“Are you sure? Because two years is a long time. And I’d rather know now if you’re having second thoughts.” “I said I’m in.”
“Good. My family wants to meet yours. They’re planning a reception for us. We leave for Palo Verde on Friday.”
She didn’t wait for his reply. It probably wouldn’t have occurred to her that two years without sex wasn’t nearly as off-putting as the idea of going to visit his family. A second later he heard the door to her office slam as she stormed out.
All alone in the office, he sank into his desk chair. Everything that had once been on his desk now lay scattered on the floor as well as the contents of three drawers. Years of keeping his life meticulously under control, of keeping his emotions neatly compartmentalized, and he’d blown it all in one reckless act.
He propped his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands, ignoring the fact that his own cheeks felt suspiciously damp.
She wanted to stab him on her way out. There were several things in the office sharp enough to leave a nice puncture wound without being fatal. She took it as sign of great personal development that she didn’t use any of them.
Then she sat in her car for several long minutes trying to hash out her feelings. Retrace her steps. Figure out where she’d gone wrong. In the end the only conclusion she could reach left her deeply unsatisfied.
Jonathon was right. She was too emotionally involved. She was up-to-her-tonsils-and-sinking-fast emotionally involved. Damn it.
Worse still, she couldn’t follow her first instinct, which was to run like a rabbit and hole up somewhere until she sorted through her emotions. No, with her family here, watching her like a hawk… Or maybe a pride of ravenous lions was a better analogy? Whatever hungry predator they were, she couldn’t bolt. They’d attack at the first sign of weakness. She had to remember what was important. Keeping Peyton.
Then she thought of what she’d seen just yesterday morning. Jonathon sitting in the rocking chair with Peyton cradled in his arms. He may not know it yet, but she wasn’t the only one who was emotionally involved.
He may not care about her—beyond her body, which he was obviously rather fond of—but he did care about Peyton.
Whether or not he wanted to admit it, he was a good father. He was a better father than he was a husband. Well, she could live with that. For the time being, she had to.
The days before the trip to Palo Verde passed quickly. Jonathon insisted she take the time off to visit with her family. Which seemed counterintuitive to her since the whole point of the marriage was to keep her at work. But every time she brought it up, he just stared at her stiffly and reminded her that taking off work to bond with Peyton would go a long way toward convincing them that she would be a good mother. He assured her that they still had plenty of time to work on the contract proposal. He, however, went stalwartly into work alone. He never again mentioned taking time off himself to play the part of the loving husband. Apparently—after they’d had sex at the office—that would have strained even his resolve. She assumed that when he said she should spend time with her family, what he really meant was that she should spend time with anyone other than him.
Truth be told, she let him put her off over and over, because she wanted to avoid the office too. She wasn’t ready to be in the office where he’d made love to her with such abandon. Scratch that. Made love to her body with such abandon. And she damn sure wasn’t ready to see him sitting behind the desk, working as if nothing had ever happened.
So she spent the days playing tour guide to her family. Mema was determined to hate everything about California and Big Hank flew back to Texas for the week, but her parents seemed to actually enjoy the time she spent with them. Even more shocking, she enjoyed it too.
She assumed that would change by the end of the week, when Big Hank, Hank Jr. and Helen would arrive. Helen had insisted on planning the wedding reception Mema had suggested the Morgans host. Without even leaving Texas, Helen had arranged a venue, invited guests and booked lodgings for the Morgans, which was no small feat to accomplish in just a few days’ time. Whenever Wendy offered help, she was firmly rebuffed. Helen had even located and invited Jonathon’s family. Though, apparently, only his older sister, Marie, had returned Helen’s phone calls.
Wendy could hardly blame Jonathon’s family. By the end of the week, she was sick of talking to Helen. The only thing worse than dealing with her was dealing with Jonathon.
At the end of each day, he’d arrive home and she’d have to—once again—pretend to be a loving wife. With the tension between them as strong as it was, she doubted she fooled anyone. Jonathon, however, did a bang-up job. She could barely turn around without having him there to touch her. To wrap his arm around her shoulder and drop a careless kiss on her forehead.
The nights were the worst. She could make it all the way through the day, she could even pretend in front of her parents, but her stomach knotted every time they closed and locked the bedroom door. She didn’t know if her family found it odd for them to be locking the door, but she didn’t dare risk having them walk in unannounced and seeing his pallet at the foot of the bed, where he’d been sleeping. The closest they came to communicating was the moment each night when she threw the pillow at him. Unfortunately, he always caught it. Damn him.
And before she knew it, it was Thursday. The week had slipped by and they’d be driving out to Palo Verde in the morn ing.
She lay there in the dark, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling, irritated by the rhythm of his slow, even breathing from the foot of the bed. Thirty minutes passed. Then another twenty. Then she heard him roll over and sigh.
“Are you still awake?” she whispered in the dark.
“Of course. I’m on the floor and you’re tossing and turning so much it sounds like a bounce house over there.”
She bolted upright and snapped on the bedside lamp. “Would you just get into bed.”
He blinked up at her, wedging his elbows under him. “Turn off the light. Try to get some sleep.”
“I’d be able to sleep better if I didn’t know you were uncomfortable sleeping on the floor.”
He lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s two blankets and a pillow. It can’t be good. You’ll be safe sleeping in the bed. I’m not going to attack you or anything.”
“It’s just better if we limit our contact as much as possible. I’m trying to be noble here.”
“Yeah.” She snorted, falling back onto the bed. “I think that ship sailed the day we had sex on your desk.”
“You’re going to wake up Peyton.”
Even though Big Hank had left, they’d decided to keep Peyton’s crib in their room. She’d slept so much better when she was only a few inches away from them.
And though she knew Jonathon had a point—winning the argument wasn’t worth waking Peyton, who would want to be fed in a few hours anyway—it only irritated her more. She yanked her pillow out from under her head and threw it at him. There was a satisfying whump as it landed on his torso.
“I already have a pillow.”
“I know. I just wanted to throw something at you.” “Very mature.”
“I know.” Smiling, she snapped off the light. He brought the pillow back to her, standing next to her side of the bed in the dark and holding it out to her. “I don’t need it.”
“Keep it. Maybe it’ll make the floor a little less uncomfortable.”
“Wendy—”