He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

by Iris Morland

“If I were a lord, I wouldn’t be having this discussion with you. Besides, there are only two Irish dukedoms total. The likelihood I’d have one is slim to none.”

  “Too bad.” I clucked my tongue. “I would’ve liked being called ‘my lady.’”

  “‘Your grace.’” When I raised an eyebrow, Liam shrugged. “My sister made me watch Downton Abbey with her. Branson deserved better, by the way.”

  Despite the lighthearted banter, my heart was pounding like a drum. Stay married? What would my family and friends say? One second I was engaged to David, then we were calling off our wedding, and then I was married to another man? The whispers and questions alone would be terrible.

  Liam leaned toward me, his languidness dissolving in an instant. “Look, I have something on the line that’ll be fucked if word gets out I married you and then got an annulment, proving to everyone that it was a huge mistake.”

  I reared back. “You think I don’t have anything on the line? This isn’t something I want people to know about, either.”

  Liam smirked, but there was a flash of something in his eyes I didn’t recognize. “Don’t want people knowing about your dirty little secret?”

  “No, I don’t want people to know I drunkenly married a stranger in Vegas. Is that so crazy? And it isn’t the who in this instance; it’s the marriage in general. I’d be saying the same thing to any other man I’d randomly married after drinking too much tequila.”

  “Make it a habit? Marrying strange men?”

  I flushed. “No. You’re my first.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.”

  He imbued the words with innuendo, and I squirmed in my seat. Memories of that night in the hotel room flashed in my mind. Right then, I could practically feel his hands on my body, the way I begged him to touch me—

  I hardened my heart and my voice. “I’m not staying married to a man I wouldn’t have chosen if I hadn’t been drunk. Period.”

  If Liam was offended, he masked it quickly.

  “I’m not proposing we stay married forever. I don’t want that, either.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  He sighed, ruffling his dark hair. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and it made him seem more rugged than usual. I couldn’t help but remember how that scruff had felt as he’d kissed me.

  “I have a sister,” he said finally. “She’s a lot younger than me. I basically raised her myself. She’s turning eighteen in six months, and she’ll get a large inheritance from our grandda when she’s of age. She’ll use it to go to college.”

  “That sounds like something out of Downton Abbey. Are you sure you’re not a duke?”

  “Very.”

  “So what does our marriage have to do with your sister’s inheritance?”

  Liam sighed. “Our grandda is a nutter. If he finds out about this, he’ll disinherit Niamh. And it’ll have been my fault.”

  I almost laughed, because it sounded so absurd. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank, right?

  But Liam wasn’t laughing. I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

  I said, “How would he even find out? Is he in the US?”

  “No, but he’d find out. He always does, believe me. He’s a wily old shite. And any paperwork associated with an annulment is a matter of public record. I looked into it. It can’t be sealed.”

  “Why would your grandfather punish your sister because of you?”

  “He’s always hated us.” Liam folded his hands. “Look, you don’t need to know my sordid family history. Just that I need you to go along with this. I can pay you for your trouble. And as a guarantee, we’ll divorce, and I won’t fight you if you want spousal support. An annulment wouldn’t give you that.”

  My mouth was dry. Money—money I could use to quit my job. I could pursue my dream of becoming a makeup artist instead of wasting my life in a job I hated more and more every day.

  If Liam had said this inheritance was for him, I would’ve told him tough luck. But I understood wanting to protect younger sisters. I knew it like I knew my own face in the mirror. It was something older siblings took on without even realizing it the moment our younger siblings were born.

  “My sister Niamh is brilliant,” said Liam to fill the silence. “She can go to any university she wants. She’s only applying to Ivies, for Christ’s sake. She has a 4.2 GPA and will be her school’s valedictorian of a class of seven hundred.”

  Was Liam, who was normally so confident bordering on arrogant, almost on his knees, begging me to agree to this? To my surprise, I felt almost jealous of his sister. What would it be like to have that kind of devotion from a man like him?

  Liam continued, “If you agree to this, we’d have to act like we’re really married. Live together and everything.”

  “Yeah, like that’ll be so easy. Where are we going to live?”

  “My flat.”

  “Why not mine?”

  “Does yours have a second bedroom?”

  He had me there. “No. It’s a small one bedroom.” And annoyingly enough, my lease was up soon and I hadn’t signed another one yet.

  Life was so convenient when you didn’t need it to be.

  “Say yes, Mari.” Liam took my hands, his gaze entreating. “Just six months. Then you’ll get your money, Niamh will get hers, and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

  The fact that I wasn’t saying no right away scared me. I must be insane. I needed to get my brain examined. If I had an MRI done, they’d most likely point to a part of my brain and diagnose me with Liam Gallagher Syndrome. It’s curable, but only if you run far, far away from the virus himself.

  “Wait, if we’re living together…” I lowered my voice. “Are you suggesting we sleep together, too?” If I said the words too loudly, I’d probably summon a demon. Or Liam’s magnificent cock. Both were equally dangerous.

  “I wouldn’t say no.” Liam crossed his arms, smiling.

  “Uh, I would!”

  My palms were sweating. If I slept with Liam, I’d act even more stupidly than I was right now. I’d probably be dumb enough to fall in love with him. A girl had to know her limits. Liam using the full force of his charm along with the full force of his cock would break more than my lady parts.

  “We’ll live as chastely as nuns,” he said. He leaned forward, whispering like I had been earlier. “You know you want to say yes. Six months, Mari. And by the end, you’ll be the one richer.”

  “I’ll think about it,” was all I could manage.

  He was still holding my hands. I was about to pull away, but then he brought my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

  “Your grace,” he said gravely.

  Oh, he was dangerous. So very, very dangerous—to my lady bits and to my heart.

  “No sex,” I said firmly. “If I agree to this, we’re going to act like both of us are totally incapable of intercourse.”

  Liam’s lips twitched. “Not sure my dick will agree to that stipulation.”

  “It’ll have to. It’s not getting anything from me.”

  “So you’re saying you didn’t enjoy how I made you come so hard you left marks on my shoulders?”

  I was so red I was probably on fire. “Will you keep your voice down?”

  “I’m not ashamed. Why should you be?”

  Wings flapping overhead snagged my attention. The blue macaw settled a foot from where Liam sat, its long talons curling over the wooden edge of the booth. One of its beady eyes stared at Liam before swiveling toward me. I was pretty sure it could see right through me. It was unnerving.

  “Cookie Monster, come back here,” said the bird’s owner. “You’re a very bad boy.”

  Cookie Monster ruffled its feathers and then proceeded to fly onto a shelf that probably once held a speaker but was currently empty. It was also all the way up to the ceiling, at least eight-feet high.

  “Cookie Monster! No! Get back down here!” said the owner.

  “Maybe you should give him some co
okies as a bribe,” drawled Liam.

  I kicked him under the table. I did not want that bird coming back down to stare at me and suss out all my deep dark secrets.

  But it didn’t matter. Because Cookie Monster decided to ruffle its feathers again and then squawk in the loudest possible bird voice, “MADE YOU COME SO HARD.”

  “Made you come, made you come,” it repeated as it hopped from one end of the shelf to the other. “Made you COOOOOOME!”

  “Oh my God,” I said as I buried my face in my hands. Liam, the jerk, was laughing silently.

  Cookie Monster’s owner spluttered and rifled through his oversized man-purse for a plastic bag. “Look, a cookie! Just for you!”

  “MADE YOU COME SO HARD,” was the bird’s screeching response.

  Around us, people were laughing or looking like they’d prefer a coffee shop with less pornographic entertainment. I was one of them.

  Liam was still laughing, and even though I wanted to melt into the floor, I couldn’t resist laughing, either.

  “This isn’t funny,” I said, even as I tried to keep a straight face.

  “Sir, you need to get your bird,” said one of the baristas in a harried voice.

  “MADE YOU COME!”

  “Sir, now.”

  The owner waved one of the cookies in the air, and finally the evil bird flew down to retrieve its bribe. It settled on its owner’s shoulder and proceeded to scatter bird-cookie crumbs all over the floor.

  After pretty much pulling Liam from the cafe, I hoped he’d forget about the whole sex-ban thing. But it was as if my luck had totally run out lately. If it wasn’t an X-rated bird, it was my husband not letting something go. Whose dog had I run over to cause this epic karmic punishment?

  “So you’re saying yes?” asked Liam as he walked me to my car.

  “It’s a maybe right now.”

  “I’m gonna need an answer soon.”

  I swallowed and asked the question I’d been afraid to utter. “What happens if I say no? What will you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  I stared at him in shock. “Really. Nothing? Didn’t you try to blackmail me at the wedding to keep this thing silent?”

  Liam shrugged. “I was bluffing. I wouldn’t need to blackmail you, now that I know you. Because you’d always feel guilty that you caused a young girl to lose everything. Because you understand what it’s like to protect your sisters.”

  Oh, I hated him right then. I hated that he’d already figured me out. I hated that he’d use my own conscience against me.

  His sister wasn’t my problem. It wouldn’t be my fault if this grandfather of theirs decided to be spiteful.

  It wouldn’t be my fault, technically, but I was good at taking on guilt that hadn’t been labeled as mine. I’d done it for a time after I’d discovered David had cheated on me. I’d done it when my mom had left for those long two weeks years ago. I’d done it when I’d considered leaving my boss high and dry to pursue my true passion.

  I hated Liam, because he saw straight through me to my messy, shadowed center.

  “You’re evil,” I said. It was a lame response, but it was all I could manage.

  He looked almost sad. “I know.”

  “Six months. That’s it. Then we’re getting a divorce and I get my money.”

  “I’ll draft up a contract. A real one.”

  “And I’m sleeping in my own room.”

  He nodded.

  “What will we tell everyone?” I whispered.

  “We’ll figure that out together.”

  I put out my hand. “Then you have a deal, husband.”

  Chapter Ten

  Liam

  A week after Mari and I signed our contract, and three days after Mari moved into my place, I cursed myself for being the greatest fool alive.

  Live together, I’d said, it’ll be fine, I’d said.

  Except it wasn’t fucking fine. Mari was in my space, her smell, her voice, her very being taking up both my physical and mental space.

  She’d filled my fridge with chick food. I was pretty sure she’d bought at least one bottle of rosé and one bottle of chardonnay, both of which I never allowed near my kitchen for obvious reasons. She’d filled my bathroom cabinets with so many items—how did women have so much stuff?

  It had been so long since I’d lived with a woman I’d forgotten they collected products like magpies collected things for their nests. They had soap for each body part. They had tweezers and clippers and tiny scissors; they had lotion and razors and hair spray. And so much makeup. Thankfully Mari had kept most of her makeup in her bedroom—my second bedroom—because there wasn’t room for it in my tiny-ass bathroom.

  But the tampons under the sink, the nail polish left on the coffee table? That was one thing.

  Having Mari here, underfoot? It was the worst sort of torture. Because she’d told me she didn’t want me to touch her again, and I wanted to break that promise so badly. My cock was in a perpetual state of arousal. Mari would push her hair over her shoulder, and it would get excited. I was going to have to shove an icepack down my trousers for six months if I didn’t get my head on straight.

  It’s for Niamh, I reminded myself. You’re not a fucking pussy, Gallagher. Suck it up. She’s your roommate who also happens to be your wife. You’ve gone through worse.

  On Friday, Mari got up early to go to work. I heard her turn on the shower, which was torture, imagining her wet and naked. I heard her make herself a smoothie. Torture, because the blender was fucking loud at seven AM. I heard her blow-dry her hair, which was also way too loud.

  “Mari,” I said gruffly after she’d shut off the blow-dryer. “Can you do that at night?”

  She blinked in surprise. “What? Dry my hair?”

  “Yeah. It’s way too loud.” I yawned.

  Her lips twitched. “I guess you’re not a morning person?”

  “No. And I work for myself, so I get up when I want.”

  “You could buy some earplugs.”

  “I don’t like those things.”

  “Poor baby.” She wrinkled her pert little nose. “I’ll try not to wake you up again, but I make no promises. You might just have to get up earlier. Because you were the one who came up with this scheme, dear husband.”

  I scowled and stalked to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I wasn’t going back to sleep now. I might as well get some work done.

  Mari had settled in without much issue, I’d give her that. She’d taken over my flat, just like if she were my real wife. I had a feeling she was doing it as a bit of revenge for making her move in with me, as opposed to me moving into her place.

  Mari left for work a few minutes later. When she opened the front door, she said, “See you tonight,” but then blushed, stuttered something, and shut the door in a hurry.

  Something inside my chest twisted. See you tonight. Such a normal, wifely thing to say.

  My brain wanted to fall down the “what would it be like if Mari was really my wife” rabbit hole. Would she sleep in late with me on the weekends? Would she kiss me goodbye, tell me she’d miss me while she was at work? Would she let me fuck her on every available surface in my flat like a good, obedient wife should?

  For the love of Christ, stop.

  But I couldn’t let myself fall down that rabbit hole. That was for stupid girls like Alice who thought running after rabbits was totally logical.

  I forced my thoughts on my work. At the moment, I was editing photos I’d taken for a newly opened building at the University of Washington. Not the most exciting job, but it paid well.

  My interest in photography had started when I’d got a disposable camera at a friend’s wedding when I was kid. Mam had had an old Polaroid I could play with, but it took crappy photos. The disposable camera wasn’t much better, but at least the photos weren’t all sepia-toned. I’d gone out to the fields near our house, trying to be artistic as I took photos of cows, trees, and a random fire hydrant.

 
; I’d been so excited when I’d got the photos developed. I’d saved up the money to get it done at the local drugstore. But they’d been mostly blurry, or I’d taken a photo of the cow’s arse when I’d tried to get the entire cow in the photo.

  Photography kept me going through the good times and bad. I got better and better at it. And when I’d had to drop out of school to take care of Niamh, I’d had enough skill to get work.

  After editing those UW photos, I went for a walk to clear my head. As I walked, I took some photos of people in a nearby park: moms wrapped up in coats, pushing babies in strollers; young kids playing on the playground; an old man feeding pigeons.

  By the time I returned to my flat, Mari had come back from work and was cooking in the kitchen.

  “Liam!” she called out, “where’s your colander?”

  “The fuck is a colander?” I came into the kitchen to see various pots and pans on the stove. One had something red in it, the other something green.

  “You know, to drain pasta?” Mari let out a long-suffering sigh. “I threw mine out because it was old. I thought you’d have one…”

  “Darling, I don’t cook. I order takeout or use the microwave.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “You’re such a cliché.”

  “Good thing I have a sweet wife to make me dinner every night.”

  “This isn’t for you.”

  I dipped my finger into the red stuff, which was a rather tasty marinara.

  “You sure are making a lot for just one person. This is good. This might not be a terrible bargain after all, with you cooking for me.”

  She raised the wooden spoon she was holding and pointed it at me. “I am not your personal chef, Liam Gallagher. I am cooking for myself like I do most nights. If you happen to eat some of this food, that is your choice. But I’m not catering any of it to your tastes.”

  “Good thing I enjoy your tastes.”

  Mari flushed, clearly annoyed. She reached for the boiling pot on the back of the stove, only to let out a yelp when she tried to pick up the metal handle.

  “Ow, crap—”

  “Come here.” I took her by the wrist to the kitchen sink.