An Indecent Marriage

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Jack simply looked at her, dumbstruck.

  “He would have done it, too. And you had no possible defense. You were over eighteen and I was underage. The consent of the minor doesn’t negate the charge, and the district attorney was in his pocket. They were buddies. He left me no choice. So I did what he told me to do. I went to New York and married his friend. After my miscarriage I divorced him and never came back here until my father fell ill.”

  Jack sat down heavily, as if his legs would not support him. When he finally spoke his voice sounded rusty, unused.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when you came back two months ago?”

  Jessica smiled sadly. “And let you ruin my father?”

  He searched her face, and then closed his eyes. The gesture was an admission of responsibility for everything that had followed her return.

  “Anyway, I thought that even if I told you I was pregnant when I left that January, you would have said the child was Arthur’s.”

  “Arthur’s?” he repeated woodenly.

  “Arthur was the man I married. My father told you I had been seeing him while I was with you, didn’t he?”

  Jack eyed her miserably, and nodded. “He never said the name, only that you’d had another boyfriend in New York, and you’d left town to marry him.”

  “I was sure it was something of the kind. Can’t you see that he said that because, with your background and insecurities, you’d believe it? There was never anyone else, Jack. The baby was yours.”

  “And you lost it?” he asked huskily.

  “Yes.”

  He bent his head and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Jesse, the awful things I said to you,” he rasped, his voice muffled. “How can you ever forgive me?”

  “I forgave you when you said them. It was your pain talking, I know that.”

  “And the way I’ve treated you since we’ve been married?” he asked, lifting his head and eyeing her warily, as if she might strike him.

  “You have the rest of our lives to make up for that,” she said gently. “Starting right now.”

  “Are you saying...” he began hoarsely, then paused to take a deep breath and start again. “Are you saying that you’ll stay with me?”

  “Of course, Jack. I love you. Where else would I go?”

  He rose suddenly, and as she watched in astonishment, headed for the door. As soon as she divined his intention she called after him, “I’m telling you right now, Jacques, if you leave me again you are going to be in big trouble.”

  He halted in his tracks and turned into the bedroom instead, slamming the door after him. Jessica heard him lock it. She waited a decent interval, and then knocked softly.

  “Jack, let me in, I want to talk to you.”

  No response.

  “Jack, please. Don’t shut me out. We’ve wasted too much time already at cross purposes.”

  She heard the lock give and the door swung inward. As she crossed the threshold she saw him sitting in the shadows. He wouldn’t look at her.

  “Jack, don’t try to handle this alone,” she whispered, standing in front of him and putting her hand on his shoulder. In the next second he had pulled her into his arms and pressed his face to her breast. She held him and stroked his hair as if he were a little boy.

  “I feel like such a damn fool,” he said huskily when he could talk. “Why did I listen to him, when I knew how much he hated me, how much he wanted to tear us apart?”

  She understood that he was talking about her father. “You were only a kid, Jack, and he was a smart man with a wide experience of the world. He knew just what to say. I don’t blame you. Don’t blame yourself.”

  “I do,” he murmured. “I always will, for the years we’ve lost.”

  “We’re still young. We can start again.”

  He drew back and looked up at her from his sitting position. “Can we?” he asked quietly. His eyes sought hers for guidance. His customary air of authority and competence was gone.

  “I’m counting on it,” Jessica replied, smoothing his hair.

  He turned his head as her hand fell to his cheek and he kissed it. “Jesse,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you find me after you lost the baby? Why did you wait so long?”

  “I wrote Maddy from Europe after I got settled there with my job, and she told me you were away at school. It seemed you had gone on without me. I didn’t want to intrude on your life again.”

  “Intrude?” he said incredulously. “I was lost without you. How could you think otherwise?”

  “I was hurt by all of it, too, Jack,” Jessica replied softly. “I wasn’t reasoning clearly. The only thing I knew was that I had to get away from my father and what he had done. I ran so far I left the country.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said hastily, standing and enfolding her. “Of course you were hurt, I can only imagine what you must have suffered. It’s just that I keep thinking about the days and weeks and months we threw away, playing right into your father’s hands.”

  “Do you still hate him?” Jessica asked, snuggling against his chest.

  “I did. I used to hate him so much I could have killed him. But I don’t know after all this time. I’m kind of worn out with it, you know? It’s like the only thing that matters is that you left me back then in order to protect me, not because you preferred a rich man that your father liked.”

  “I’m so glad,” Jessica murmured. “If you could see him now, how beaten and resigned he is, you wouldn’t be able to feel anything but pity, believe me. Maddy said something about people paying for the wrong they do. I wonder if it’s true. Every time I see him, I think it is.”

  “Does Maddy know all about this?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, I told her.”

  Jack sighed, tightening his grip on her. “She must think I’m a horse’s ass.”

  Jessica giggled. “Since when do you care what Maddy thinks? You were always dodging her when we were in school.”

  “She’s your friend,” Jack said archly. “I don’t want her badmouthing me to you.”

  “As if I’d listen,” Jessica sniffed.

  “Aha! So she’s tried.”

  “Well, she expressed an opinion or two.”

  He held her at arm’s length. “Like what?”

  “She said you married me in indecent haste.”

  He grinned, and Jessica’s heart turned over. She hadn’t seen that smile, a real smile, since that last evening when Lalage took their picture, the one she’d found in his valet box.

  “She’s right about that,” he responded. “I couldn’t wait to get you into bed.” Then his expression changed. He bent suddenly and slipped one arm under her knees and swung her off the floor.

  “Jack, what are you doing?” she protested as he marched out of the bedroom and into the hall with her in his arms.

  “I just remembered something,” he said, opening the outer door of the apartment and stepping into the corridor.

  “Am I going to find out what it is?” she asked. “I hate to point this out to you, but it’s about five in the morning, and I’m wearing nothing but a semitransparent robe.”

  “I wish you were wearing nothing,” he said, nuzzling her neck and pulling the door shut behind them.

  “If any of your neighbors are up they’re going to think this performance very strange.”

  “They’re all asleep, and if they’re not, the hell with them,” Jack replied, opening the door again and carrying her back inside.

  “Is this supposed to signify something?” Jessica asked, as he reentered the apartment and deposited her on the floor.

  “I carried you across the threshold,” he explained. “I never did it when we came back from the wedding. I thought you might punch me if I tried.”

  “Punch you? Never.”

  “Well, you weren’t exactly cooperative about the rest of the arrangements. No reception, no honey...” He snapped his fingers. “The honeymoon! We have to have one now. Where would you like to go?�
��

  “I’ll go anywhere with you, Mr. Chabrol.”

  “That’s reassuring, Mrs. Chabrol, but not very informative. How does Hawaii sound? It might be nice to ditch all this cold weather.”

  “Hawaii sounds wonderful. But unless I’ve been misinformed, the only requirements for a honeymoon are two people and...”

  “A bed?” he suggested.

  “Right you are. So what would you think of getting a head start on the festivities?”

  He took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. In the first pale light of dawn he slipped her robe off her shoulders and lifted her onto the bed.

  “Jesse,” he said softly. “It’s really you, you and me together, the way it used to be.” He bent and kissed her, his lips on hers as soft as a breeze.

  “It really is,” she replied, reaching up to slip her arms around his neck.

  And as the night waned, Jack made love to her and said all the things she’d been pining to hear, satisfying her soul as fully as he had always satisfied her body.

  Jessica woke later to a pale wintry day and a new life. The recent snowfall had left a layer of creamy frosting on everything she could see from the bedroom window, and she sat up to get a better look. It was amazing how, for the first time, she didn’t mind waking up alone. She was confident that Jack was nearby and slid off the edge of the bed, belting her robe around her, to go look for him.

  He was sitting near the window in the living room, wearing only a pair of jeans, staring out at the falling snow. An outside streetlamp, still on, cast a glow upon his face, and by its light Jessica could see the wetness of tears on his cheeks. He was crying.

  She coughed loudly, making a production of shutting the door to the bedroom, giving him a chance to recover. She saw him wipe his eyes hastily with the back of his hand, and she waited until he motioned her closer before she went to him.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked him, perching on the arm of his chair and bending down to put her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder.

  “Thinking,” he said. His voice sounded congested, nasal.

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  “What about me?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe you put up with me acting like such a jerk all this time and never told me the truth.”

  “Jack, let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said wearily. “It’s over and done with. I just want to forget it.”

  “I can’t dismiss it that easily,” he said huskily. “All I’ve done the past few years, all my plans and schemes, were based on a lie. I lived to get back at you, and it was all for nothing.”

  Jessica stood up, walked a few steps away and then turned to face him.

  “If I had told you the truth ten years ago, you would have gone to jail. If I had told you the truth two months ago, you would have disgraced my family. I had to wait until your desire for revenge ran its course.” She sighed. “I was beginning to think it never would.”

  He hung his head. “I am so sorry,” he said hoarsely. He gave a short bark of laughter. “The words are pathetically inadequate, aren’t they?”

  Jessica returned to him and climbed into his lap. “Jack, I know you’re sorry,“she whispered. “Let’s put it behind us and start over, now, today.”

  He stroked her hair, his voice rumbling in his chest as he said, “Jesse, I never touched Daphne after you came back to town. I swear it.”

  “Shush, darling, don’t worry about that. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It does to me.”

  Jessica lifted her head and looked into his face. “Come back to bed and get a couple of hours’ sleep before you go to work,” she said.

  “I can’t sleep,” he said tiredly. “I tried.”

  “Then just come lay down and rest,” she coaxed, getting up and taking his hand, pulling him after her. He allowed her to lead him and then stretched out on the bed with a grateful sigh as she curled up next to him.

  “I won’t sleep,” he said drowsily, his eyes closing.

  “I know,” Jessica agreed, smiling to herself. She waited until he was breathing evenly, and then relaxed into slumber as well, her arm flung protectively across his chest.

  * * * *

  They both slept until noon. After lunch Jack dressed sheepishly to go to his office, knotting his tie before the bedroom mirror as Jessica hovered in the background, grinning at him.

  “Kind of a late start for the boss to be getting, isn’t it?” she asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Very funny. You were the one who shut off the alarm, as I recall,” he replied, meeting her eyes in the glass.

  “You didn’t even hear it!” she hooted, laughing.

  “Well, if I had,” he observed piously, “I certainly wouldn’t have shut it off.” He turned and grabbed her, nuzzling her neck. “I will be home at precisely five-thirty,” he announced. “What’s for dinner?”

  “You just had lunch.”

  “I believe in planning ahead.”

  “You don’t even know if I can cook.”

  “You told me you could.”

  “Oh. Well, how does veal marsala sound?”

  “It sounds great. What is it?”

  “Veal.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, that’s all it is, with a few extras thrown in.”

  “I see,” he said equably, unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Jack.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ll never get to the office this way.”

  “You’re right,” he said, holding both of his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. She stepped away from him as he picked up his jacket and coat and said, “Five-thirty.”

  She nodded.

  He kissed her forehead. “Goodbye.”

  “Bye.”

  He turned in the doorway and said, “Veal marsala, huh?”

  “You bet.”

  “Make it five o’clock,” he amended, and went through the door.

  Jessica spent the afternoon in a fever of preparations, running around to the stores to get all the things for dinner, humming and talking to herself like a bag lady. When she arrived back at the apartment, staggering under a load of paper sacks, the light was blinking on the answering machine. She pressed the button and Jack’s voice announced, “I love you.”

  There were four more messages with the same content. She chuckled, turned off the machine and went to the kitchen to begin preparing the meal.

  By the time Jack was due to arrive the apartment was filled with the heavenly aroma of veal sautéed in wine, and Jessica was bustling about, putting the finishing touches on the table. She couldn’t help comparing this occasion with the first time she had planned such a dinner, but then dismissed the recollection. Today she only had room for happy thoughts.

  When she heard Jack coming she whipped off her apron and stationed herself in the hallway to wait. The door opened, and a gigantic bunch of red roses preceded Jack into the room.

  “For me?” she said, relieving him of the gaudy, fragrant burden.

  “Yes, for you,” he replied, kissing her and taking off his coat. “The florist was delighted. I bought out his stock.” He sniffed enthusiastically. “Smells terrific.”

  “It’s just about ready,” Jessica said, putting the flowers in a vase. As she turned to face him he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her deeply, running his hand up her thigh under her skirt. There was silence for about half a minute and then he said thickly,“Do you think it can wait?”

  “What? The food?”

  “Um-hmm.” He was pulling her blouse loose from her waistband with his other hand.

  “Jack, I don’t know,” she began, and then he slipped his fingers into the cup of her bra and stroked her breast.

  “I guess so,” she amended breathlessly.

  An hour later Jessica rolled over in bed, remembered the congealing veal, and mentally said the hell wi
th it. Jack was dozing with the sheet curled down to his waist, exposing the muscular expanse of his torso.

  “Hey, Jacques,” she said softly, nudging his bare shoulder. “Still here?”

  He opened one eye. “Yup.”

  “Going anywhere?”

  “Nope,” he said, closing the eye again.

  “Good.” She sighed, settling down contentedly. He kissed her hair as he pulled her tight against him, and they both went back to sleep.

  – THE END –

  I am Doreen Owens Malek, author of over forty books and lifelong fan of romantic fiction. I live in PA with my husband and college student daughter, a mini dachshund and a sun conyer parrot. I would like to tell you a little about myself.

  I came to writing by a circuitous route, starting out as an avid reader of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and Gone With the Wind and Rebecca, and any other similarly themed books I could find. I first worked as a teacher and then graduated from law school when I desired a more lucrative and independent career. I had always been discouraged from pursuing a writing career by the volatile nature of the business and the relatively poor chance for success. But the realization that I needed a focus for the future encouraged me to do what I had always wanted to do. I sold my fledgling novel to the first editor who read it, and I have been writing ever since. I have written all types of books for all types of people, but my favorite literary pursuit is and always has been romance. Nothing is as rewarding as hearing from my readers, so please use my website to communicate your thoughts and criticisms, as I am always eager to learn from you.

  A romance novel rarely disappoints me: in an uncertain world filled with tragedy and sadness, reading about an appealing woman finding a strong man to love her and share her life is the perfect escape. I like to read and write stories in which the main characters overcome obstacles to get together, and then stay together because their mutual devotion cannot be denied no matter what else is happening around them. They always HELP each other and reinforce the quaint but enduring notion that love conquers all—at least in the fictional universe of my imagination. So pull up a chair and take down a book—or pick up a Kindle—and join me in a world where the heroes are tough and headstrong but never boorish and the heroines are feminine and sympathetic but never helpless.