“More for you?” He tips the bottle in Orchard’s direction.
I swipe the bottle from his grasp. I can’t be outdone here. I’m trying to prove to Orchard I’m as good a husband as Con. “I’ll pour it for my wife.”
The other man arches his eyebrows at this but doesn’t object. After I top off Orchard’s glass, she murmurs a soft thank you. See, I’ve matched him, although I haven’t gotten her a blanket. I reach over for the blanket. “May I?” I ask Abigail.
“Of course,” she replies.
“No,” says Con at the same time.
We all turn to look at him. The financier’s lips flatten out. “That’s Abby’s blanket.”
“I’m not using it,” she says.
“We have dozens of others.” He snaps his fingers and one of the black suited waiters hovering in the shadows trots forward. “Another blanket,” Con orders.
“If she’s not using it, what’s the point?” I’m starting to get annoyed.
“I don’t need a blanket,” chirps Orchard.
“Listen to your wife,” orders Con. “She doesn’t want the damn blanket.”
“Listen to your wife? Take your own advice.” Abigail shakes her head. “Come on, Orchard. Let’s go to the ladies’ room while these two fight over this throw.”
Orchard gets up immediately and the two disappear down the stairs. I release the blanket and start after them.
“Where are you going?” Con asks.
“To piss. Want to come and hold my dick for me?” I ask, chin out, eyebrows arched.
Con slumps back in his chair and sighs. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes, Heath.”
“Sometimes? I try hard to give off that impression at all times but it must not be working.”
Con gives me the finger before picking up his drink. I leave him to his booze. From the sounds of it, all is not perfect in their kingdom. The fight over a blanket seems a cover, no pun intended, over something much larger. Orchard doesn’t see it because her vision is blinded by the fact her father sold her to me. Down the stairs and through the hallway, I keep my ears open for sounds of the women and stop when I hear them.
“I was surprised when you texted me that your husband was coming,” Abigail is saying.
“I know. It surprised me, too. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. It’s nice to see you out together. Half of the gossip magazines have you two divorcing every other week. You should go out in public more often and put that to rest.”
I didn’t realize this. I guess more of our dinners should take place at restaurants, but it’s the only time I get to spend with Orchard and so I prefer it to be alone.
“It’s not a real marriage so it doesn’t seem to be worth the effort. I want something like you have.”
There’s a prolonged silence from Abigail that makes me wonder what’s going on. Finally, she speaks again. “Arranged marriages aren’t all bad. Most marriages end in divorce anyway so your odds of the arranged one succeeding is about the same—maybe even better because you both go into the relationship knowing exactly where the other person is standing. And, in your case, even though your dad was not all that, Heath knew everything about your past and it didn’t matter to him.”
“I’d rather have married him because we love each other like you and Con. You have what I want.”
“Then you’ll have to leave Heath.”
I place a hand on the door, ready to burst through, when Orchard says, “I thought about it, but it makes me queasy. Is it because I’m afraid to be by myself or because of some other reason?”
“Is that a rhetorical question? I think you know the answer.”
I hold my breath and wait for that answer but before I can get it, Con taps me on the shoulder and loudly proclaims, “Spying on your wife?”
The voices inside immediately stop so there’s no point in denying it. “Yeah because I plan to keep her,” I say loudly for everyone’s benefit. “No matter what.”
“Pitiful,” Con remarks.
“Honest,” I reply. “Maybe that’s something you need in your own marriage,” I tack on before heading toward the stairs. His glare burns a hole in my back as I leave.
16
Orchard
The ride home is silent. I don’t understand why Heath is holding on to this marriage so tightly. It might be easier for him because he doesn't want the work of dealing with a real wife. Even though I don’t make it so easy for him to deal with me anymore. I’ve been pushing back lately and the only thing he does is stand there and let me. I know he pushes back in his own way but it's never in anger.
He’s made one thing crystal clear tonight: he has no plans of ever letting me go. A few weeks ago that would have pissed me off. Now it feels like he’s fighting for our marriage. Isn't that what a good husband should do?
Can I really be mad at him for that? Isn’t this what I’ve wanted from the start? Sure, I was mad about how everything went down to begin with, but after a while I found myself secretly hoping he would try.
“What’s happening here?” I ask as we pull up outside of our townhouse. The driver gets out but Heath doesn't open the door.
“If it was up to me I’d take my wife inside our home and have my way with her.” I lick my lips. The thought is so tempting. My body has been aching for days for a release that I can’t find using my own hand. It’s been there since our kiss. His eyes flick to my mouth. “You’re not giving this marriage a chance.”
“Is this really a marriage? And why all of a sudden is it important to you?”
“I’ve always thought of it as one.” He lifts his hand, putting his finger under my chin. I know I need to ask whatever I can before he can distract me.
“And this is the kind of marriage you want?”
“No.” The one word is filled with emotion. Or maybe it’s regret. I’m not sure but my belly sinks for a moment thinking that he’s realized that I’m not what he wants. He grabs me, pulling me into his lap in one quick motion. His actions take me by surprise but I don’t fight him. It feels good to be pressed up against him again. As much as I tell myself I hate when he bosses me around, there is something about his dominance that lights something deep inside of me. “You don’t feel this?” he asks. I nod my head, wanting him to know that I do.
“I feel it.” Again my eyes flick to his mouth. I want to feel so much more.
“Ask me to kiss you.” His words come out like a plea. They have everything inside of me melting. Butterflies stir in my belly at the thought of something blooming between us.
“Kiss me.”
“For you, wife, I’ll do anything.” His mouth crashes down onto mine. His fingers tangle in my hair as he tilts my head to deepen the kiss. I moan into his mouth. Yes, I feel this. There is so much passion and pure need here. There is so much within us that we have been denying ourselves. How can I hate this man? This feels nothing like hate. Instead it feels a lot more like something I’m not ready to admit to myself yet. So I push that thought to the side and decide to enjoy this moment.