Picture Perfect Marriage

by Marquita Valentine

  “Quinn, sugar, I was about to curl my hair, but you saved it and me from disaster,” she says with a smile.

  I put my bags down beside her before leaning over to hug her. “That’s me. A superhero in disguise.”

  She pats my hand. “Always.”

  I check the temp on the curling iron, then grab some product from my bag. Momma’s hair is soft and a pretty shade of brown that mine matches whenever I go natural. “Barron has ordered me to be nice to Eden and Tate tonight.”

  Momma’s grey eyes widen. “Did he? Why do you suppose he’d feel a need to do that?”

  “Because he’s a dic—tator,” I grumble after running product-covered hands through her hair, then sectioning it so I can quickly curl it.

  “Quinn.”

  “Fine,” I say with a groan. “It’s because I’m not overly nice to Eden, and he wants me to stop referring to his and Tate’s friendship as an assmance instead of a bromance.” That part I might be exaggerating, but I’m pretty sure I did call it that once.

  “I don’t think Barron’s asking for much,” Momma says, voice chiding in that time-honored tradition of parents making their children feel an inch tall when they’re being petty. “It’s his party.”

  “I hate to say it, but I don’t like Eden. At all. I don’t really know why, but there’s something off about her.”

  Momma smiles. “We don’t get to pick who people love, even if we think we know what’s best or better for them. Love is crazy like that.”

  Tate suddenly springs to mind, specifically him on our wedding day as he held my hand and repeated his vows. Wait, I don’t love him... at least not anymore. Infatuated at one time? Yes. Wanting to sex him up every second? Duh. But love? Nope. No way. Not after he abandoned me when I pushed him away.

  “Which is why I plan to always dodge Cupid’s arrow.” From now on, anyway.

  Momma’s forehead wrinkles. “Don’t close yourself off to love, honey. That would be like denying yourself the air you need to breathe.”

  It takes everything in me not to confess that I did love someone—aka Tate—but that my love was rejected. I was rejected—by him, his silence, and his absence.

  Then why is Tate here? a small voice asks.

  I don’t want to know the answer right now.

  ***

  Tate arrives earlier than any other guest to the engagement party. I figured he would because he thinks earliness is next to godliness or something like that. Either way, I keep myself busy with my Hazel-Boo while he mingles with my brothers.

  Campbell stands with me, a solid sisterhood against all the evil in this room—i.e. Eden, the fiancée from hell.

  “She told Barron I can’t be in their wedding because I’m too short,” Campbell tells me. “All of her bridesmaids aren’t vertically challenged.”

  “What a beeyotch,” I whisper, rocking Hazel in my arms. The baby’s halfway to LaLa Land. “You can’t help that you’re fairy-sized any more than I can help I’m a—”

  “Giraffe?” Her brown eyes twinkle. “Just kidding. You’re perfect as you are.”

  Since I believe her and because she’s married to my twin brother, I don’t punch her in the tit for that. “I prefer Amazon.”

  “So noted.”

  I nod at Tate. “Sorry that jerk is here to bring up bad memories of your time in LA. I’d kick him out, but Momma and Barron said I have to be nice because it’s not my job to pick out other people’s loves.”

  Campbell grows quiet, so quiet I turn to look at her instead of my husband. Soon to be ex-husband, I mean. Her face is pale, and her once-twinkling eyes are unreadable. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She sighs, then smiles faintly. “Actually, I really miss Knight. I didn’t realize how bad the wait could be after getting a taste of him being home.”

  “Only three more weeks and he’s yours for good—God help you.” I nudge her with my hips, and she laughs. “Then it will be, ‘Quinn, when can we have a girls’ night? Quinn, can we have another girls’ night?’ Then, ‘Quinn, can Hazel and I come live with you because Knight’s so messy and gross?’”

  “Doubtful.” She grins. “But I’ll take you up on the girls’ nights.”

  Hazel shoves her fist into her mouth, so adorable I want to eat her up. Not literally, but more in Where the Wild Things Are sort of way. “Sleepy, girl. Ready for Auntie Quinn to put you to bed so Mommy can have fun?”

  “I don’t want to have fun.”

  I side-eye my sister-in-law. “Yes, you do. I’ll be right back.”

  Since she doesn’t stop me, I take it as having permission to put Hazel to bed in the master suite. No one will sneak into that room tonight—except our mother—so she can sleep.

  Carefully, I lay my niece on her back and she flips herself over, sticking her little footy-pajama-covered butt into the air. I gently pat it before making sure the baby monitor is on, then swipe the one that will let us hear all the little noises Hazel makes while she sleeps.

  “Night, night, baby duck,” I whisper, tiptoeing out and closing the door behind me.

  “Whose baby?”

  “Holy shitballs,” I screech, then clamp my hand over my mouth. I count to five, hoping like anything that Hazel doesn’t wake up. Blessed almost-silence greets me, and I take my hand away. “What the hell, Tate?”

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He pushes away from the wall, dangerously sexy, and my heart jumps. “I finally got a break in conversation, so I could come talk to you.”

  “By stalking me?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on him that it always done, which is to say... none at all.

  “Checking on you. I know you didn’t expect me to be here tonight. I’m not going to cause a scene or tell our secret.”

  “Oh, thank you, benevolent one.” With a little bow, I roll my eyes. “What did you come for, if not to stalk me while I put my niece to bed.”

  “I came to invoke parlay.”

  “In order to negotiate for what?” Pirate talk is my jam, and it’s a total turn on. I might have a thing for Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean. Also, I’m a descendent of Blackbeard. It’s in my blood.

  “A truce. Tonight only.”

  I hold out my hand. “What will you give in token?”

  He reaches into his pocket, pulls his hand out, then places something cool in my palm. A quick glance lets me know that it’s my wedding ring, the one I threw at him when he said he was leaving.

  My heart slams against my chest, and the blood in my veins run cold. When my knees become weak, breathing is a struggle.

  “You kept this?”

  He nods. “No matter what you think of me, or the stupid mistakes I’ve made, I didn’t throw us away.”

  I swallow the lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat, but it only goes down far enough to rest in my chest. “Token accepted.” Closing my fingers around the thin band of rose gold, I move to put it into the pocket of my bright red dress pants.

  He offers his elbow, and I take it. “What do you think of Barron’s fiancée?”

  Taking a deep breath, I simply tell him the truth because I could always be honest with him. “There’s something off about her.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. She wants Barron for bigger things than Castle Beach.” He leads me down the back stairs. I go along, wanting to know more. Besides, it wouldn’t be honorable to break with our truce.

  “Did she say that?”

  “Basically, but it was all coded language, like ‘Can’t you imagine Barron as governor of our state?’ Or ‘Too bad he’s not aiming higher, because Barron could make such a difference on a much grander scale.”

  I make a noise of disgust. “She doesn’t know him at all.”

  “You got that right.” He leans in a little, his scent washing over me and making my nerves tingle. “Barron isn’t that kind of politician, but she wants him to be. I’m half afraid he’ll end up going along with her.”<
br />
  “Pfft. Barron’s not some fool. He has his head on straight, his mind already made up. You can’t change a King’s way of thinking.”

  “Pax, Quinn, pax,” he murmurs in Latin.

  Peace, Quinn, Peace. “I wasn’t saying that to prove a point to you, although it would behoove you to remember who you’re dealing with.”

  As soon as my foot hits the last step, he propels us into a dark corner. My heart speeds up at his nearness, my traitor of a body thrilling at the dark intimacy. “I know damn well who you are, but you need to remember who you’re dealing with, too. I know your tricks.” He places his hand on my chest. “I know what’s in your heart.” His hand moves to the side of my head, and I swear he’s going to kiss me. I think I’m going to let him, too. “I know what’s going on in your beautiful mind.”

  My lips part, and I lick them. His gaze lazily follows, right where I want his eyes to be. “Tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

  He dips his head, his long, lean body so close to mine that we’re almost touching from head to toe. I’m wearing low heels tonight, so we’re only an inch apart in height.

  His breath dances over me, my erratic heartbeat pounding in my ears. “Say it, Tate.”

  “You want me to kiss you.”

  Nodding, I slide my arms around his shoulders to rest my hands on the back of his neck. “Yes.”

  He nuzzles my cheek, full lips barely touching me as he travels to my ear. “I’ll kiss you all you want, wherever you want.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Delicious heat surrounds me, making me melt against him. My core throbs. “I have a lot of places that need to be kissed.”

  “I know you do, wild child. But I only kiss my wife, so... since you’re insisting on divorce, I can’t honor your want.” Then he leaves our cozy corner, chilly air rushing in to cool my heated body. My mouth is open, my jaw on the floor as he walks away.

  “What happen to our truce?” I whisper-shout at him.

  “Never trust a pirate, Quinn. That’s the number-one rule when dealing with the descendants of Blackbeard.”

  Chapter 5

  Tate

  I wish I could say I am doing the walk of shame—that I spent the night in bed with Quinn, and we made up at the party before I allowed her to jump my ass.

  Literally.

  I’ve been faithful to our marriage vows. This self-imposed celibacy is a killer, which is why I’ve thrown myself into work so much. It’s not that I can’t handle the temptation of other women. There’s no contest because I’m a man of my word, and I vowed in front of God and Quinn that I’d worship only her body.

  Hell, before we were married, I was faithful to her. I barely spared any other woman a glance, unless a script called for it, or I wanted to recommend someone for casting in a particular role.

  In any case, I’m on my way back from scouting out Wren Marten’s tulip farm. Unlike the rumors going around, a friend of mine wants to shoot a movie here, not me. Well, she wants to shoot part of a movie here, and has asked for my take on it, as well as some footage before she commits.

  Since I’m already here and I enjoy helping fellow producers and directors, I do her the solid. Checking the time, I give Keilie a call to follow up on the multiple videos I sent. She answers on the second ring.

  “Tate. Please tell me Wren is agreeable.”

  “She’s interested for sure, but she’s also responsible for elder care and doesn’t want to interrupt their schedule.”

  “I don’t either. I swear I could get what I need with little-to-no filming in the main house.”

  “Maybe you should speak with her directly, now that I’ve paved the way.”

  “You’re a Godsend. Send me her contact information, and I’ll make that happen.” She chuckles. “I always thought you were full of shit when you said there was a two-thousand-acre tulip farm in North Carolina.”

  “Guess the climate is right for them.”

  “It’s amazing. It’s perfect. Thanks again, Tate. I owe you one.”

  “Here we go. The never-ending circle of I owe you one,” I joke. Keilie’s good people, though, and she doesn’t get half the credit she deserves for her films. Another reason why I want to support her.

  “Whatever you want to call it, you know what number to call. When you’re in LaLa Land again, don’t be a stranger.”

  “Will do.” After I hang up, I take a left onto Terra Ceia Farms Lane, coming up on a car parked on the side of the road, hood pointed toward the sun. Not just any car, but one that looks exactly like the one my wife drives.

  A woman shoves the hood down, then appears around the side. I almost swallow my tongue at the sight.

  Tall with long legs for days. Short shorts, tank top, no bra. Uggs in summer. Messy hair

  Fucking gorgeous.

  Damn it all, I should have kissed her last night.

  She kicks a tire and pulls out her phone, then drops her head back in frustration.

  I almost smile because it has to mean it’s dead. Quinn always did have a habit of traveling without a charger.

  Pulling in behind the Mustang, I park my car and slowly get out. “As I live and breathe, Quinn King Prescott.”

  She stiffens, her face white, then whiter still until her tan returns, along with blushing cheeks. It obvious she’s replaying our almost kiss from last night in her head. “As I wish you would stop breathing and die, Tate Prescott.”

  What I can’t stop is the grin that spreads from my heart to my face. I’ve always been a sucker for the blunt type.

  Once again, my Quinn is strong. She’s not openly grieving for her brother and vulnerable. Once again, she’s facing me as my equal, as the woman I want as my forever partner.

  As the one I shouldn’t have let go.

  “What do you want?” Her determined chin tips up, slender arms crossing over her small, perky breasts.

  “Looks like you might have some car trouble. Could probably use some help,” I say casually, as if my heart isn’t pounding and everything inside isn’t shouting I need to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness right this second.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Yeah, but unless you’ve suddenly become a mechanic or your phone miraculously charges itself, you’re stuck.”

  “Fine... I could use some help.”

  “You’re in luck. I just so happen to have a phone.”

  She snickers. “You’re not going to offer to pop open the hood and work your magic?”

  “Don’t be a snob, princess.” Marching to her, I hand over my phone. “I’m not a mechanic anymore, and I don’t carry around my tools either.”

  Her silver eyes slide over me, dark lashes dipping to her cheeks. “Too bad. I actually used to think it was hot someone so damn nerdy could be so damn handy in the garage.”

  Images of her leaning over the hood of my Camaro, her short skirt flipped over her lush ass, invades my mind. I’d fucked her in the garage of her house. We were hot and sweaty, and she was perfect as she came apart.

  She was also my wife.

  Scratch that, Quinn is still my wife.

  “No signal.” She slaps the phone into my lax hand before pivoting and stalking away.

  I start after her, grabbing her gently by the shoulder. “I can give you a ride.”

  “After last night, and your little performance? I think not.” She spins around, a trickle of sweat running down her neck and disappearing under her thin tank top. The skin of her chest glistens, and I have to force my gaze up to her face. “I’ll wait for something better to come along.”

  “Don’t be stubborn.”

  “I’m not.”

  I glance around. There aren’t any trees in the fields that sit on either side of this two-lane back road. And at only nine in the morning, it’s already so humid that my shirt is starting to stick to my lower back. “You do realize that hardly anyone travels these back roads, right?”

  “Guess I’ll walk back to the lake house.”

/>   I put my hands up in surrender, then shove my phone back into my pocket. “How about this? I’ll let you pay for the ride. That way you won’t feel like you’re taking advantage of me.”

  She scrunches her nose, then her eyes narrow. “Pay you? I don’t think so, buddy.”

  “Not like that. “

  “Good because I was getting ready to tell you where you could shove—

  “Have dinner with me. You pick the time and place.”

  Her mouth drops, strands of hair coming loose from her bun with the gust of a hot breeze.

  “It’s only dinner.”

  “Only dinner my tail; you want me to fully participate in the endeavor of saving our marriage.”

  Hell yes I do. “It’s up to you,” I say with a shrug. “I didn’t think you were the kind to back down from a challenge. If you think I hold so much power over you, then I wouldn’t want to have dinner with me either. It’s okay.”

  Her eyes blaze with fury. She wants to tell me to shove it again, but her pride won’t let her, mostly because telling Quinn she’s basically a coward who is easily swayed is enough to send her into fighting mode.

  “Dinner. Tomorrow. Seven. My place,” she snaps, her chin tilting defiantly. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but don’t think you’re going to swagger in and make me drop my panties for you.”

  I grin.

  “Stopping grinning like a fool.”

  “Would you rather I frown like one?” I ask, knowing full well she’ll have a comeback for my query.

  “I’d rather you drop off the face of the earth. Oh wait, you already did that... At least we can agree you are a fool.”

  Guilt surges, hitting me square in the chest. “I’m guilty, but I’d like the chance to tell you my side of the story.”

  Those silver orbs of hers shift away, as if the memory of what I’d done hurts too much. “I don’t see why you can’t share on the way to town instead of at dinner tomorrow.”

  “Because it’s going to take a hell of a lot longer than twenty minutes, Quinn, and you already agreed. Don’t go back on your word.”