounds easily. The rasp of a zipper, the metallic clinking of a belt buckle.

  When he came back to me and scooped me up into his arms, I let my head loll into his chest and continued to feign sleep. Maybe in a few hours, a few days tops, I could figure out how to handle this without looking at him and wanting to cry.

  It wasn’t long before he had me exactly where he wanted me. Tucked up in bed, safe and protected.

  And alone.

  Because heaven forbid he might jostle me in the middle of the night or want to put his arms around me.

  He clicked out the lights and left, the door shutting quietly behind him.

  Twenty

  Reading a computer screen all day will give you one hell of a headache, especially if you wake up with a headache, and I had. But by four o’clock, I’d amassed a decent list of job leads, some hopeful, some possible, some unlikely, but all within my level of experience and most importantly, not a one of them involved me taking off my clothes or wearing scanty bits and pieces of lace while a sexy, brooding photographer loomed over me.

  My neck started to prickle.

  I looked up to find Edward standing in the doorway, briefcase in hand. His eyes studied me for a long moment before moving down to roam over the desk, over my laptop, my notes and neatly stacked projects. I’d printed off several of them and had plans to spend the evening going over the best of them before I went out tomorrow in hopes of talking to some of the possible positions I’d found. I already had four emails out and one had even replied back with interest.

  Sadly, I’d missed the one that was supposed to have been my big break. I’d been in a coma when I’d had my interview scheduled and, while Benny Stern had been more than sympathetic when I’d called earlier this week, he’d needed someone quick and the position had been filled. He’d promised to keep me in mind if something ever came up, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath waiting for it.

  “Hi,” I said, smiling at Edward.

  He returned the smile, but the expression on his face was strained. Tiny lines stood out from his eyes and something about the way he watched me, the way he moved, managed to dim the excitement inside me. His entire body was strung tight.

  As he took in all the notes and piles of paper surrounding me, I got up and went to kiss him on the cheek. I was smiling again by the time I reached him. It was amazing how moving without pain could cheer a person up. Or maybe not. I’d never had to deal with a decent amount of pain up until the past few days. How people did it on a regular basis, I didn’t know. Today was the first day I hadn’t been sore and stiff with every movement. My pain meds had even managed to knock out all of my rib pain. I really was getting better.

  I was still tired, but that was something that would take longer to get over. I had been stuck in a bed for two weeks. That was bound to make a person need to regain their strength. But I wasn’t going to sit ar
ound and wait for it to happen. That would just make it take longer anyway.

  I pressed my lips to his cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of him. He stroked a hand down my back in greeting, but didn’t try to make it a real kiss. Instead, he asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I’m looking for a job,” I told him, smoothing down his tie. One look at his face had my smile wobbling, then falling away. His eyes were a frozen, distant shade of blue.

  “A job,” he said carefully. He caught my wrists and eased them down before stepping away. “A job.”

  He spoke slowly, as though the words were foreign to him and he had to puzzle out their meaning. On the far side of the room, he put down his briefcase and got a glass from the bar set nearby. The room was painfully quiet as he poured himself a glass of scotch.

  As I watched and waited, Edward took his time moving over to the couch and taking a slow sip of the rich amber liquid. He could have been an ad for the rich and the beautiful, so handsome in his pewter gray suit with a steely blue shirt, a tie that blended both shades, knotted with neat precision. He took another sip and lowered the glass to balance it on his knee, his gaze fixed on some point on the wall.

  He wasn’t seeing one of the fine paintings, though. I didn’t know what he saw. Even when he turned his head to look at me, I had the strangest feeling he didn’t see me.

  “Gabriella, I don’t understand. Why are you looking for a job? You don’t need one. You need to rest, recover from the accident. From the coma.” He put a heavy emphasis on the last two words.

  As if I could have possibly forgotten.

  “What I need to do is get back to my life.” I spun around in front of him my hands held out, showing off a body that was getting stronger every day. “Look! All parts in working order. I am fine. I’m not even sore today. And it’s not like I’m looking for some sort of physically demanding job. The worst thing is that I’m tired. I get tired easy.”

  “Exactly.” He smacked a fist down on his knee. “That’s exactly—”

  I cut him off even as I fought to keep my voice even. “I’m never going to get my strength back if all I do is sit around here.”

  “Then don’t sit. For crying out loud, if you want to get your strength back I’ll hire a personal trainer. I can get you a physical therapist.” He tossed back the rest of the scotch and got up to pour more.

  I was tempted to have some myself. So much for my cheerful mood earlier.

  “I don’t need a physical therapist and if I want to exercise, I can do it fine on my own.” Planting my hands on my hips, I glared at his back. He had his hands braced on the surface of the highly polished bar. “What I need to do is get back to my life. Start living. I’m going stir crazy just sitting around here. I need to be doing something.”

  “And what about what I need?” He turned to face me, moving quicker than I’d ever seen him. His voice rose as he jabbed a thumb to his chest. “Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you in the emergency room like that? Then to see you lying in that bed day after day, not moving, barely breathing. Barely alive? I keep seeing you and Cody and…and…” He stopped and sucked in a deep, harsh breath. His voice was rough. “I need you safe, Gabriella.”

  Guilt settled inside me, an ugly, festering weight that completely suffocated the excitement I’d felt only moments ago. As that bright and shining emotion died a withering death, I backed away.

  But I shouldn’t feel guilty, I thought suddenly. It wasn’t like he was alone in having seen the person he loved in danger.

  “You were held hostage,” I said, my voice shaking. “You came just as close to dying as I did, and it killed me every second you were in danger, but I’ve never once attempted to hold you back.”

  “I don’t want to hold you back.” He reached for me.

  But I turned away, a knot swelling in my throat. He could play it up all he wanted as a reaction to the accident, but he’d been like this before, not understanding why I refused to sit up on some pedestal for people to admire.

  “I just want you safe.”

  I shook my head. “The house could catch on fire. I could choke on a chicken bone. I could slip in the bathroom. You know, that accounts for almost all of the accidents in the home. What happens then? Do you wrap me in bubble wrap?”

  “Gabriella…”

  Bringing my hands to my face, I rubbed them, brushing away the few tears that had managed to break free. I was so tired.

  “I never tried to stifle you. Why are you trying to stifle me?”

  “I’m not. I just need to protect you.” His hands came to rest on my upper arms, sliding up to cup my shoulders, but I pulled away from him.

  “I don’t need to be protected!” My shout was so loud, one of the servants came running.

  It was Helen. She paused in the doorway, a question on her lips, but at the sight of us, she wisely backed away.

  “I was driving the family truck around the farm from the time I was fourteen,” I said. “I can milk a damn cow, drive a tractor, and when I was sixteen, I gave the quarterback a bloody nose when he tried to shove his hand up my skirt. I put myself through college and I lived in the big, bad city of New York all by myself for years before I met you. I found my own job and was working my way up on my own. I don’t need to be protected!”

  His face was a dull shade of red, his jaw tight. “But I need it.”

  “Why?” I demanded. Something inside me was shaking, clenched into a terrible, cold knot. “You’re asking me…”

  My words trailed off as I realized the enormity of what we were discussing. Sucking in a breath, I stopped and made myself think before I spoke.

  “How long do you expect me to be kept here, like a little china doll on a shelf? How long do you have to protect me from everything in the world?”

  His face softened. “Gabriella, this is just who I am.”

  Blinking, I turned away. I felt like I’d been hollowed out.

  “Gabriella?”

  Shaking my head, I cut around him, keeping a very, very clear distance between us as I made my way over to the desk. I felt empty. I felt like I wasn’t me. I didn’t know who I was. Staring at the work on my desk, I tried to work up the energy to stack it up neatly until I could make him understand what all of this meant.

  But I couldn’t, because I didn’t know anymore.

  Grabbing the trash can, I swept every last piece of paper, every note, everything I could into it. The only thing I didn’t trash was my computer. Pens, paper clips, even the journal that held notes for the wedding and ideas for the honeymoon, everything went inside.

  Edward edged closer, but when he tried to speak, I just shook my head.

  He tried to stop me again when I left the room, but I didn’t even look at him and, after a few moments, he let go of my arm.

  I went upstairs, but I didn’t go into our room. I found a guest room. There, I showered and when I was done, I wrapped myself in a robe, using the toiletries kept on hand for guests. That’s what I’d always felt like, after all. It didn’t matter that my clothes were here. I was a guest.

  I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes, but I didn’t fall asleep. I couldn’t, not with the big gaping hole inside of me. I wasn’t even tired anymore. I wasn’t anything or anyone.

  Edward came in some time later. I kept my eyes closed, ignoring him when he sat beside me and stroked my hair. Ignoring him when he said my name.

  Finally, he left and I opened my eyes to stare out the window.

  It was a long, long time before I slept.

  Mama always told me that things always seemed better after a good night’s sleep, a hot shower and a hot meal.

  So, I took a shower so hot, I almost scalded my flesh. I ate a hot meal even though I had to force every bite down like I was chewing rocks and swallowing gravel.

  But I didn’t feel much better and nothing seemed any better at all.

  Maybe the problem was I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep.

 
Tossing and turning had given way to uneasy dreams where I found myself barefoot and pregnant in the luxurious kitchen, wearing a silk ballgown as I went over the dinner menu for a party of five hundred. All the while, Claire stood by, dressed in a chic three piece suit and a crown. My mother was wearing the dress she’d worn to her high school homecoming and sobbing into my dad’s work shirt and shaking her head. You were supposed to chase your dreams, baby!

  She kept saying that over and over while Claire tsked and criticized every menu choice I made, marking through them and writing down a list that consisted of barbecue pork, corn on the cob, cole slaw and potato salad. When I laughed and told her I loved it, she snatched it away and scrawled something else on it. Here! She laughed triumphantly. Now it really suits you…everybody knows only poor trash like you eats pigs feet.

  Laughter rose from everywhere and I started to cry.

  Claire had made a little tutting sound under her breath and patted my shoulder. This could have all been avoided if you’d just admitted the truth. You only wanted him for his money.

  I screamed at her. That’s not true! I don’t want his money! I don’t even want him!

  That was when I’d woken up. Now, hours later, I was still brooding over what I’d said.

  I don’t even want him.

  I was uneasy about the dream. To be specific, I was uneasy about what I’d said to his mother, at the very end.

  I don’t want him.

  I needed to talk to somebody.

  Aching and miserable, I grabbed my cellphone and started for the small room I went to when I didn’t want anyone to find me. I couldn’t call Kendra. She wouldn’t understand. Worse, she might tell Edward and that wouldn’t help me at all. I hated that I couldn’t trust my best friend not to go to my fiancé, even if she was concerned about me.

  That left one option. Cody.

  I was reluctant to do it. He was home now, living with his parents until he was able to get around more easily on his own. He had a few weeks—at least—of physical therapy ahead of him and a private nurse too. Once his arm was healed, he’d be doing even more physical therapy, but I doubted he’d be staying with his parents that long.