13. The Marriage Routine
Thirteen
The Marriage Routine
T he days following their wedding settled into a rhythm that was both comfortable and increasingly dangerous.
Somehow, they had both avoided speaking of that impulsive kiss and whatever passions stirred beneath their surfaces.
Instead, they found refuge in the mundane tasks at Sullivan Shipping, working side by side in what had become an almost sacred silence, broken only by occasional exchanges about the work ahead.
Kate, however, found herself anticipating their evening chess matches with growing hunger.
The games had become an essential part of their routine, a peculiar dance that allowed them to be near yet properly distanced from one another.
Chess demanded silence and contemplation, creating a sanctuary where stolen glances across the board felt both permissible and perilous.
In those quiet moments between moves, Kate would study the concentration etched across Jason’s features, while he, in return, would trace the elegant line of her throat as she considered her strategy after his moves.
These evenings had become Kate’s secret indulgence, filled with an anticipation that had nothing whatsoever to do with capturing pieces and everything to do with the way his eyes would focus on her with such intensity across the ivory and ebony battlefield.
It was by far, her favorite time of their daily routine.
On one particular evening, the library was warm with lamplight and the glow of the fireplace.
Kate studied the chess pieces and tried to ignore the way her husband had discarded his jacket, leaving him in waistcoat and shirtsleeves.
Such informality should have been improper, yet it felt natural between them now.
“You’re distracted tonight,” Kate observed, moving her bishop to capture one of his knights.
“Am I?” Jason’s voice held that hint of amusement she was beginning to recognize. And liked so much.
“Three careless moves in a row. Very unlike you.” She sipped her wine, studying his face over the rim of her glass.
“Perhaps I’m employing a different strategy,” he said while maintaining her gaze.
“Losing deliberately?”
Jason smiled. “Keeping you intrigued.”
Kate chuckled—a genuine sound that transformed her features. She caught the way he watched her, captivated by the display of unguarded joy. A rare thing, indeed, to witness.
She gradually stopped laughing and stood gazing at him with a sparkle in her eyes.
“You don’t need to lose at chess to achieve that,” she confessed then.
Jason cleared his throat at least twice before returning his attention to the board. “Your move, Mrs. Moore-Sullivan.”
The formal address still made her pulse quicken, though she couldn’t say exactly why. She focused on the board again, with growing excitement now that she could see her path to victory. Her queen was well positioned, his king vulnerable and exposed.
“I believe I’ve outmaneuvered you at last.” Her fingers hovered over her queen, ready to deliver the final blow.
“Have you considered all possibilities?” he asked while gesturing over the chessboard.
“I’ve considered enough to know when I’ve won.”
As she moved to grasp her queen, Jason’s hand suddenly covered hers, stopping the motion midway. His touch was warm, surprisingly soft as usual, something that never fails to quicken her pulse, despite all the times their hands had touched by now.
“Not yet… wife.” He paused after calling her that—a word he had begun to pronounce in that particular way that make Kate’s skin prickle. “You’re seeing the pieces but missing the board.”
Their hands remained joined over the chess piece. Kate inhaled deeply for a moment, but she forced herself to look at the game again rather than at their touching hands or his shining green eyes.
Then she saw it—the trap he’d laid with masterful skills. If she moved her queen as intended, his rook would checkmate her king in three moves.
“You deceived me,” she accused, though without real anger.
“I showed you a path you wanted to see.”
Neither had withdrawn their hand. The chess game suddenly seemed secondary to whatever was happening between them.
“A dangerous skill,” Kate said quietly.
“Only in the wrong hands.”
His thumb moved almost imperceptibly across her knuckles and Kate felt heat rise to her cheeks, something so common now that she had grown accustomed to it.
“And yours? Are they the wrong hands, or the right ones?” she asked with simplicity, but the question was loaded.
Jason finally withdrew his hand. “That’s for you to determine.”
Kate tilted her head and then looked back at the board, trying to regain her self-control. She moved a different piece, defensive now, cautious.
“Wise choice,” he said.
“I learn quickly,” she replied, still looking at the board.
“Another reason I find you remarkable.”
Kate glanced up sharply, caught off guard by the direct compliment. An intense tingling ran up her entire back to her neck. “We’re not meant to speak this way.” Was that a scolding? She felt an internal wall rise out of nowhere.
“How so?”
“As if this were a real marriage.” Was she scolding him, or her own emotions that were running wild?
Jason moved his knight, capturing her bishop. “Real is what we make it.” He looked up at her, challenge in his eyes. “Your move.”
Kate kept staring at him, chess momentarily forgotten. The weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze, the subtle flirting of the moment, the memory of their dance by the fountain, and above all, that kiss that refused to leave her mind—everything converged in a moment of perfect clarity.
“I find I’ve lost my concentration,” she said, standing abruptly.
Jason rose as well. “Shall we conclude another evening?”
“Yes. I think that would be best.”
She turned to go and walked to the exit, then stopped at the doorway. “You play too well, Jason. It makes one wonder what other talents you conceal.”
Before he could respond to that statement, she was gone, leaving him standing beside the abandoned game, staring at the closed door behind her.
“More than you should ever discover,” he whispered to the empty room.
* * *
The tranquil rhythm of the newly-weds’ domestic life was disrupted a week later by yet another inconvenience.
In the study, Mary stood with arms crossed while Vikram shifted uncomfortably before her, eyes downcast, clutching something silver in his hand.
Kate paced nearby, her posture regal despite her obvious annoyance.
“This is the third time this week, Vikram,” she was saying firmly. “A silver letter opener is not yours to take. This will bring serious consequences for you.”
The boy didn’t move when he replied, still with his eyes facing the floor. “I was only borrowing it.”
“One doesn’t ‘borrow’ without asking permission,” Kate replied, raising her voice a little bit.
Mary shot Vikram a disapproving look. “What did I tell you about respecting other people’s belongings?”
“That it’s the mark of gentleman,” Vikram mumbled.
“Precisely,” Kate intervened, “and while you reside under this roof—”
The door swung open, cutting Kate off mid-sentence. Mr. Moore entered hurriedly, slightly disheveled as though he’d rushed from somewhere important. His eyes quickly assessed the situation.
“What’s happened?”
“Your ward has been helping himself to my possessions again,” Kate said, her tone crisp with frustration.
Mr. Moore approached Vikram, who looked up with visible relief at his protector’s arrival. “Vikram?”
The boy reluctantly extended his hand, revealing the ornate letter opener.
Mr. Moore sighed. “I see.”
“This behavior cannot continue,” Kate declared, “I’ve been patient, but there must be consequences—”
“Wait outside with Mary,” Mr. Moore told Vikram firmly. “We’ll discuss this shortly.”
“But I—”
“Now, please.”
Mary took Vikram’s shoulder, steering him toward the door. As they passed Kate, the housekeeper paused. “Perhaps some consequences are warranted,” she said, glancing meaningfully at her. “But kindness teaches better than harshness, ma’am.”
Kate raised her brows and cocked her head slightly, “I’m being entirely reasonable, Mary,” she replied to the loyal housekeeper.
Mary nodded with a simple reverence, and then guided Vikram out, closing the door behind them kindly.
Kate turned immediately to Jason then, her fury now in full display. “You cannot continue undermining my authority in my own home.”
“ Your home?” Jason stepped closer. “I believe our arrangement made this our home.”
“An arrangement that doesn’t include tolerating theft!”
“He’s a child who was left alone on the streets. These habits weren’t formed overnight, and they won’t be broken by scolding.”
Kate moved closer, her eyes flashing. “Hence I should simply allow him to take whatever catches his fancy?”
“Of course not. But there are better ways to teach him.”
“Which you’ve clearly mastered, given his repeated offenses.”
For the first time since she’d known him, Kate saw genuine anger flash in Jason’s eyes. His jaw tightened, the muscle there working once before going still again, and when he spoke, his voice was low but the fury beneath it was unmistakable.
“You speak of what you don’t understand. That boy survived horrors you cannot imagine.”
Kate stepped forward again, closing distance between them another bit. “Don’t presume to lecture me about hardship, Jason Moore-Sullivan.”
Jason took another step toward her. “Then don’t presume to judge him by the standards of your privileged upbringing.”
“My privileged upbringing?” Kate’s voice rose as she moved even closer. “I’ve fought for every inch of respect in a world that sees me as nothing but a womb and a dowry. Don’t you dare speak to me of privilege when you’ve walked through life with all the advantages your sex provides!”
“You know nothing of my life,” Jason said with rage.