Marriage Lessons

by Katie Allen

  “Okay, okay!” Holding up his hands as if to ward off any more scolding, he gave a light laugh before leaning against her, pressing his shoulder into hers. “Thanks, Annabelle Shay. You always know the right thing to say.”

  His touch erased the practical side of her brain, as always. Slipping her hand into the crook of his arm, she tugged him even closer. Taking advantage of having his face right there, she kissed his cheek, making it quick and not allowing her lips to linger as they wanted to do. “This is going to be amazing, Louis Dumont. I know you can do this.”

  Giving his arm a final squeeze, she slipped away before temptation lured her into more touching. Forcing her feet to march toward the door to the gallery, she glanced over her shoulder to see him studying the sketch intently. Although he hadn’t reached toward a paintbrush or a tube of paint yet, she knew he would be soon. His attention was focused, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he was still working when she was ready for bed that night.

  She smiled as she reached her gallery desk again and picked up her to-do list once more. This was yet another benefit of working for Louis. He made her feel like she contributed directly to his paintings, and she’d never experienced that before. Even though she took satisfaction in ironing out all the behind-the-scenes details that were necessary to have a smooth exhibition, the feeling that she’d helped make art, even indirectly, was new and heady.

  More than that, even, was knowing that she’d helped Louis the man, rather than just the artist. She’d helped ease him past yet another roadblock that his brain loved to throw up in front of him. He’d offered her so much—a job she loved, a great salary, his charismatic presence, a home—and it warmed something inside her that she was able to do something for him in return.

  As she continued getting the gallery ready for Velvet’s show, the warm spot inside her chest didn’t go away. Louis was in the other room, creating something that could very well be the best thing he’d ever painted, and she’d had a small part of that.

  How could she not glow with pride?

  * * *

  Annabelle woke up excited and a little anxious about getting a look at Louis’s latest painting. He’d worked all evening—just taking enough time to shove down some food before returning to the studio—and into the night. She’d fallen asleep well before he’d stopped, and she suspected that he’d spent most, if not all, of the night painting.

  She hurried into the studio, dying to see the final product, and found an upside-down box on the table, covering the painting.

  Uh-oh.

  “This is either a really bad sign or just a confusing one.” Her words echoed through the studio. “Louis? Are you around? Because if you’re not, and I have to wait to find out what the painting under the box looks like, then my curiosity might actually kill me.”

  When nothing but silence answered her, she felt a little silly talking to an empty room. Checking the time on her phone, she saw it was smack in the middle of Louis’s morning run time, and she groaned. It’d be at least half an hour before he’d be back and she found out exactly what was happening with the whole box thing. He’d never left a painting covered before, so she had no idea why he’d done it to this one. The thought that it might be so hideous that he couldn’t leave it exposed made her sad, especially since the sketch she’d seen the day before had held so much potential.

  Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to resist peeking under the box if she stayed in the studio, she returned to Louis’s living quarters to get ready. As always, the neatly folded blanket was draped over the back of the couch, and there was no sign that anyone had slept on the couch. Pausing on the way to the bathroom, she frowned at the tidy sofa. After staying with him for a few days, she was starting to wonder if he ever slept.

  Worry for Louis and curiosity over the painting preoccupied her as she showered and dressed in a cute swingy dress for Velvet’s showing, which started at one. Annabelle preferred afternoon events. They tended to be less stuffy and more relaxed than evening openings.

  The sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts, and she rushed into the living room. When she caught sight of a sweaty, flushed Louis, his T-shirt clinging wetly to his broad, muscled chest, she paused, her curiosity about the painting forgotten for a second. He tipped his head to the side as his eyebrows lifted in the way they did before he started teasing her. Scrambling to think of a reason for her starting that wouldn’t reveal how much she wanted him, she blurted out the first non-lusty thought that popped into her head.

  “I like your running leg. It makes you look like a cyborg from the future.”

  Louis, being Louis, didn’t even blink at that. “Isn’t the whole point of a cyborg to look like a person on the outside, but have robot guts?”

  “Maybe.” She considered it for a moment but then waved off the argument. “If I was designing a cyborg, I’d keep some metal part revealed so that people would know to not start anything with my ’borg.”

  His thoughtful look disappeared as his grin took over his entire face. “Your ’borg, huh?”

  “Yep. No one messes with my ’borg.”

  “Have I told you how much I like your brain, Annabelle Shay?”

  As she fought the urge to beam at him like an infatuated idiot, she remembered what she needed to ask. “Forget my brain. I’m dying of curiosity. I need to know right now.”

  “What?” With his shirt he absently blotted a line of sweat running down his jaw, and she was distracted again.

  Forcing her gaze off his muscled, damp hotness, she met his eyes and focused on their conversation. “The box, Louis. I need to know what’s under the box.”

  His exaggerated wince told her nothing. Neither did his drawn-out groan.

  “I’m dying here,” she said, ignoring his pained face. “Why’d you cover it? You’ve never done that before. Is that good or bad?”

  After dragging his hands down his face, he dropped his head back in a gesture of defeat. “Fine. I’ll show you. Don’t expect too much—or maybe you should expect too much. I don’t know. That’s the whole point.” His hands were waving again as he started getting worked up, and the whole thing was making Annabelle even more intrigued. “Let me shower so I don’t drip sweat everywhere, and then we’ll do the de-boxing.”

  “The de-boxing?” It was her turn to groan. “You’re going to turn this into a whole ceremony, aren’t you?”

  His small smile was back, playing at the corners of his mouth. “You want to see what’s under the box, don’t you?”

  There was no way she could deny it. “Yes.”

  “Then prepare to enjoy the process.” He headed for the bedroom, pausing to give her a look over his shoulder. “Because there will be a looong process.”

  “Louis...” Her growl just made him laugh as he disappeared into the bedroom. Knowing that she had to keep her brain occupied or she’d just spend the time thinking of possible reasons he hid the painting under a box—or she’d picture the way his muscled, sweat-streaked, post-run body looked—she started making breakfast. Both daydream options were guaranteed to drive her crazy.

  As she sliced fruit, she ran through a mental checklist of everything that needed to be done before the afternoon show. There wasn’t much left to do, since she’d been preparing for weeks, and she hated to have to scramble at the last minute.

  Cracking eggs into a bowl, she jumped as her cell phone buzzed on the counter. Her gaze flicked over to the clock, and her stomach gave a nervous hop. A call before seven on a Saturday morning was never going to be good news. Picking up the phone, she saw that it was Velvet calling, and her belly turned upside down again.

  “Hey, Velvet.” She tried to keep her tone light, even as dread weighed her down. “What’s up?”

  “I’m so sorry, Annabelle, but I can’t make the show today.” Velvet’s voice was raspy and rough. “One of the horrible children I was
commissioned to paint kept coughing in my face, and now I have the flu. Even if I was able to make it more than ten feet from my bed, you don’t want me at the gallery hacking germs on everyone.”

  Annabelle felt a mix of concern and relief that no one was dead. “Drink lots of fluids, get some sleep, and concentrate on feeling better. Don’t worry about the show. You know your absence will make all your fans think you’re mysterious and elusive, so they’ll be even more intrigued by you.”

  “So you’re saying my work’ll sell better if I never show up to my shows?” Velvet asked drily before succumbing to a coughing fit.

  Once her hacking was back under control, Annabelle answered. “I wouldn’t say never, since then they’d lose hope or start staking out your home in hopes of getting a glimpse. It’s a fine line to walk between being intriguing and getting stalked.”

  Velvet’s laugh turned midway into another bout of coughing and ended with a groan. “I hate being sick.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annabelle said sympathetically as Louis padded into the kitchen, boosted himself onto the counter, and reached for the bowl of cut fruit. As he chewed, he eyed her phone curiously. “I hope you’re feeling better soon. In the meantime, don’t worry about the show. It’s all ready to go, and everything looks gorgeous. I’m so impressed you were able to create such amazing things while you were stuck doing the commissioned portrait.”

  “Most of that was rage-fueled painting. Thanks, Annabelle. Tell Louis thanks for me, too.”

  “I will. Feel better soon.”

  After they said their goodbyes, which were interrupted by yet another coughing jag, Annabelle ended the call.

  “Velvet’s sick?” Louis asked around a mouthful of cantaloupe.

  “Yeah. One of the kids infected her.” Grabbing a fork, she started scrambling the eggs. “I knew nothing good would come of her taking that portrait job.”

  With a grunt of agreement, Louis fished out a grape. “Nothing good ever comes out of a commissioned portrait.”

  “Agreed. Don’t forget to eat some banana. Potassium’s good for muscle cramps.” She poured the eggs into a skillet.

  He paused, eyeing her. “How’d you know I was having muscle cramps?”

  “You seriously need to ask that?” When he just nodded, she rolled her eyes. “How could I have not noticed? You’re quite...expressive.”

  “Is that another way of saying ‘whiny’?” Despite his words, he fished out a chunk of banana and popped it into his mouth.

  She considered that. “I wouldn’t say ‘whiny,’ exactly. It’s more dramatic than that, with lots of swearing and flailing and clutching your leg. Do you think a massage would help?”

  From his offended huff, she expected him to object to her description, but instead he just asked, “A massage? Are you offering?”

  “I... Well...” As she floundered, flustered by the question and her mind’s immediate and enthusiastic yes, she could feel her face warming with a flush. She tried to hide it by keeping her head down as she dished the eggs onto two plates, wishing she hadn’t tucked her hair up into a twist. What good was long hair if she couldn’t hide behind it when necessary? By the time she handed a plate to Louis, she’d managed to get her brain under control. “If you want a massage, I suppose I could give you one. Fair warning, though—I don’t know what I’m doing, so I don’t know how helpful it’d be. You might want to go with a professional.”

  “Thank you.” His expression as he accepted the plate was hard to read. “I don’t want a professional. I want you.”

  It didn’t matter that they were talking about massages. His words still made her face heat, and she knew that she was turning bright red. Annoyed with her disobedient body, she boosted herself onto the counter next to Louis and grabbed the fruit bowl from his hands. “You left all the honeydew again.”

  “That’s because I don’t like it, and also it’s the most dishonestly named melon in the world.” He scrunched his face up in exaggerated disgust, and, just like that, Annabelle could breathe again, falling back into their usual joking banter.

  “I don’t mind it.” She stabbed a piece.

  “But does it really taste as good as something called ‘honeydew’ should? Be honest.”

  Taking a considering bite, she was silent as she chewed and swallowed. “It’s not exactly right, but I don’t think it’s the most dishonestly named melon. I’m sure there’s one that tastes worse with a better name—or one with a gross name that actually tastes good. There have to be a lot of melons in the world that we haven’t experienced.”

  “You’re right.” He picked out one of the few remaining grapes and popped it in his mouth. “Now I want to research melons of the world.”

  “After the show.” Taking a bite of eggs, she eyed the bowl of fruit—well, bowl of green melon pieces. “Why do you even buy honeydew if you don’t like it?”

  He sighed heavily. “It’s the name. Every time I see the display, I think that something called honeydew has to taste better than I remember. Same thing with divinity. It’s okay, but it’s always a disappointment. How can any food live up to being called heavenly? It’s really not fair.”

  Unable to argue with his reasoning, Annabelle made a sound of agreement around her mouthful of eggs. They ate in silence for a few moments, and she marveled at how comfortable it was to be with Louis, to eat breakfast in his beautiful kitchen. Normally she was a ball of nerves before a show, especially one of Velvet’s, since Max could be difficult for her to deal with. Today, even though she’d just found out that Velvet wouldn’t be there, Annabelle was surprisingly relaxed. It made sense, really, since it was impossible to be stressed when eating eggs and talking about honeydew melon with Louis.

  “Are you sure that was Velvet?” Louis asked out of the blue.

  “Yes.” As usual, his conversational leap didn’t throw her. In fact, she was pretty sure she knew where he was going with this. “She sounded hoarse, but it was definitely her voice.”

  “Did she sound scared, like she was being forced to make the call?”

  “Nope. Sick, but definitely not scared. She’s not locked in someone’s attic as a captive artist.”

  Even though she felt Louis’s gaze on her, she focused on popping the last piece of melon into her mouth. When his arm wrapped around her shoulders, the movement took her by surprise, and she turned her head to look at him.

  “I like how you think, Annabelle Shay.” He tilted his head to rest against hers. “It’s like we share a brain.”

  “Frightening thought.” Despite her teasing words, she couldn’t help but smile. His face was right there, his full mouth tempting her, and she knew she had to move before she ended up on his lap with her tongue in his mouth. She couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss on his cheek before she jumped down, however. “Let’s move. You have to show me what’s under the mystery box and then we have to finish prepping for the show—especially now since we’ll be missing the artist.”

  Although he groaned, he jumped down next to her, landing on his right leg and catching his balance before lowering his prosthetic foot to the floor. As they moved around each other to clean the kitchen, Annabelle was struck again by how easy it was to live with Louis. It felt like they’d been roommates for years, rather than just a few days. She tried not to take too much pleasure in each brush of his arm as he slipped past her to the sink, but then she gave up trying to control her body’s reactions. Her living situation would change soon, so she wanted to enjoy the few weeks she got to live with him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite Louis’s attempts to delay the grand painting unveiling—or unboxing—there were only so many breakfast dishes to rinse and counters to wipe, and soon they were in the studio, standing by his worktable. For some reason, Annabelle was feeling oddly nervous.

  “Do I need some kind of warning first?” she asked as he r
eached for the box.

  Sending her a quizzical look, he paused with his fingers just touching the box. “A warning about what? It’s not going to come alive and eat you.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” She tried to peek under one of the flaps, wanting to get a hint before the entire thing was revealed, but the box was large enough to cover the entire painting. There’d be no preparing for a catastrophe. If it was truly hideous and she reacted badly, then she’d feel horrible about hurting Louis’s feelings. “All this lead-up is giving me the jitters.”

  “Let’s get this over with, then.” He lifted the box off the table, revealing the painting beneath it.

  She stared at it for several silent seconds. After all the worry and anticipation, the watercolor was completely different from what she’d been expecting, and her brain had a hard time processing it. Finally, she realized that Louis was watching her with an expression that was quickly growing panicked.

  “It’s...good!” She blurted out the words and immediately knew that they weren’t the right ones. “No, it’s not just good. This is incredible. Why did you put a box over this, doofus? It’s gorgeous. Move over. I need a better view.” Using her hip, she bumped him to the side so she could stand directly in front of it, keeping her gaze fixed on the painting. It was everything the sketch had promised and more. Somehow, the piece managed to evoke beauty and humor and empathy and love, and she couldn’t look away from the subjects’ semi-abstract forms. His other work was amazing, but this was somehow better, the couple’s flaws lovely in an imperfectly human sort of way. “Louis Dumont, you have leveled up. In fact, I don’t want you to sell this. I want to see it every day.”

  Somehow, she managed to drag her gaze off the piece to look at him, and his pleased and almost bashful grin was her reward.