Wife in Name Only

by Hayson Manning

  “Sit down and do not move a muscle. I can do dishes.”

  He loaded the dishwasher, but something was missing. He smiled, walked to her speakers, and scrolled through her iPod until he found the song he wanted. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” drifted across them.

  A beautiful smile lit her face. He held out his hand, and she clutched it. He pulled her into his arms.

  “Gotta have some happy music.”

  He started murmuring the lyrics.

  She pulled back, and a snort of laughter barked out of her.

  “Are you singing to ABBA?”

  He pulled her close and hissed her forehead. “Guess I am.”

  “Why’d you choose that song?” she asked into his chest, her hands gripping him tighter.

  “Said it was your mom’s favorite, years back. That fucker took something of hers that belonged to you today. Thought I could give you a piece of her back tonight.”

  She didn’t answer, just clung to him tighter. They swayed as song after song bled into one another. When she finally sagged against him without protest, he picked her up and carried her back to her bungalow.

  Night had kicked in. The insects that only days ago had annoyed the crap out of him were up to their old tricks, but instead of grating on his last nerve, their song had morphed into a soothing backdrop of hums.

  Zoe looked up at him. He couldn’t miss the way she chewed on her lip and furrowed her eyebrows.

  “What?” He pressed her hair behind her ear, wincing again at the bruises on her neck.

  “Tonight, can you just hold me?” Her knuckles turned white on the doorknob. “I know your views on spooning and all, but—”

  He pushed open the door and walked inside.

  “Tonight I’ll be a fucking cutlery set.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She did bathroom stuff and changed into a long t-shirt. The red and gold 49ers logo had faded with age.

  They reversed. He brushed his teeth, left his boxers on, slipped into bed, and pulled her against him. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her hair.

  “Night, baby.” He hooked his leg around hers and was just settling in when she spun in his arms.

  “Thank you,” she said in a voice just born out of a whisper.

  He closed his eyes, nodded, and pulled her close. As his heart synched with hers, he stared out of the window at the moon until his eyes burned.

  He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but it wasn’t good. It was raw. This was so foreign, so far from his happy stomping grounds. He didn’t know what he was feeling.

  Something was going down in his heart, and he hated it.

  But he knew what it was.

  He’d move heaven and earth to keep her safe. Lay out any dude that tried to touch her.

  He wanted to give her everything.

  His whole body convulsed.

  At a cellular level he knew if she asked him to stay today he would. He’d sacrifice everything to keep her safe. But at what cost? Yes, he wanted to keep her safe, but apart from today, she’d been the happiest she’d been in her life here. He’d taken a vacation but could he sacrifice himself to keep her happy?

  Could he do it? After the Andrew deal, could he run his company from here and not rain shit on her parade whenever his work got in the way? Because it would. It had in the past. What was different now? He was just as driven, if not more so. Everything that defined him was tied up in his company. Staying here would be the same as their lives back in L.A.

  A burn started in his chest and pushed up the back of his throat. He blinked at the realization that Zoe had The Beast that stalked her, but so did he. He’d turned his life into his success being measured by The Dow. He was the epitome of the poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks—with crap parents who’d determined when he was born that he wasn’t worth the price of registering his birth.

  His own Beast now sat on his chest and crushed his ribcage under the realization he couldn’t stay here and watch her fade away again, knowing she had no place to go.

  She cried out in her sleep and went to move away. He pulled her closer, kissed the back of her head, and with burning eyes watched out the window until night turned into day. Tomorrow he’d tell her that Smithy was en route earlier than expected. Soon he’d be leaving her forever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sun streamed through the window, casting an orange haze over Zoe’s face. She laid her hand across her eyes, went to stretch, and immediately regretted it. The pain that had shot from her shoulders to her knees had lessened after three days, but it was still there. She rolled over expecting to find Rory. Instead she stared at the indentation on the pillow. She reached across and drank in the smell of him. She’d woken during the night in the last couple of days with her heart threatening to escape out of her chest and her breathing coming in short bursts. Rory had been there, had kissed the back of her head, had pulled her tighter, and had held her until she’d fallen back asleep.

  “Hey, babe.”

  Great. Caught smelling his man scent.

  “Morning.” She tried to sit up, but her whole body scowled. “What time is it?”

  “Just turned nine,” he replied. He moved to the bed with a tray balanced on one hand. Toast and the rich aroma of coffee filled her nostrils. He pulled her into a sitting position, placed the tray on her lap, pushed back her hair, and scanned her neck and face, something he’d taken to doing since she’d been attacked. At odd times of the day, she’d look up to find his eyes burning into her. It wasn’t uncomfortable; actually, it was kind of nice. Just super intense in the way only Rory could pull off.

  “You’re calling me babe a lot more than when you first arrived,” she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. The easy way it slipped off his tongue sent little tremors to her heart. Those little tremors could turn into a full-on earthquake if she let them.

  He looked at her, surprised. “Must be slipping back into old habits.” He scratched his head. “Does it bother you?”

  “No, it’s not that.” It just makes me melt a little bit more. “It just…”

  “Just a word guy’s use. I bet even Darth Vader called Mrs. Vader babe on occasion.”

  She laughed, stared down at the tray, and sighed, knowing they were going to have the same argument they’d had three days running. “You’ve got to stop bringing me breakfast in bed. I’ve got too much to do.”

  “After breakfast.” He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair back from her face.

  “I like looking after you. You were always so bad-ass and independent, it was impossible for me to do anything for you.” He ran his hand over his chin. “You know, back in the day and all.”

  “Really?” Where was this coming from? “You never said.” A fluttery feeling invaded her stomach.

  His face softened. “It’s what drew me to you in the first place. You just did your thing, not caring what people thought. I liked that you were totally independent.”

  She sucked in a halting breath. “I was, but when we moved to L.A., I lost it. That’s when I started to fray,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t see it, Zo.”

  “When we first married,” she continued in the same quiet voice. “I completely lost myself in you. I’d never depended on anyone except Mom, and I hardly remember her. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Rory. The two people I loved most in the world, I lost.” Tears burned the back of her eyes.

  “Let me look after you.”

  Her gaze flew to his. A haunted look hung in his eyes. He reached out and his fingers flexed around hers.

  He studied her, and she burned under his heated stare.

  After a long pause, he broke the tension. “It’s just that dudes like to look after their women. Lets them know they’re wanted.”

  She tried to smile, but nothing moved. “Ah, nurturing caveman-style.”

  He released her hand and cut up her toast. That was ano
ther argument she’d given up on. If cutting up her toast made him happy, she’d let him.

  “So, how ya doing?” He studied her face, and his eyes darkened when he looked at her neck.

  “I’m doing all right.” She tried for a sunny smile, but it felt as if her lips had been welded onto her face. She broke away from his intense gaze. “How’d you sleep?” She snatched a piece of toast. It was slathered in lime marmalade, which was her favorite. He smirked. “I slept okay.”

  “Really? You’ve got bags under your eyes my industrial strength moisturizer would struggle with.” She sipped the coffee despite her tight throat.

  “Got a lot on my mind,” he replied, tucking the sheet around her.

  “Henchmen not performing? Are they going to the tower with an ‘off with their heads’ command?”

  “Something like that,” he said evasively. “Simi phoned. Toma—or as I prefer to call him, the fucker—is still locked up. There’s going to be a meeting later on this afternoon. It’s taken a while to get all the elders together.”

  Rory had sat holding her hand when the elders had come to take their statements. She nodded. “The justice system works differently here. Different rules.”

  He stared at her until the air pressure plummeted.

  “Smithy phoned as well. He should be here in the next few days or sooner.”

  Oh.

  “So we have a couple of days left?” Great. Just when she wanted to sound all strong and cool with him leaving, Helium Barbie slipped out.

  “Yeah, if that.”

  Silence crept over them.

  “Thank you for the breakfast,” she said quietly, aware of the wall of emotion pushing against the back of her eyes.

  He nodded, studying her. “I’ll bring you lunch and dinner.”

  She let out a long breath touched with a bit of exasperation. “Rory, I’m fine. I let you go all caveman on me, but today I need to get up and do all the stuff I need to do.”

  He crossed his arms. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll get them done.” His eyes bored into her.

  She sighed and shifted the breakfast tray to the bed. “I’m fine. Truly.”

  She padded to the bathroom, wincing at the tightness in her muscles and the aches in her joints. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she checked out the fading purple bruises.

  She opened the cabinet, grabbed a pot of arnica, and walked back into the bedroom, surprised to see him still there.

  “No evil plots?” She cocked her head to one side.

  “Headless henchmen are looking after everything today. I’ve cleared my calendar so you can stay here in bed, and I can get what you need done.” He folded his hands across his chest with a don’t mess with me look on his face.

  She countered with hands on her hips and a get real look on hers.

  “Jesus, woman, will you ever listen to me?”

  She purposefully narrowed her eyes. “Will you ever listen to me?”

  Sighing, she broke away first and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but no thank you. The generators need doing, and I was hoping to get some pictures of us at the beach this afternoon.” She looked up at him. “My island, Rory. I’m driving.”

  “I don’t think the photos of us at the beach will be any good with the bruises.” He frowned, and then his face cleared. “Although when you’re in a bikini, things do happen.”

  Fire burned her face. “Yes, well. There won’t be any biology lessons anytime soon, and as for the bruises, you forget that I’m the queen of Photoshop.”

  He tipped her chin up, and his eyes cut to hers. “Babe, there will be no biology until you’re ready. If you’re ready.” He traced his knuckle down her jaw. “You in a bikini does things to a man. I’m just saying.” His eyes traveled to the pot in her hand. “Is that the arnica stuff you mentioned?”

  “For the bruising, yeah. I’ve been putting it on daily. It really helps.” He took the pot, led her to the couch, and pulled her down so that they sat facing.

  With strokes so soft it made her want to cry, he worked the cream into her neck and across her face. She closed her eyes, afraid he’d see the emotions she knew were hanging there for public display.

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she gazed into hazy and soft eyes.

  He chuckled. “Cream only. I want you to heal.”

  She pulled the t-shirt over her head and watched as his eyes swept over her body and narrowed.

  “I should have killed the fucker when I had the chance,” he said in a long hiss.

  With one hand, he held up her hair and gently rubbed the cream in where he knew her darkest bruises had settled. He swept the cream across her shoulders, rubbing in large circles and long strokes across her ribcage. He propped her leg on his and spent extra time on the grazes and bruises on her thighs and calves.

  His touch was so gentle and soft that she felt utterly relaxed sitting on him in only a pair of granny panties that she normally reserved for period days. It had never felt so right and so very wrong. A jolt of tenderness snapped straight to her heart, and she gasped.

  “You okay?” His hand stilled on her calf.

  “Yeah, all good.” She went to move off him, but he held her leg. “I think you’re finished. I have to use the bathroom.” She pulled her leg from his grasp, grabbed her t-shirt, and rushed into the small room. She stood with her hands against the sink. The quivers in her heart shocked the air from her lungs.

  This cannot be happening.

  Tears rolled down her face.

  She stared at the porcelain, steeling her heart to feel like the cold stone. She felt The Beast yawning and pawing at her, trying to force her to succumb. With her breath shuddering in and out of her like she was a sprinter, she stared at the mirror.

  Yep. There it was. Shiny eyes, feeling all wobbly inside. Face pale. But it wasn’t The Beast after all.

  Staring back at her was a woman on the slippery slope of falling back in love. She was hanging by her fingertips, but she was there. If she let go she’d be setting herself up for…well, misery. She’d caught a glimpse of the Rory she’d fallen for head first. But that was only part of the parcel that was her complicated Rory. Still, her heart spasmed thinking about it.

  “No thinking,” she whispered to herself in the mirror. Her lips moved, but she barely felt them.

  “Big girl pants. He’s leaving. We don’t fit together anymore. He’s definitely leaving soon.”

  She nodded to herself.

  She gave herself a mental hug and splashed water over her face.

  He’d be gone in a couple of days, and until then she’d Photoshop Rory out of her heart even if it killed her.

  She splashed more water and scrubbed away the emotion clogging her eyes.

  “You okay in there?” Rory’s concerned voice called to her through the heavy wooden door.

  “Yep. All good.” She gave herself a mental shakedown, practiced a smile, wrapped a towel around her near-naked body, and walked back out.

  …

  An hour later, she’d had it. With a thundercloud settling in on Rory’s face, he’d stood as a silent sentry, shadowing her until she was about to scream. She threatened to sing her playbook of ABBA songs very loudly for a very long time unless he stopped following her like she was a wounded fawn, and he’d relented. Sort of.

  “Pass me the spanner, would you please?” She held out her hand and the heavy tool landed in her palm.

  “Why don’t you teach me how to take one apart?”

  She wiped her hand across her forehead. Her muscles burned and ached, but she needed to do normal stuff. If she dwelled on the man who hated her and Cinderella, he’d win. He’d have the power, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen.

  “It’s easier and quicker if I do it on my own.” She grunted, pulling on the spanner and tightening the nut.

  “That’s very unbendy of you, Zo.”

  “Wh
at?” She dropped the spanner.

  “Isn’t that what you called me? Unbendy and as flexible as a broom?” When he leaned in to examine what she was doing, she caught a whiff of the soap smell that rolled off him in waves. He wore no shirt, only dark board shorts with bare feet, and it looked like a bronzed Statue of David had crash landed on her island. Her eyes flew to the part of his shorts that David would never see rise.

  “Zo, did you hear me?” A smirk danced across his face.

  “Yeah, I did. But it’s just so much easier…I’m just so used to doing this—”

  “I believe it’s called compromise.”

  She studied him for a full minute, saw the determination, and sighed. “Fine. I can compromise, unlike you.”

  “What do you mean me? I let you get out of bed, didn’t I?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “As if you had any say in the matter.”

  He grinned, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a boy who’s setting up his first sandpit.

  A grin turned his eyes sparkly sapphire. “Bring it on. I’ve got the grader and all the heavy lifting tools.” He slapped her behind playfully. “It’s a dude thing.”

  “It seriously isn’t,” she shot back, grinning. “It’s you being a tool.”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  Two hours later, she stood back and admired four gleaming, greased, shiny generators that were all hooked up and ready to go.

  “Wow. You learn fast.” She grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and, completely forgetting she was sans bra, pulled it up and wiped her brow.

  “Shit, Zo. I know you’re hurt and all but, Christ, I am human.”

  Heat flared in her cheeks, and she stepped back. “Sorry.” His desire for her was outlined magnificently against his shorts. “I, ah, think I’ll head to the beach.” Embarrassed that her body screamed I’m up for grabs if your name is Rory and you’ve got a chubby that needs checking…into me. She ignored the familiar slick of heat between her thighs and the way her very hard nipples rubbed against her cotton tee. She glanced back at him, saw his eyes narrow, and spun around.

  It had been three days of waking up to Rory carved around her, his body saying ‘good morning’ way before a word had come out of his mouth.