TROUBLE 3 Page 4
Ah, the whole ‘you vessel for babies’ caveman attitude. I want to remind him I’d been working just fine with the previous pregnancy scare and that I’ll probably work just fine even when I do get pregnant — not yet, thanks to the birth control I’m still taking — but I just nod again and face forward, ignoring his displeasure.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You’ve hardly said two words to me.”
I bite down hard on my tongue and remind myself that laughter will not help me right now, especially not with this air of mystery I’m striving for.
“Hmm, just a little tired, I suppose. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight. I’m pretty beat.”
I know they said I shouldn’t withhold the goods, but honestly, I really can’t muster up any enthusiasm with him reminding me that I’m currently nothing more than a broodmare.
Nothing spells “I adore you” like being a sperm receptacle for a guy who hardly notices your existence outside the bedroom.
When we get home, I practically inhale dinner, and have the world’s fastest shower and it’s only as I’m pulling the covers up that I realize he didn’t exactly protest the idea of no sex.
I’m on the phone and conferencing both Lena and Chris when Greg walks in and raises a brow on his way to the bathroom.
“You said you were tired,” he mutters, and I hear the girls cackling as I yawn as broadly as I can and let my eyes droop.
“Chris has a sexmergency. You know how that goes. I can’t be too tired for her.”
Direct hit.
I see him stiffen before he stomps into the bathroom and slams the door with definite force.
“Jesus, that was fast,” Chris giggles, and I laugh silently when I hear the shower go on amidst a lot of very voluble cursing.
“I know, right? He almost shit a brick this morning when I didn’t make a big deal of his birthday.”
“Oh no! Han, you absolutely can’t flake on his birthday!” Lena insists, almost yelling at me to the point that I’m forced to move the phone away a bit.
“What? But I thought you said the idea is to show him how little I’m capable of caring,” I hiss, lowering my voice when the shower turns off.
“In normal circumstances, but this is his birthday. He’s weird about it because his parents are those people who don’t celebrate birthdays. When he left home he made a point of doing something great even if he had to get his own gift. This is super important, Han.”
Dammit. I hate that it makes me happy that I don’t have to flake on a day I’ve been dying to celebrate as much as he has. I’m not impressed with him right now, but I love the guy, and I’m grateful that he was born.
“Crap, I don’t have much time to get this planned. His birthday is next Friday,” I mutter, keeping an eye on the door.
“Call me tomorrow.”
“Me too!” Chris yells. “I also wanna help with douchebag’s party.”
“Fine, I’ll go out for lunch and you can meet me,” I whisper into the phone. “Be careful, though, I don’t want him finding out about this. You know how he can be.”
I hang up quickly and look up to see him lazing against the doorjamb, a towel slung low across his hips.
“The ‘sexmergency’ crisis taken care of, darlin’?”
Why’s he looking at me so weirdly?
“Uh, yeah?”
I am possibly a worse liar than Bill Clinton, and that’s saying something because I would have been impeached after the first three questions. Greg takes a few slow steps closer and drops the towel with a smirk.
“You don’t seem all that tired anymore, darlin’.”
My mouth goes dry when I lower my eyes and get a good look at the extent of his arousal. No, I think, with a huge smirk of my own, I don’t feel all that tired anymore after all.
“You just gonna stand around and look pretty all night, Mr Lucas?” I purr, flinging the sheets back and exposing the tiny shorts I’ve worn to bed.
His eyes go lighter and he growls, leaping for me in a fluid motion that reminds me of a sleek jungle cat. He kisses me with a passion that leaves me reeling, and I do what I promised myself I wouldn’t: I give him everything I have, putting myself into every touch, every kiss.
I hold nothing of myself back as I love him.
I just don’t give him the words.
Chapter Eight
Things have been a little weird in the last four days. Like, alien abduction weird. You know how people have an accident and go into a coma and wake up different, almost as if they aren’t the person they were before?
I watched a documentary on coma patients once, and while not all of them wake up changed, the ones that do swear they can’t understand why they all of a sudden like different things or start liking things they always hated.
I feel a little like one of them at the moment, because I went to bed with a definite plan in mind, and now I just don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.
Greg is…being odd. There’s no other way to say it. I’d woken up the morning after an amazing sexathon to find my work clothes put out and him in the kitchen cooking pancakes, of all things.
I felt a little sorry for Rose-the-tyrant, seeing the awful mess he’d made, but I’d eaten every bite, despite my hatred of syrupy pancakes — okay, and my crazy OCD about the kitchen being that dirty — and watched him the whole time, half expecting a little green worm to slither out of his nose and crawl away, freeing my Greg from its terrible mind control.
I’m still waiting on it and still watching my husband act so out of character I can barely breathe for anticipating his next move. Which is another thing: the man has been dogging my steps like a mad person.
I’d come out of the bathroom at work yesterday to find him waiting. Waiting for me to finish peeing just so that he could walk me back to my desk and give me the sandwich he’d gotten me for lunch.
With his newfound stalking abilities I’ve found it exceptionally difficult to duck and dive him long enough to arrange his party. And here comes the super painful part of this experience: I’d been forced to call his mom for help because apparently I can’t even go potty without him there.
Needless to say, every phone call and quick planning lunch with the girls has been a 007 mission, but I’ve done it, I’ve gotten every detail planned, down to the gift I’ve gotten him, and now all I have to do is get him home tonight without a glitch.
“Han, come in here for a minute.”
I look up to see him poking his head out of his office, and throttle the growl working its way up my throat. Goddammit, I’m waiting for the live band to call.
“I’ll get it,” Kim whispers as I pass her desk, and I nod thankfully, following him in only to find myself swung up into his arms and on the sofa in a blink.
“You need to eat lunch,” he mutters, and I sit up long enough to see a mountain of Chinese food.
“Good God…that’s…a lot of food.”
Chinese food.
Another thing I’ve noticed lately is his expression when I seem less than spellbound by his actions. It’s strange, but he seems to take it personally when I don’t eat everything he’s trying to feed me, or when the coffee he’s brought me has too much sugar — a gallon, I think — which I now feel chugging its way to my hips. I felt so bad, I forced myself to drink the whole thing.
“You don’t like Chinese food. Goddammit, I should have asked,” he mutters angrily, going to grab the cartons.
“Whoa, hey, wait! I — of course I like it,” I assure him, silently apologizing for the lie and grabbing the carton with a deep breath.
“See? Yum,” I say brightly, choking on a noodle that feels like sludge sliding down my throat.
We’re seriously going to have to sit down and talk about our likes and dislikes soon, because at this rate I’ll be a tub of freaking lard, and I take exception to getting that way eating things I don’t even like.
We spend lunch eating �
�� yuck — and talking about the ‘family dinner’ we’re having for his birthday tonight.
“Now I know you and my family don’t really get along, so I’ve made reservations at Starlight. That way we can get rid of them quickly and just head home.”
Okay, Han, don’t panic, just…I am so totally panicking as I think of what the heck to do. It doesn’t escape me that this is him trying to be nice and give me an easy out on the whole Lucas family card, and it makes lying to him so much harder.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the old Greg, who wouldn’t have given a crap about my feelings long enough to think that planning his wedding to another woman is okay.
Shit.
“Um…uh, but Rose has gone to all that trouble with the food and planning the seating and getting the house cleaned, and I…I like your mom?”
It hurts to say it, and I feel like I’ve earned a lifetime of free passes with that one, but it does the trick.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just thought we could go out after and do something special…but you’re right,” he says.
I can see the disappointment in his eyes, and I feel the overwhelming need to hug him just to take it away, but the band still needs directions, and I have to call the caterer.
Plus, a small part of me really enjoys making him suffer a little. What? It’ll make the surprise so much more exciting. I hope.
“Okay, so I’ll get back to work and call Starlight to cancel. Oh, and Chris called and asked if she could sleep over, since her plumbing’s being fixed, so prepare yourself for a houseguest.”
I leave him scowling and wondering when I’ll ever say happy birthday.
God, I feel like shit.
*************************
I’m so excited by the time we turn onto our street I can hardly sit still, and it takes a huge does of willpower to keep me from jumping up and down with glee.
“The Marshalls must be having a party. Look at all those cars,” he says wistfully, not mentioning that the Marshalls have done me a huge favor with the parking arrangements.
I hum an agreement and scour the drive as we drive up, fiddling nervously with my phone. I’ve texted Lena just to let her know we’re close, and I thank God for Greg’s distraction on the drive, or I would have no doubt been interrogated the whole way here.
Have I said what a stalker my husband has become?
“Huh. All the lights are out. And Mom and Dad aren’t here yet.”
I give him my now customary shrug and watch his hands clench in frustration. Just a little longer, Han, just a few seconds, and then you can finally say it.
He stops at the front door, his key swinging, and turns to me, a questioning look filling his eyes, and it hits me that he’s waiting, has been waiting the whole day for me to say it.
“Darlin’, I know things haven’t been—”
I kiss him just to shut him up and smile softly.
“Shut up, Greg, you’re gonna ruin it,” I whisper, swinging the door open and pulling him in to the deafening roar and bright lights as everyone yells, “Surprise!”
The look on his face is priceless, something I’ll carry with me for as long as I live ,and the feeling is so overwhelming I feel myself tear up.
“Happy birthday, Greg,” I whisper, laughing when he swings me up into his arms and kisses me through the huge grin splitting his lips.
We’re all laughing by the time he releases me, and I feel it then, that magical something I’ve been searching for since we got married. Who needs the words when I feel so… His eyes tell me what he feels, even if he can’t bring himself to admit it.
“You sneaky woman.”
I want to spend the night basking in this glow, the shining brilliance that is him at this moment, but we’re inundated by guests, and when I look up from hugs and greetings he’s been swallowed up by the mob.
“You rock,” Chris grins, smooching my cheek loudly.
“Yeah, she really does. This is great! You should see the backyard. It’s lit up like the Fourth of July, and… How the heck did you get that band?” Lena demands.
“My mother-in-law helped.”
“Yikes.”
I totally agree, but can’t say so when Patricia herself comes barrelling my way, her blonde hair coifed and shining in the lights, her mouth so pinched I worry for the health of her lips.
Lena and Chris scatter — the traitors — and I’m left alone as the dragon approaches.
“This is so…”
I cringe and bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Do not be rude to her, Han. She pushed your husband out of her vagina, so you have to be nice.
“Thank you, Hannah. You’ve made my son very happy.”
It’s so surprising I feel my mouth flapping as I search for words. This is a first. I’d assumed I’d only get a compliment after the first four or five grandbabies.
Looks like I can stop praying for the state of my vagina.
“Thank you, Patricia. You were a great help and…I want you to know that I understand why you hate me, it’s just—”
“I don’t hate you, dear,” she says quietly, stopping my speech with a hand at my wrist.
I feel bubbly for all of five seconds before she hits me with a roundhouse.
“I just don’t like you. Now, be a good hostess and make sure the caterers are doing their jobs.”
With that parting shot I’m left alone to see her perfect head bobbing along through the crowd after the birthday boy.
“Well, that wasn’t the most terrible thing she could have said.”
I turn and roll my eyes at Flick and Flack as they melt out from behind the corner.
“Tell that to my ego,” I snort. “Where’s Nana? Greg will want to say hi.”
“She went on a date with one of those guys from the last home she was in, a Mr Licks, I believe she called him. Don’t worry, Josey’s chaperoning. And don’t get all twisted up, she said she’s not into ‘young people parties.’”
I stopped listening the minute she said “Licks,” and it takes me two glasses of wine and a canapé to stop speculating about the name. And the wrinkled old man who comes along with it.
Ew.
Two hours later the party is really going strong. I’m already exhausted just running around after the caterer and her staff, and I can’t imagine another two hours of this.
Thank God tomorrow’s Saturday.
“Well hello there, darlin’, care to dance?” I hear.
I turn with a smile to see Greg strolling toward me where I’m sitting in a small alcove off the patio, just trying to catch my breath and rest my aching feet.
We’re both still dressed for work, and my shoes are killing me.
“Not a chance, birthday boy, my feet feel like minced meat. How about sharing that glass of water you’re drinking?”
He sits at the opposite end of the bench and hands me the glass, pulling my bare feet up and onto his lap. When he starts rubbing, I know exactly why I married the man. He’s perfect.
“God, that feels wonderful. Remind me never to wear heels to a party where other people are getting wasted. It’s like putting your feet on a train track and inviting the bastard to have a go.”
“You’re a sneaky woman, Mrs Lucas,” he murmurs, and I crack an eyelid to give him a smug smile.
“You made it really hard, Greg. It’s been almost impossible to plan and get everyone on board with you dogging me so closely lately. I thought for sure you busted me the other night when Chris and Lena called. Thank God you’re a man and you think with your penis, or I would have been so busted.”
His hand tenses around my abused foot, and I squeak out a protest.
“Easy on the merchandise, buddy.”
“That was…you were on the phone with Chris and Lena?”
“Yeah, of course. Who else—”
The end of that conversation comes back to me, and I narrow my eyes and try to pull my feet back, which of course he won’t allow.
He has the grace to look sheepish, and I harden my heart against the little boy pout.
“Han, I—”
“How can you even..?” I rip my feet back and make to stand, feeling so much fury I can hardly breathe. “We’re married! God, what do you take me for? You must think so little of me!”
I’m furious, raging as I lean down to grab my shoes, only to find myself smashed up against his chest, his face so close I can smell the champagne on his breath.
“Goddammit, darlin’, calm the heck down.”
“No! You think I’m some kind of whore? How can you even think I would do that to you?”
“Because I’d deserve it!” he yells.
A few passers-by stop and stare long enough that he grabs my hand and tows me inside and up the back stairs. When we reach our bedroom he slams and locks the door, still keeping me pinned to his chest.
“You even stopped telling me you love me. I’m a lousy husband to you, and I know it. For Christ’s sake, I spent ninety percent of our honeymoon avoiding you.”
I stop struggling and push back to see his face, all the fight leaving me at that quiet admission. So he was avoiding me.
“Why? I mean, you’re so into sex, and…a honeymoon is a free for all sex marathon. I thought you’d jump at the chance to nail me on every surface at any time.”
Gosh, I’d been looking forward to that.
He finally sets me down, and I sigh in frustration when he starts pacing.
“I…I wanted to prove to you that I don’t just want you for sex,” he mutters, and it takes me a minute to process that statement before a laugh bubbles out.
“On our honeymoon?”
I’m doing my utmost not to laugh so hard I snort, but it’s almost impossible when he stops pacing and glares at me in that oh so familiar way.
“Possibly a miscalculation,” he concedes before throwing me a dirty look. “You didn’t exactly help either. I almost lost an eye when you walked out of the bathroom completely naked.”
“Ah, so you did notice.”
He curses and mutters, giving me a sardonic look.