by Teresa Hill
“And you think you do?”
“Since she was eight years old,” he said.
“Eight?”
Matt nodded.
“You never said a word…”
Matt shrugged. What could he say?
“She must be something,” Jim said. “Still, you can do an agreement like a prenup after the wedding. It’s just as binding. All you have to do is get her to sign.”
“No,” Matt said.
“I’ll take care of it. I’ve handled things like this before. She’ll be fine with it.”
“No,” Matt said again, more forcefully this time. “No papers. No agreement. Nothing. Don’t say a word to her. Do you understand?” It was a tone he seldom took with anyone. But he meant it. He didn’t want any misunderstandings about this.
Jim backed off, giving him an even odder look. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“No.” It just hit him that he was married, and a man had to be prepared, just in case. She and the baby deserved that. “Actually, we need to take care of something.”
“Now you’re talkin’, buddy.”
“Life insurance beneficiary. My will. Company stock and how it’s handled. That stuff will have to be updated.”
Jim groaned and looked like he was about to make another plea.
“But not tonight,” Matt said. “Tonight, I’m going home to my wife.”
He pulled up to a house with light coming from deep inside. Opened the door to find the place smelling heavenly, like tomatoes and spices. In the kitchen, peering over a steaming pot on the stove, was his wife.
He found he liked thinking of her that way.
She looked up and gave him a mischievous look. “Tough day at the office, dear?”
He nodded.
“Hungry?”
“Yes.” He’d forgotten what a good cook she was, and she looked so cute in the middle of his big, mostly empty kitchen, so domesticated. She was barefoot, her toenails nearly the same soft pink of her skin. No matter how much sun she got, she never tanned. Just turned pink. A pair of jeans clung to the sweet curves of her bottom. A little pink sweater dipped low between her breasts, but he had to look down the little, red apron she wore to see that. He’d caught her licking the big spoon she’d used to stir the sauce.
“Gonna bring me my slippers and the paper, dear?”
She put down the spoon and untied her apron strings, looking relaxed and happy and just right, here in this room waiting for him. “Do you own a pair of slippers?”
“Come to think of it, I don’t.”
“I suppose I could buy you some, for moments like this.”
“Why don’t you just feed me instead?”
She did. It was spaghetti, her grandmother’s recipe. He’d forgotten how good that was, but she’d remembered it had always been one of his favorites. They sat at the tiny table in the corner of the kitchen, just the two of them. It was quiet and comfortable. They lingered there, the conversation easy, his brain trying to get a handle on this new reality of his.
Had he really thought so little was going to change?
They finished dinner. She went to clean up, but he stopped her, telling her he had a cleaning lady who came in twice a week, that she would take care of it. Cathie claimed he was spoiled rotten if he couldn’t put his own dishes in the dishwasher, and he had to defend himself and say he did, when he ate here, which wasn’t often. He had a feeling he would from now on.
She yawned as they finished, and he said, “You’re worn out. You have classes tomorrow?”
“Bright and early. I need to get to bed.”
He nodded, thinking he had work to do, things to catch up on. That it was surely indecent how much he wanted her, how, as much as she satisfied him, afterward he seemed to only want her more.
She headed for the stairs and he followed her up, telling himself he’d move her things into his room and nothing else. That she was pregnant and tired and he should be able to exercise some control over himself.
He lugged boxes and suitcases.
She went into his bathroom and came out in that pretty, white thing she’d worn on their wedding night. A cloud of steam billowed out behind her and the scent she wore wafted his way.
She walked over to him and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly and tell him good-night. When she went to pull away, he put his hands on her arms to stop her, looking down into her pretty blue eyes, having no idea what to say.
Reading his mind, something she seemed to do with alarming regularity, she said, “Whatever you want it to be, Matt.”
Just like that?
He honestly didn’t think there’d been a time in his life when he thought about doing exactly what he’d wanted or trying to figure out what would make him happy or how that would feel.
Like this, he thought, touching her through the pretty, white silk gown. It would feel like this.
“What did you think of the cloud mattress on the bed at the bungalow?” he asked, his mouth teasing the tender skin at her neck.
“I liked it.”
“Me, too.” Sinking into it would always make him think of the sheer pleasure of sinking into her warm, welcoming arms. “I was thinking I might find us one for this bed.”
Chapter Eight
He ordered a cloud mattress for the master bedroom and enjoyed the purchase more than anything he’d ever bought before. She did, too. He also bought her a new car, a little Mercedes SUV, which she gave him a hard time about accepting. He told her he wanted her and the baby to be safe, and that his wife couldn’t very well drive a thirty-year-old, beat-up, broken-down VW bug while he drove a Mercedes. What would people think? She finally took the keys and stopped complaining.
She started classes, napped nearly every afternoon, and was at home, waiting for him, every night when he got there. She fed him delicious food and rubbed his shoulders and made him laugh. Made no demands upon him, never complained, never argued.
He made the mistake of mentioning that to Jim, when they were out of town on a business trip in February, and Jim said, “This is not a normal marriage.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed.
“Hell, it’s only been six weeks. Give it time.”
Which reminded Matt of the time. Nearly seven. They had reservations for dinner with their new clients. “We should get going.”
“Need to check in with the little woman first?”
Matt glared at him. He would call. Not because he needed to hear her voice or anything like that or because she’d ever expect him to check in with her on a regular basis. Just…because. To make sure she was okay. He didn’t like her being all alone in that big, expensive house, an attitude she found ridiculous, pointing out that she’d lived in a terrible neighborhood, in an apartment that was far less secure, before and nothing had happened. He still checked up on her.
“I’ll call when we get back,” he said.
Jim nodded. “Still in that stage where you hate to spend one night away from her?”
Matt nodded toward the door. Who wouldn’t rather spend the night with a soft, willing woman, than alone in a hotel room on the road? Fabulous sex coupled with the ease of a longtime friendship was proving to be a very nice combination. Cathie’s father had always told him life was meant to be shared, not lived alone. Of course, her father meant shared with someone a man loved, and Matt didn’t love her. But he liked being with her, and she claimed there was nothing wrong with them simply being together for now, making the most of the time they spent together.
Something in the back of his head—that little part of him that had never truly learned to relax and never really been happy—said there had to be something wrong with it. That it was bound to explode in his face when he least expected it.
For now, he was determined to let himself simply enjoy it.
He rushed the dinner, when they could easily have lingered over coffee and talked through a few more points of their recently cemented agreement with their new clients, but he really di
dn’t care. He liked to meet with new clients personally and assure them that his company would take care of their needs, that if they had a problem, they could come to him. But he was starting to resent the time it took and the travel.
Back in his hotel room, he stripped off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Propping the pillows up against the headboard, he stretched out on the bed and picked up the phone to call Cathie.
She said, “Hi,” sounding tired, but happy to hear from him.
“Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s good that you did. I dozed off on the couch, and I would have been stiff and sore in the morning.”
“You feel okay?”
“Just tired. I made an appointment with that charity furniture store. They’re sending a truck by tomorrow, to clear things out of the rest of the downstairs. I was sorting and rearranging things this afternoon. There’s more than I realized that needs to go.”
She’d done so much in such a short time. The house no longer looked like a decorator’s showroom. He liked it more every day, but that was no reason for her to wear herself out.
“I told you not to do that by yourself. You name the day you’re ready to sort and move the stuff, and I’ll send you a couple of guys over. I don’t want you moving anything around yourself.”
“I know. I just let the date sneak up on me, and by then, it was too late to ask you to send someone to the house.”
“No, it’s not too late. I told you, you can always get me on the road. For anything. Call next time. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m just kind of achy all over. I think I may be coming down with the flu. That’s all.”
“You’re sure?”
“Matt, people get stuffy noses and sore throats all the time.”
He was quiet for a long time, telling himself she was a grown woman, and the doctor had assured him that she was perfectly healthy, and he probably was being ridiculous. She just looked so fragile sometimes, and she was always tired. He didn’t care if the doctor thought that was normal for pregnant women. He hadn’t ever thought of the toll it takes on a woman’s body, to grow a baby inside of her and carry it for nine months.
The baby was still small, but it had made its presence known in her body. Cathie had a tiny, rounded mound in her tummy. So firm and small. He curled his body around hers, sometimes, deep in the night, and let his hand rest on her belly, over the baby, fighting the urge not to tell the baby to behave and not dare give its mother a hard time.
Cathie talked to the baby. He caught her every now and then. Telling the baby she couldn’t wait to see it, and that she wasn’t having any luck at all picking out names. About the weather or the flowers she’d planted in the garden out back. Telling the baby not to worry about anything, that everything would be okay. He’d missed the beginning of that particular conversation. What was she worrying about? What did she think her baby would be worried about?
“How’s Skipper?” he asked.
“Just fine.”
That’s what he’d taken to calling the baby. Cathie had refused to find out the sex ahead of time, which made it hard to talk about the bossy, little creature inside of her. Matt finally insisted it had to have a name. Since they’d both taken to using the baby as an excuse for anything they wanted to talk the other one into, and Matt was calling it a bossy little thing already, he’d nicknamed the baby Skipper, after Cathie had rejected the Boss, the General and Prez.
So now, it was Drink your milk. Skipper likes it.
She claimed Skip liked ice cream more.
Don’t you dare haul those plants home from the nursery and install them yourself. Skipper would hate that.
She claimed Skip loved the pretty purplish bushes and all the little flowers.
“Just take care of yourself,” Matt said. “And if you do anything else you’re not supposed to do, Skip’ll tell me.”
“Enlisted my baby as your spy?”
“Yes. I’ll be home early. We have things to do, remember?”
She didn’t know it yet, but they were going shopping for baby things. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and he’d been assured by Brenda that with the holiday coming within a few weeks of their wedding, he’d better be ready with some grand gesture of love, otherwise there’d be trouble in his house.
He’d decided filling up Skipper’s room would do nicely.
He told Cathie good-night, then got on the phone with the airlines, getting on an earlier flight home. He had some things he had to do at the office tomorrow, but there was no harm in getting them done sooner rather than later, and he could make sure Cathie was feeling okay, and that she got to bed early.
And if she wasn’t too tired, he could have her in the clouds.
Yeah, he liked the cloud mattress. And his wife.
He managed to make it home by one o’clock, found a furniture truck backed up to his driveway, and saw two guys carrying out the biggest, ugliest table he’d ever seen. Had that really been in his house?
Then Cathie came out carrying a box. He got out of the car and glared at his wife, taking the box from her hand. “What are you doing?”
“Matt, it’s a box. It’s not even heavy.”
“I don’t care,” he said, realizing on some level how irrational that sounded and not caring about that, either. She’d been worn-out last night. He put the box down and turned to the moving guys, pulled out his wallet and slipped them both fifty-dollar bills behind her back. “She doesn’t lift a thing, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they said.
Cathie turned around and put her hands on her hips. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” he said, thinking if he’d been really smart, he would have kissed her first, before he’d started arguing. Oh, well.
She gave him a look that told him she thought he was being ridiculous, but it wasn’t the first time that had happened, and he really didn’t care. He was going to take care of her as best he could, even if he made her fighting mad doing it.
“You are the most ridiculous man,” she said.
Then he figured out how to get his kiss. He grinned at her. “Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.” They’d fallen into the habit of calling each other dear, just like that, when they fell into some stereotypical husband-and-wife thing. Ever since she’d asked him if he’d had a hard day at the office that first night when he’d come home, and he’d asked her to go fetch his slippers.
She came to him and kissed him, feigning reluctance, but not the irritation. “That’s it? Our first Valentine’s Day together, and you come home and growl at me?”
“That’s it. Honeymoon’s over,” he claimed, and then she laughed and kissed him for real. He whispered in her ear, “Have you had your afternoon nap?”
“You think we’re going from ‘The honeymoon’s over,’ to the cloud mattress, just like that?”
He played innocent. “Does that mean no?”
She just laughed, but she didn’t lift anything else. They dealt with the movers, and he rubbed her back, thinking she needed a real nap and that he should make sure she got it. But she pulled him down to the bed with her, and he made slow, sweet love to her and let her sleep until five before he woke her, mostly just to make sure she was okay.
She sat up a bit, rubbed her back with one hand and insisted that she was.
“Turn over,” he ordered, sitting down on the side of the bed.
She did, and he pulled down the sheet, uncovering all the pretty lines of her back and the beginning curves of her luscious bottom. It reminded him of her outside without her top at the bungalow on the island, and he remembered that he wanted to take her back there before she got too far along with her pregnancy. He’d have to ask her doctor about traveling.
Matt kneaded the sore muscles in her shoulders and then her lower back.
“You have the best hands,” she said.
She had the best back, he thought. The best skin. The nicest curves. “We don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll get s
ome takeout, and you can eat it in bed.”
“No, I’m fine.” She rolled over, making no effort to cover herself, finally getting over some of her shyness with him. “Besides, you said you had something planned.”
“I did, but it’ll keep.” He put his hand on one of her breasts and kissed her softly on the lips, then let his hand drift down to where the baby was. “Skipper’s still tiny.”
“But growing every day.”
He thought the baby stirred beneath his hand, as it often did when he touched her this way. It was the oddest feeling. Like something fluttering ever so slightly beneath her skin. Probably the baby rolling over, the doctor said. He wasn’t quite sure if he could actually feel it or if he just wanted to so much. The baby would fit easily in the palm of his hand right now, probably didn’t even weigh a pound. He’d been stealing Cathie’s baby books and reading late at night, when she was asleep, and trying not to worry about anything.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m not an invalid. I’m just pregnant. And you said you had a surprise for me.”
“All right. Up. And get dressed. Nothing fancy.” He’d intended to take her someplace nice for dinner, after they found baby things. But he was thinking takeout in bed sounded like a better idea.
She put on a pair of leggings and one of her new, long, loose tops. If someone looked at her at just the right angle, they’d see her tiny belly and the baby.
He drove her to the biggest and best baby store in town, having checked out places with four different women in his office. They’d had a baby boom in the last year or so.
He made her close her eyes when they got close and didn’t let her open them until they were parked in front of Baby Extravaganza. She got really quiet when she realized where they were and said, “Oh, Matt,” in that voice that could turn a guy to mush, and then he was afraid she was going to cry.
“Don’t do that,” he insisted. “I just thought it was time.”
“It’s so sweet.”
“Cathie, I am not sweet, and if you tell anyone I am—”
She kissed him, shutting him up nicely, and then grinned at him. “This is the nicest present anyone has ever given me for Valentine’s Day.”
