Marriage (Red, White &) Blues (Unexpectedly Married #2)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

O n Saturday, we lay in bed lounging languorously. I adored these moments with Blake. Just he and I cocooned in our own little… love bubble ? Okay, that sounded incredibly stupid, but I had nothing to replace it with so the sentiment stood.

“You seem settled now,” he said, and his smile did all the things to my heart as well as my parts. All the parts. He still affected all the parts. And once again, I hoped these feelings never waned.

“Am I lying in a bed with my husband?” I asked.

“ Yes .” His response fluttered through his lips on a sexy, whispered laugh. “But it’s more than that.”

Okay, time to get real. “I wish I had a job. You know, something to pass my time, but I love you. I’m happy here with you… and I’m glad to finally have a friend.”

“You miss Sierra and Pen,” he said as a statement, in what could only be described as the most definite statement ever stated, in my opinion.

“I do. We’ve been friends forever.”

“But Lorelei helps.”

Even as I nodded, I thought about his response. “She does. She’s fun. We have a good time together.” And we did have a great time this past week. Lorelei worked the evening shift, so with all her days free, we found innocent trouble to get into every day.

“I was thinking,” he said, and I moved my gaze back to him, giving him my full attention. “Since you’re settling in now, we need to make this place yours.”

“You want to put me on the title?” I asked in confusion.

Laughing, he reached over to tuck a few thick strands of hair behind my ear. “You’re my wife. The house is yours. I was talking about updating my will, but that makes sense, too. We’ll do it on on Monday.”

“Good. I should get a lawyer, too, now that I have something to leave my loved ones.”

“But I also had another thought.”

“And?” I asked, now very curious.

“I think we should redo the house.”

Still stumbling over my thoughts, I asked, “Redo the house?”

“Yes.” He rolled to his side, propping his head up on his hand. “What’s wrong? You seem less happy Gloria than a moment before.”

Oh, right. “Well, it’s just… A will is a big deal and I’m not exactly sure how to go about finding a new lawyer. Could you share yours with me or is that like a conflict of interest?”

His eyes softened as he smiled. “It’s a will not a divorce. No conflict of interest. If it makes you more comfortable, I can help you find an estate attorney, otherwise, I’m sure we can share.”

“What would you put in yours?”

“My will? Well, I’d put aside a trust to be split equally among any future children, then give a good chunk to some charities I believe in. As my wife, you get the rest.”

“The rest, huh? Well, that gives me ideas.” I smirked and winked at him.

“Are you planning a murder-for-hire plot so you can run off with Ryan?”

“ Ryan ?” I asked.

Blake continued to smile. “Ryan. The guy from the beach.”

“Oh, Ryan . I mean, you never know, but probably not.”

“I assume then, that you don’t want me dead for the payout.”

“ Eh .” I flipped my hand. “I can’t have sex with money.”

“I mean you could, but money is pretty dirty. You don’t know where it’s been…”

“Same with Ryan,” I teased.

“Either way, I see a plethora of antibiotics in your future if you do.”

“Then I guess I’d better keep you, Mr. Parker.”

He leaned in pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’m happy to be kept, Mrs. Parker.”

After that talk, I had no plans on either of us leaving the bed for the rest of the day except to forage for food in the kitchen or take a potty break.

“That settled, what about redoing the house?” he asked.

“You don’t like your furniture?”

“It’s fine. I didn’t pick it. Jupiter did. But you said it: ‘ my furniture.’ I want this house to feel like home to you. This is your home. Put your stamp on it.”

“Lorelei…um…” I pointed in the way of not in the room with us, not in any direction, just out of the room. “Works in a furniture store. It’s high-end. Her sister and brother-in-law own it.”

“Great. Give her a call.”

How much more wonderful could this guy get? “I love you, Blake. I love you hardcore.”

He didn’t need words to respond. He romance novel kissed me. And then he romance hero made love to me. Yes, we did it a lot. I mean… Newlyweds .

I called Lorelei on Sunday.

Blake had me put her on speakerphone while we talked about wanting to redo the entire house. Well, except for the bed. I loved our bed. It was soft—no, not just soft. It felt as if a pillow and a cloud made a mattress baby. Plus, he’d taken me there the first time we’d had sex. Oh and, we slept on it every night. Some of the best times in my life were spent in that bed. The bed stayed.

Anyway, he had me put her on speakerphone, not because of some weird control issue, but because he knew how large the house was and the dimensions of each of the rooms. It made sense to have him on the call. In the process, he got to know my new friend.

Come to think of it, I needed to get to know some of his friends too. Blake rarely went out with friends. I wondered if it was because he didn’t want to leave me alone while I acclimated to my new life. But then, I got the feeling that Parkers didn’t actually have friends in the way that I thought of them. Ant had friends, and he was a McCain. Pen had friends— obviously —and she was a Von Dutton. Same for Sierra, who came from Winthrops. But they were all black sheep in their families.

Blake was the Parker black sheep. He’d married me. How much more black sheep could a person get? Jupiter straddled the line falling somewhere in the middle, but that still left Blake mostly alone and it pissed me off. The poor man spent his whole life as his family’s black sheep but didn’t have any friends hanging around. Who did all these imaginary men think they were snubbing my husband? No one disrespected my?—

“Gloria?” Lorelei said and I heard the telltale snapping of her fingers.

Oh. Right. “Um… what ?” I asked, as I was unable to agree or disagree because I’d heard nothing she’d said. Not one thing to cling to as an imaginary life raft. Not one thing to springboard off of back into the warm water of house redecorating.

Blake lifted me from my place on the sofa to move me to nestle me between his legs on the cushion. “Don’t be offended,” he said to Lorelei. “A thousand thoughts run through her head at any one time. With someone as smart as Glory, you couldn’t expect any less.”

I used to hate compliments, but now as a recovering compliment hater, I accepted it graciously. Which was good because he threw his compliments at me like a ten-dollar compliment hooker needing another payout. But he gave them for free, so… a compliment daddy? In any case, I felt loved. Completely. Utterly. All other ‘lys’ that applied here. Even the ones that hadn’t been thought of yet.

“So do you want to get together tomorrow to go over different room designs?” she asked.

“Yes. We can get together. Blake?” I asked him. “Do you want to be there?”

“I have meetings tomorrow. Send me pics in text. When I’m finished with the meetings, I’ll come to the shop.”

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” she told Blake.

“Doesn’t matter. If it keeps Gloria happy, I’m all in.” Can you guess why he got laid so often?

The next day, Monday morning, I drove to St. Martins, to meet Lorelei, who’d kindly agreed to come in even though she worked the evening shifts. A better friend would’ve waited for her to start work, but we hung out most days now, so why not do it while furniture shopping?

She kind of looked like her sister… if I squinted… and turned my head just so…

“We’re half-sisters,” The woman said, she being the sister. “Different mothers. I see you trying to find any common traits. Lei and I have none. I’m Olivia.” Olivia held her hand out for me to shake. She was right. They looked nothing alike. Where Lorelei had curves , Olivia had straight. That was, almost no waist, narrow hips the same width as her narrow shoulders, and she had to be close to six feet tall. Though she had boobs, so curve- ish ? Her hair hung down long and straight and very blonde and she had the bluest eyes possibly ever invented—like all of her Nordic ancestors had channeled their DNA into this one woman.

“I’m Gloria,” I replied.

“Yes, Parker,” she said. “I recognize you from the news.”

I sighed softly. That didn’t surprise me. Still, I plastered a mostly genuine smile on my face and said, “My husband will be joining us when he’s done with his meetings.”

Now was it me, or did Olivia look a little too excited by this news? I guess since no one outside the me and Blake and the lawyers knew about the marriage clause from his grandfather’s will, she probably saw him as my walking bank book. Most people did. Especially his family. Oh, did I forget to throw that little nugget of information in here earlier? They were all privy to the reading of the will, where Blake got the bulk of the estate. But the lawyers had asked him to stay after. And that was when they’d dropped the bombshell. Remember that if you ever get asked to stay behind.

“Let me escort you to the showroom,” Olivia said, leading us through the front of the store to where the space opened up, separated into vignettes to give the buyer ideas for total room makeovers. I got the feeling that people with the money to shop here never just bought a sofa. They bought a room, or they bought nothing.

My problem with this “whole room” concept was that I didn’t much care for matchy-matchy furnishings. I mixed and matched as I saw fit. One piece of antique and another brand new. I actually saw several different pieces from the first few vignettes that we stopped at that I’d love to see in our living room. Also, what was with all the reds and browns? I liked red. I liked brown. But I kind of wanted pastels. Not girly pastel, which was why I needed Blake’s opinions. But I’d always dreamed of decorating in light, happy colors.

I snapped off pictures of rooms rather than pieces of furniture.

Blake texted me back: There a reason you’re showing whole rooms?

Me: That’s all she offers. Boo.

Blake: I’m sure she’d be fine if you picked pieces.

Me: What if she’s not? I’ve never done this before.

Blake: Ask Lorelei.

Me: Then I’ll look uncouthed. Do you want me to look uncouthed?

Blake: Canceling last meeting to rescue my wife. You want pieces, I’ll get you pieces.

Me: Chief of Finance for Parker Holdings by day. Super-husband by … day ?

Blake: Don’t you forget it!

Me: Like you’d ever let me.

Blake: Never! Why do you think I married you?

Me: Because Mingati married us in a semi-nomadic marriage ceremony?

Blake: Correction. Why do you think I American-married you?

Me: I love you, Blake Parker.

Blake: I love you hardcore, Gloria Parker. Text you when I’m on my way.

“By that smile, I’m going to guess that the text exchange was with Loverboy?” Lorelei asked.

“Who else would I have a text exchange with?”

She shrugged, letting the most lascivious smile spread over her pretty lips. “Maybe you’re having a torrid affair. Could be with a member of the grounds staff… or someone from back home.”

“Uh… no. First off, he doesn’t keep a grounds staff. He contracts it out. Secondly, Vermont is my home.”

I knew she was simply teasing me, but I didn’t appreciate hearing either of those scenarios leave her mouth to reach any of our ears. I not only loved my husband. I was a golden retriever—no, an Irish setter (the red hair)—in the loyalty department. I’d never have a torrid affair unless it was with my husband and the torrid affair was some kind of kinky roleplaying.

It wasn’t too long before the bell over the door chimed, alerting us to another customer entering the store. Olivia excused herself while we continued to walk. It wasn’t but a couple of minutes later that I heard, “I’ll take that one, right there.”

Surprise didn’t begin to cover it. I turned around to take in all that was my husband. Black suit. Finger pressed to his lips as if in thought.

“Olivia,” I said, “I didn’t know the Parkers shopped here.”

Olivia rolled her eyes.

“I heard all the best Parkers frequented this establishment,” Blake said, winking. His dimple deepened.

He started walking toward me, so I started toward him, meeting him on the walkway between the first two rooms. “Have you seen anything you like?” he asked.

“I love that.” I pointed to an antique wardrobe from I had no idea the time period. But it looked old and in super good condition. “And I love?—”

“We tend to sell the rooms,” Olivia said, cutting me off.

“Do you want the room?” Blake asked me.

I shook my head. “I like that piece.” Then I pointed to the other vignette. “And I love that sofa. It’s not antique, right?”

“No,” Lorelei said. “It’s new.”

“Then can I get it in a different color? Fabrics to choose from?”

“We sell the rooms,” Olivia said again. “Each piece is carefully picked by our in-house designer to create the most aesthetically pleasing space possible.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” he replied. “My wife wants to redecorate our entire home, but she doesn’t want to buy each room. She wants to decorate in her own style. I guess we’ll keep looking.”

He offered his arm to me and I wrapped both of mine through his bent one as he turned us to head toward the door.

“The whole house?” Olivia asked while literally trying to block our escape. “We sell rooms because our clientele tend to prefer it that way. However, given your friendship with my sister, we’ll be happy to make an exception. Let’s make a plan.”

“Glory?” Blake asked, eyebrow raised. “Is that acceptable for you or would you prefer we shop elsewhere?”

Okay, so I shot him one of my sauciest oh, my husband is good faces—and yes, this one took the whole face. I looked around the large space. “Well, I do like that piece for the biggest guest room.” The wardrobe that I’d originally had my eye on.

He and I spent hours picking out pieces for each room. Deciding on fabrics and color choices for the new pieces. My husband loved my color choices. I used yellows and sagey greens. Pastel robin’s egg blue, and yes, pastel lavender and pink in places. I even used black and a color Olivia called “mushroom” to anchor each space.

I’d never dropped that amount of cash at one time in my life before. Not ever. We spent more than twice my yearly salary with the Social Security Administration in one day. My stomach pitched. But why? I had plans for my money, plans that involved helping a lot of people. So then didn’t I deserve to do something nice for myself, too?

I was a work in progress. We locked down a delivery day for each of the pieces of furniture and Blake followed me home.

He stood in the living room, loosening his tie while taking in the space.

“How did you get to the store so fast? We’d only just texted.”

“As I sat through my fourth straight meeting, I thought, why in the hell am I here instead of picking out sofas with you?”

“You blew off your meetings for furniture shopping?”

“With you .” His eyes dared me to counter that claim. I couldn’t. He made his decision without any prompting from me. And he saw the moment I gave in, nodding at me once, then letting his gaze travel around the room said, “We need to hire painters.”

“We should donate the furniture we’re getting rid of to the Habitat store.”

“Habitat store?” he asked and I couldn’t help it. I laughed. My husband never heard of a Habitat store?

“Habitat for Humanity.”

He wrinkled his brows. “I’ve heard of them… Jimmy Carter, right?” He was referring to the former President of the United States who’d spent his years post-presidency building Habitat houses. “But don’t they build houses?”

“They do. But they also remodel homes and people donate their newish to slightly used furniture and appliances to the store when they redecorate. They’re sold at very discounted prices. It’s a nice organization.”

“We’ll donate to wherever you want this stuff to go. I have to follow your lead on this one.” He looked a bit shame-faced, blushing and everything.

“No need,” I offered, smiling as I took his hand to walk with him into the kitchen to eat whatever wonderful things Dee had waiting for us. “Keep holding my hand. We’ll lead together.”

We might have called the painters, but I refused the designer Blake suggested. Come hell or high water, Blake and I would do this together… or die trying.

For the next three days, we tested the bonds of our marriage. How, you might ask? Two words: Moving. Furniture. Blake could’ve hired a moving company to haul the furniture away for us. But I was Gloria Kowalski at heart, even if Gloria Parker by name. I didn’t hire someone every time I needed something done. Plus, I thought giving him a dose of the reality most people lived was good for him. It helped build empathy.

“Use your knees, not your back,” I directed Blake for the umpteenth time today as we hefted the sofa in our master bedroom. Right about now I rethought my decision to use this home redo as a bonding moment. I had no clue. Well, I had some clue…

As we maneuvered it through the doorway, his old band T-shirt that he’d gotten during college caught on the corner of the metal strike—the part that the lock slid into, secured to the jamb—tearing.

“Dammit.” He moved his whole body rather than lose his grip. “Glory, you’ve got to pull your weight here,” he snapped. A long strand of hair fell from the scarf I wore tied around my head like a modern-day Rosie the Riveter. I tried blowing it out of my face to no avail. “Glory… sweetheart… we have to move this?—”

Okay, so I might have dropped my side of the sofa but that hair was driving me crazy. But his returning reaction was a little over the top. I’d never seen him this annoyed with me before.

I gritted through my teeth as I hefted the sofa again. “What… is… wrong… with you? It’s… just… a… T-shirt.”

“Let’s just… get this done,” he replied, far less winded than me.

What was happening here?

I didn’t ask again. Instead, I started walking backward until he startled into action, stumbling to keep up with me. It took me a bit longer to get down the stairs. Up till this point, Blake had been the backward driver.

My fingers started slipping, straining under the massive weight. If I ever got a stupid wild hair to pluck again, thinking that it’d be fun to work alongside my husband to accomplish a mammoth task like this—somebody better shoot me. Right between the eyes. I tried to use my knee to prop the bottom of the sofa up to get a better grip, and I lost my footing.

“Glory!” he shouted right before I spilled backward down the remaining steps. I only had time to look up and see my impending doom in the form of the sofa gliding toward me at, toward my destruction at literal breakneck speed. My whole body clenched as I braced for impact.

“Oh, shi —” That was as much as I got out before the sofa rocketed into, then over me, crashing to the floor and tumbling up and over like a world-class gymnastic routine. I wanted to enjoy the show, but my head felt foggy and… damp.

“Sweetheart,” Blake shouted as I watched him rush down the steps at me, but he stopped abruptly, touching me gently, moving loose strands of sticky hair from my forehead. “Glory, sweetheart… Shit, you’re bleeding. We need to get you to the ER. You have to get checked out.”

“I’m fine,” I argued, but I winced at the same time. Pain filled my head. It radiated up my arm into my shoulder. My tailbone smarted something fierce and I thought I might’ve twisted my ankle. He raised his stupid, sexy eyebrow at me. “Okay,” I admitted. “I might not be fine.

He pulled his phone to call an ambulance.

“You don’t have to?—”

“Glory, you’re bleeding and I’m not chancing a spinal cord injury.” As he gently moved more sticky hair to give a description of my injuries to the 911 operator, I tried hard not to make any noises, but I hurt all over. That tended to happen when you got attacked by a sofa. They were large and imposing. I wasn’t sure how sofas were allowed around the unsuspecting public. Talk about a menace to society.

We needed marches or riots in the street to ban all sofas from polite society. Where was the outrage, the uproar surrounding these weapons of mass destruction? We needed to protect the children!

Maybe I might have been a bit concussed.

After about ten minutes, sirens blared outside. Then we heard a knock on the door. “It’s open,” Blake called. The door cracked revealing two paramedics who took in the scene as they approached us as my husband reiterated the story of what happened

“There a reason you didn’t hire a mover?” the male medic asked.

Blake threw a death glare my way. “Couple’s bonding,” he deadpanned.

“ Oof ,” the medic answered. “My wife knows better.”

That was when the female medic, the one kneeling down to assess me, jerked her head up. “Are you kidding? Anymore bonding and we’d be glued together.” Busted.

“Okay, well as fun as this is, how about we get my wife to the hospital?” Blake asked it as a question but we all heard it as the command he meant it. The medics walk back outside to get the stretcher, wheeling it inside. They lower the legs, stabilize my neck and back, and move me onto the hard bed. Then locking the legs back in place, they roll me out to the back of the ambulance.

They closed the door on Blake.

A couple of people in scrubs met us at the doors to the emergency room “Car accident?” the woman asked.

“It was a hit and run,” I tried to tease. “A sofa.”

“A sofa?” the woman asked.

“Moving furniture.” Mr. Medic took over explaining for me. “She lost her footing on the stairs and tumbled backward. The sofa they were carrying down got away from them.”

Mrs. Medic started rambling off all the things the doctors needed to know. My head hurt and with this damn immobilizer around my neck, I couldn’t stretch to search for my husband. I wanted my husband. Worry eased right as they start moving me because Blake shouted out, “ Gloria .”

“He’s with me,” I said. They kept rolling, but a little slower to give him the chance to catch up. He holds my hand while they wheel me into an exam room.

The doctor ordered several tests: a CAT scan, an MRI, and a few other tests that I couldn’t remember because my head hurt too much to pay attention. And only after she sutured my head wound closed. It took eleven stitches. Eleven . By some miracle I only had a minor concussion. But A sprained ankle, a deep sprain. But then they informed me of a hairline fracture in my collarbone closest to my shoulder—the reason my arm and shoulder hurt so much. They fitted me for a sling to keep me from making my collarbone worse. But since I couldn’t walk on my ankle yet, and I couldn’t use crutches, the doctor ordered me a wheelchair.

A wheelchair? Could this day get any worse? “How are we going to finish moving the furniture out?” I asked and both Blake and the doctor stared at me like I might’ve needed my head injury reassessed.

The doctor said, “I’m afraid that moving furniture is out” at the same time my husband snapped, “Are you kidding me?”

“Well, I wasn’t… but now I am?”

“Glory, do you realize how injured you are? Do you realize how much worse it could’ve been? I am not ready to become a widower. FYI, I will never be ready for that. You have to stay healthy because I can’t lose you. We’re hiring movers.” He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket to prove his point but also to get movers to the house ASAP, for certain. I knew my husband.

“You have movers on speed dial?” I asked.

“No. I have Maisie on speed dial.”

“You can’t bother her on her day off.”

“Okay, do you want to deal with her when she finds out you were this injured and we didn’t bother to call her?” he asked, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“No.”

Once I got the okay to blow this popsicle stand, I sat in my motorized wheelchair waiting for my husband to bring the car around. Then I was in the car. Then we were on our way home.

Now I needed answers.

“I’m sorry about the T-shirt. Was it special?”

“Special?”

“You were so irritated after it ripped.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t the shirt. I got a call while you were using the bathroom.”

“A call?”

“ Sweetheart .”

“Don’t sweetheart me, mister. Who called? Why were you so irritated?”

“Because I have to go away on a business trip next week.”

Uh… “That’s all? You went all broody man over a business trip?”

“With the Fielding Group,” he finished. And oh—wow. The Fielding Group? One of the largest lobbyists for anti-everyone and everything I believed in.

“Your father,” I said sullenly.

“ Parker Holdings ,” he replied, and his voice held an edge that it didn’t normally hold.

“Not for the election?”

“Believe it or not— no . My father took them on as clients last year. He did it without my knowledge.”

“What? Did you think I’d leave because of it?”

“You won’t?”

I jolted. “Are you serious? For better or worse, buddy. You legally America-married me.”

“Yes. But I neglected to tell you. It wasn’t malicious, but facts are facts.”

“Are you drinking the Kool-Aid?”

He frowned at me.

“You know, drink the Kool-Aid, join the hate-mongers…”

“I know what drink the Kool-Aid means. I’m just surprised that you’d even ask me that.”

“I wouldn’t have, but you’re acting weird.”

“That’s because I don’t want to do it. I don’t want any part of them, but the company I work for is contracted.”

“You could walk away,” I offered.

“Walk away? From my family’s company?”

“I’m just giving you options. I know you like finance, but honey, you don’t need that job. We’ll be fine.”

“ Fuck, you’re right. And fair warning, we’re having pizza tonight. It’s definitely a pizza kind of night.”

My heart cheered. “Definitely,” I reply.

Later, while we lay in bed watching television, he rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on his hand, and waited for me to give him my full attention. I, of course, couldn’t roll. Collarbone fracture. But I turned my head.

“I’m going on the trip,” he said.

“ Okay .”

“No. Their numbers aren’t adding up. If I’m walking away, then I need to protect myself and my reputation.”

“ Are you walking away?”

“And never looking back.”

Free from the campaign. Free from the company. It seemed Blake and I were finally going to be free of the Parkers.