The Marriage Merger mtab-4

by Jennifer Probst

  It had been two full weeks since their wedding night and the fragile bond formed then seemed to bloom brighter with each day. They never analyzed their new relationship.

  each night, Sawyer took her into bed, made love to her in every way imaginable, and held her through sleep. Purity was taking form with the speed of light, the construction complete and all the details finalized for the unveiling in three months. yes, she cooked for both him and Wolfe when they weren’t working overtime, but it was quick and effi-cient. They formed their own routine as a family, but none of them looked deeper than that.

  “Umm, I don’t think this is a good time. I’m worried about Wolfe, and I need to help watch Lily and—”

  “I’ll do it; just get in there.” Maggie ripped off her apron, pushed her into the kitchen, and took off.

  Porca vacca.

  “Where is Margherita?”

  Julietta sighed and tied the apron around her waist.

  “Took off. you know she’s like a sly fox when it comes to getting out of cooking.”

  Her mother cackled in delight. “I will make her do apple cake and biscotti. She will regret it. I need you. Here is your station.”

  Alexa grinned. “This is the most awesome thing I ever did. From now on, I’m making fresh pasta in the house. But I think I may get one of those machines, Mama Conte. I’m not as adept as you. My fingers are getting tired.”

  “Push through. Machines do help, but it is the strength and gracefulness of the body that flows into the food and bestows good energy.”

  Alexa dug in with gusto, and Julietta enjoyed her positive energy flowing around them and relaxing her a bit. She fell into the motions used since childhood: dusting, whisk-ing egg, sprinkling out flour, kneading, and pouring into a dough form that depended on a fresh mix of ingredients and the basic talent of the pasta maker. The movements soothed her, and an odd need to excel at making the food she would feed her husband beat inside her, an ancient instinct rising up from the ashes of years of tradition. The room fell away, and Julietta lost herself in the task, pulling and stretching the dough to a fine, thin layer like gossamer without breakage. She heard the muttered frustration of Alexa as her noodles broke one after the other, but Julietta never broke her concentration. Piece after perfect piece was pulled and laid out to dry over the racks.

  She pulled a fresh loaf of bread from the oven and sliced. Carina floated in, and eventually Maggie came back.

  They prepared, set the table, laughed, and drank wine dur-ing various tasks while thick pots of gravy bubbled up and the smell of garlic and lemons tinged the air. Wooden bowls were placed at each setting, and the men filed in with groans of approval. The scrape of chairs against the floor rose to her ears. Steam billowed, and Julietta made sure her pasta was cooked perfectly al dente, not pausing to wonder why it was so important.

  High chairs also clustered around the table with tiny bowls of pasta and sippy cups in front of them. The twins seemed fascinated by the scene before them, and Lily chatted with Maggie nonstop, giggling at her father’s occasional tug on her wild curls so like her mother’s.

  Alexa placed her bowl in front of Nick. “Try it.”

  He looked up. “Did you make this?”

  “yes. Tell me what you think.”

  He picked up his fork and took a bite. She watched his face in sheer anticipation. Nick broke into a broad grin and shook his head. “Amazing. This is the best pasta I ever had in my life.” She beamed with pride and joy and leaned over to place a kiss on his mouth. “you get a reward for that later.”

  His brow arched. “Is Maggie babysitting?”

  His sister snorted. “Dream on. you’re babysitting for us.”

  Carina sighed. “Would you two just stop? Max and I will take the kids for you, if you want some alone time.”

  Max choked. “No, we won’t. I didn’t agree to that.” He grunted at the obvious kick under the table.

  Julietta stood with her bowl in her hands. Her hands slipped on the edges, and she chastised herself for being so ridiculous. He wouldn’t know. No one would. It was a silly tradition anyway and meant nothing. She set the bowl in front of him. “Here you go. Buon appetito. ”

  The sudden chatter dimmed. All gazes focused on Sawyer, who stared down at his plate and then back up in pure confusion. Damn them all. Why were they making it meaningful? “Umm, is something wrong?” Sawyer asked.

  Her mother gave her the look. The look that prodded her to speak and had forced her to do many things she didn’t want to do over the years. Julietta pressed her lips together. Mama Conte snorted at her daughter’s stubbornness and took the reins. “My daughter has made your plate by her own hands. She has done this with the honor of serv-ing you, her husband, for your pleasure.”

  Heat struck her cheekbones. This was such an archaic tradition. Sawyer was probably dying from being the focus of everyone’s attention with no idea how to react. Her nerves fluttered. “It’s nothing.” She forced a laugh. “Just eat.”

  She slid into the seat beside him and laid her napkin on her lap. When he didn’t say anything, she lifted her lids to sneak a peek.

  He stared down at the pasta in sheer amazement. As if gazing at pure gold, he shifted his glance back and forth, staring with a strange vulnerability and need that called out to her. “you made this for me?” he asked.

  Julietta gave a jerky nod.

  In silence, he picked up his fork and twisted the noodles around the utensil. Placed it in his mouth with a reverence that stole her breath and her heart. She watched his every movement, his profile a portrait of angelic grace, even with his scar. Sawyer swallowed, then slowly placed his utensil down. In front of all witnesses, he reached over and took her hand in his. The warm strength of his grip settled her nerves and caused a pure joy to flood every crevice of her body.

  “Thank you for this gift. It’s simply the best thing I ever ate in my life.”

  Julietta smiled and squeezed his hand. “Prego,” she whispered.

  As if knowing the tension had dissipated, Lily burst out, “More pasta, please!”

  Nick tapped her nose and refilled her bowl. Chatter re-sumed, stories were shared, and Julietta ate. But she knew something had changed between them. Something that couldn’t be undone. Something that broke all the rules.

  She pushed the thought away and focused on her family.

  …

  She cooked for him.

  Sawyer ate with a methodical precision as the scene at the table faded to the background. odd, when she laid the plate in front of him, he sensed something different. Like he’d reverted to an alternate time and place where certain actions masked deep emotions that were experienced but unspoken. His wife had prepared a dish with him solely in mind. Served him with a humbleness he didn’t deserve. And looked at him with a banked fire in her eyes that drew him to her like a homing pigeon on a mission.

  Food was survival. When he’d become rich enough for it to be a pleasure, he dined at gourmet restaurants. Culinary chefs had prepared meals on yachts and in endless hotel rooms. He’d ordered room service for women he slept with.

  Since their wedding night, Julietta prepared simple meals for Wolfe and him that he recognized and appreci-ated. Lamb chops, pasta, risotto, grilled fish. He’d never had a frozen vegetable with her and was beginning to get used to the bottles of herbs on the windowsill, the baskets of tomatoes and prunes, grapes and lemons that littered the countertops.

  But today was different. She offered him something of herself, as beautifully as she offered her body to him night after night. And in the way he only knew from his life, he took and took and took, giving her orgasms and pleasure but keeping himself solidly locked behind a wall that crum-bled inch by inch with each day that passed.

  Confusion and want swamped him in a deadly mixture.

  The memory caught, shifted, and dragged him under.

  Thanksgiving. He sat in the closet with his foster brother and sister. One slice of turkey lay before them.
Bread. Half a cup of milk. “You’re gonna get in trouble,” Danny whis-Probst_MarriageMerger_3P_kk.indd 304

  pered, his eyes greedy at the sight of the meat. “Did you steal it?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t care. It’s Thanksgiving, and we should celebrate.”

  “School talked about it. I learned about the Pilgrims and stuff, but the other kids talked about turkeys and stuffing and cranberries. What is stuffing like?”

  His sister touched the turkey like it would disappear. “We should return it.” Worry laced her voice. “You’ll get beaten.”

  “I don’t care. He won’t find out. I was really careful. Here, I’ll cut up a slice for each of us.” He made sure to give them the bulk and take a tiny piece for himself. They ate the meal in silence, enjoying every bite of something that had actual texture and good taste. Food was another way of controlling them and their behavior, along with the beating, the solitude.

  “We should say what we’re grateful for.”

  Sawyer bit back his bitter response and desperately tried to think positive for his siblings. “Sure. You go first, Danny.”

  His brother took it seriously, scrunching his brows together as he thought. “I’m grateful you gave this meal to us.”

  Sawyer smiled. “Me, too. How about you, Molly?”

  The girl was more solemn, her green eyes haunting in the sallow lines of her face. “I’m grateful we have legs and arms.

  I saw a man on the street who had none of those body parts.

  I’m really glad I have them.”

  “Me, too.”

  “How about you, Sawyer? What are you grateful for?”

  Tightness constricted his throat. The path ahead was endless, strewn with pain and emptiness and the struggle to get through another day. His freedom loomed before him like the Holy Grail. Eighteen. If he made it. If he could help the others. He forced a smile. “I’m grateful for you guys. I’d be awfully bored without your company.”

  “And what do we have here?”

  The door ripped open. Sawyer pushed the two behind him as his foster father loomed like Satan, blocking the only exit to heaven. His gaze took in the empty plate with the crumbs of turkey and he reached out with a meaty fist and dragged Sawyer out. “Think you can outsmart me, boy?

  Stole the combination of the lock to the fridge, huh? Think you’re pretty smart?”

  He kept his furious silence, knowing words only made things much worse.

  “Nothing to say, huh? That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll say plenty later. Starting with begging for forgiveness.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He knew he’d made a huge error the moment he caught the satisfied gleam in Asshole’s eyes. “Nice mouth. Since you don’t seem to care what happens to you, maybe you’ll think next time you pull a stunt like this.” Sawyer fought him, but the bigger man lashed out with his fists and his belt, and quickly tied him to the bedpost.

  His siblings were dragged out of the closet and placed in front of him. Sawyer met his gaze, the cold black void of evil and a lust for pain, and knew he’d made a terrible tactical error they’d all pay for. “Wanted to give them a nice Thanksgiving, huh? Too bad they now have to pay for your mistakes. You’ll watch while I punish them, boy, and you’ll beg for forgiveness until your throat is hoarse.”

  The terror on his siblings’ faces enraged him, and yet another lesson was learned. He could save no one, and by his very presence he brought pain to the ones he loved the most.

  He spent Thanksgiving night not seated around the table with a turkey and stuffing. He spent it watching his siblings get beaten while he screamed for mercy.

  “Saywer? Are you okay?”

  The voice cut through the memory, but it was too late.

  Nausea twisted his stomach, and sweat broke out on his skin. He gazed at Julietta with unfocused eyes and knew he had to get out of that room for a minute.

  “Just have to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

  He half stumbled out of his chair and shot down the hallway. Sawyer locked the bathroom door behind him with shaking fingers, leaning over the toilet as he willed the sickness to go away. God, even after all these years the pain still got to him. He was in a safe place, surrounded by people who cared. He wasn’t alone. He was safe.

  He ran the faucet and splashed cold water on his face.

  Took deep, ragged breaths. He was kidding himself. He was playing at a normal life he’d never have. every person he got close to he ended up destroying, and he’d do the same to Julietta. He ached to give her what she needed, but he’d been numb for so many years, he didn’t know how to feel any softer emotions. especially love.

  He needed to get out of here. Gain some space. He’d make an excuse of sickness and go home, think about what to do, run away, get out, get lost.

  Sawyer stepped out.

  Wolfe stood before him.

  The kid shifted his feet and picked at his cuticle. “you okay, man?”

  Sawyer fought a shudder. “yeah. Sure. Just ate too fast, you know. Not feeling good. I need to take off.”

  Sharp blue eyes that shredded his lies and saw too much pinned him. “I hear you. It’s a lot in there.” He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “Almost left myself. I mean, come on, are we stuck in an Italian spin-off of The Cosby Show? This shit doesn’t happen. It’s not real. Sunday dinner with homemade food. People being nice to each other.

  Laughing. enjoying themselves.”

  Sawyer clawed for control not to spring through the door and leave it all behind. “yeah. I know.”

  The boy’s jaw tightened and a dark shadow crossed his face. “I hung out with this crew who knew a real good way to entertain themselves on a Sunday afternoon. We’d play the game Pick a Patsy. We each took a turn. Pick out a guy on the street. Follow him. one who looked nice, with some money. Good job. Had a great diversion tactic just like the molesters use. Asked for help with a hurt puppy down the alley. Guys fell for it all the time.” Sawyer watched his throat work as if he were trying desperately to swallow. “We’d beat the shit out of him. Take his money, spit in his face, pawn his valuables. Laugh our asses off and buy ourselves something great to eat. Funny, though, we’d be at the diner or Mickey D’s, all this food laid out in front of us, and I barely ate a bite. All I could see was the poor patsy’s face bloodied up, wondering what the hell he did to deserve it. yeah, those were the type of Sunday dinners we knew.”

  This kid clawed for his own sanity every second. Was this what Sawyer wanted to teach him? run when something good came to you? escape and distrust people who were kind and only wanted to help?

  Wolfe needed to know there was something else out there. Something good and whole and pure. Something worth fighting for. Living for.

  The realization slammed through him. He had a choice.

  But even more important, he held both of their choices in his hands, and damned if he’d let another person down. He wasn’t that boy any longer. He wasn’t helpless or afraid, and he wasn’t about to abandon Wolfe because of a few nightmares.

  A deep calmness settled over him and smoothed out the jagged edges. Sawyer nodded and clasped the boy around the shoulder. Wolfe jumped, startled out of his own memory, and waited.

  “I think this a way better way to spend a Sunday, don’t you?” He didn’t let go, sensing this time that touch was needed to ground both of them. “And I think I can eat more than you today. Just like I can outlift you.”

  A smile ghosted Wolfe’s lips. “Bullshit. I already had two bowls to your one.”

  “Then I’d better get my ass back and get to work.”

  He walked Wolfe back to the table and took his seat.

  Julietta stared at him with a worried look he was beginning to savor. How odd to have a female care about him and his welfare. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “yeah. Now I am.” They smiled at each other and the room slammed into vivid neon color. Same type of thing that always happened when his wife walked int
o a room.

  He lifted his empty plate and raised his voice. “More pasta, please!”

  Lily giggled.

  …

  Most of them settled into the living room for coffee and dessert. Maggie remained in the kitchen, grumbling at the task of having to help bake two desserts. Alexa sat Lily on top of the counter to watch the process and offer occasional assistance. Julietta noticed the sparkle in her mother’s eye.

  Mama loved a woman with fire and had taken a complete shine to Maggie the moment they met, though she seemed the complete opposite of what his brother searched for in a wife. Alexa slid seamlessly into the family without a hitch, her laughter and kindness a perfect fit for the Contes.

  The twins were put down early to bed, and Julietta rocked Maria in her arms.

  The six-month-old fit snugly in her arms. She enjoyed the hefty weight of diapered baby booty, the little toes that curled in pleasure as she slept. Julietta propped herself against the cushion and settled in while the fire roared. “So, what’s the plan for this week? Sightseeing? relaxing? you know we’ll have to invite all our cousins over.”

  Carina snuggled next to Max. She noticed her baby sister never strayed too far from his side, and they still acted like a pair of newlyweds, their hands constantly all over each other. Tears pricked the back of her lids. Mio Dio, she hated acting like such a girl. But Carina had grown into such a strong, independent woman with a fire Julietta had never noticed. Her erotic art had taken off huge in Manhattan, and now she did shows while helping Alexa with the bookstore. Max still burned with banked sexual energy, but all that delicious focus was on his wife. His blue eyes lit with such love and gentle humor when he looked at her. Her family had finally found their happiness.

  She looked up. Sawyer watched her with a heat that caused her to suck in her breath and shift her weight. The way he commanded her with his gaze or a bow of his head completely mystified her. How could she have gone from frigid to nymphomaniac? Her fingers itched to tear off his clothes and press her body against his naked skin. Skim the rippling muscles, fist his erection, and guide him into her heat.