15. Alex
“Oh my god!” I moan.
Elijah chuckles, his thumb pressing into the arch of my foot. “Feel good?”
I flop my head back against the couch and moan again. “Feel good? You’re a master foot massager.”
He digs his thumb in again. “Maybe I should make a career change.”
My eyes connect with his sparkling blue ones, and for a moment, I’m stunned at how different he looks in such a short amount of time. The man I met yesterday was stressed, tense, and looked older. Not in a harsh way, in the way most people look when they’re tired and overworked.
But this man in front of me is the opposite. No longer is the pinch in his brow permanent. He’s relaxed, and his shoulders are even less tense. He looks well-rested despite our lack of sleep since last night, though we did take a short nap wrapped up together once we got back from the beach. I fell asleep almost immediately when my head hit the pillow, his warm chest pressed against my back. It was…wonderful. A feeling I could get used to.
Elijah grins, pushing some of his silver hair off his forehead. It’s usually styled, but since we weren’t planning on leaving the house, he left it a little shaggy after our shower. It’s sexy as hell, and I can’t stop myself from staring at him. Especially now that his skin is sun-kissed and he looks so…happy.
“Do I have some of your delicious dinner on my face?” he asks after another beat of me staring, referring to the steaks I made us.
I shake my head, his smile and compliment causing my heart to race. “No. I was just thinking that you may not like the beach, but the beach sure likes you. You’re glowing.”
His lips purse. “I’m not going to turn into a California beach boy, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“I would never suggest that of you, Mr. Serious.”
He tickles my feet, and I squeal, trying to pull from his grasp. He laughs at my futile attempts and continues to tickle me until I can’t take it anymore.
“Uncle!” I cry playfully, kicking at him.
He grabs my legs to stop my flailing but gives into my pleas.
“Spoilsport,” he chuffs before motioning for me to tuck into his side instead. I glare at him playfully but give in easily to his request, wanting to be closer to him. I shift myself so I can move under his open arm and rest my head on his shoulder. When I’m settled, he kisses the crown of my head. The simple action melts my insides, and I let my mind imagine that this is real. That Elijah is really my husband and this is our house.
I stare blankly at the television screen in front of us. A romantic comedy we haven’t been paying attention to is playing softly. On the screen, a man is proposing to a woman, confessing his love for her.
“Do you think you’ll get married again?” I ask Elijah, not really thinking of the words that just came out of my mouth.
His hand stops moving on my arm, and I dare to look into his eyes. I find myself stupidly worried about what I’ll see there. I shouldn’t care either way—I know this is supposed to be a one-weekend thing. I was the one who suggested it. But I wonder what his answer will be.
“Well.” He smiles softly. “I’m already married.”
My stomach flips. He’s been very committed to our role play. And while I’ve loved every second of it, I’ve come to realize we’re playing a very dangerous game here, one I’m starting to question if I can come back from. Because I really, really like when he calls me his wife.
“Okay, hypothetically, then. If we’d never gotten married, would you get remarried?”
He lets out a small puff of air then stares deeply into my eyes. My heart stops beating as he squeezes my arm. “I’d like to think that I will. That my dream of starting a family isn’t that far away from reality. But I’m getting older, and the older I get, the less I think it would be fair for a child to have a parent who isn’t as spry as I would’ve been had I had them at a younger age.”
My heart aches when I hear the pain in his words, so I lean up and kiss him gently on the mouth. I want to say it’s a good thing he’s with me, then. That I can give him the life he wants, that we both want. But I know that would be a lie.
“Tell me,” he says when I pull back. “Why did you decide to be a teacher instead of working for your dad’s company?”
I rest my head back against his shoulder, interlacing one of my hands with his. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before we got married?” I tease him this time.
He smirks. “Okay, fair. But no time like the present, Wife. Spill.”
I chuckle, squeezing his hand. “I don’t know if you know this, but Stephanie is my stepmom.”
He nods. “I did know that.”
“My mom, Grace, was a teacher when she met my dad. He likes to tell me that she loved teaching almost as much as she loved me. He told me how she couldn’t wait to go back to work when she went into remission. But then, her breast cancer spread before she could.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. That’s terrible.”
I press my lips together. “I was so young when she died, I don’t remember her much. I’m lucky, because Stephanie has been a wonderful mom to me. But when it came time to pick a career, I knew I wanted to follow in my mom’s footsteps. Like her, I love kids. I’ve always wanted a big family, and I like working in education. Shaping young minds and all that.” I grin. “I’ve never really been into what Dad does, though I know a part of him wishes I did. And who knows? Maybe someday I’ll change paths, but I’m happy teaching right now. Even if it’s hard a lot of the time.”
“I admire you,” Elijah murmurs, kissing the crown of my head once more.
I look up at him, only seeing truth in his eyes. “You do?”
“You forged your own path, even though it would’ve been somewhat easier for you to work for Oliver. You had a built-in path, and you chose to take a new one. That takes a lot of guts, Alex. Ones I wish I had.”
My gaze turns questioning. “What do you mean?”
A sad smile plays at his lips. “I’ve lived my life how my father wanted me to. He was very old school and strict. He instilled in me that I had to get good grades, go to college, get a degree, get a job that paid well, get married. But if I had done what I wanted to do, I think I would’ve chosen a different career path and not gotten married to the first woman he approved of.”
I study him thoughtfully. “Would you be writing novels instead?”
“Maybe. Or at least doing something a bit more on the creative side. Like you, I take after my mother. She loved art, books, and watching classic films. I suppose that all rubbed off on me during my childhood. But my father hated it and always made sure I was on the path he wanted instead.”
I frown. “Why is that?”
“As I mentioned, my father was an old-school man. He worked hard to make a good life for our family. He viewed a possible career in the arts as a weakness, something I should not even consider. He believed art was only worthwhile if it was an investment of some sort or a way to flex your wealth. It’s why I enjoy paintings and architecture and another reason Oliver wanted me to come here for the weekend to stay in this house.”
He smiles softly at that.
“Those art mediums became an easy way to enjoy that part of myself without having my father question it, though I’ve always written on the side, keeping my stories secret. Only my mother knew about them. And well, now you.” He squeezes my hand. “That’s why I’d love to publish a book someday, for her. And of course, for me. To say I finally did something I wanted to do.”
My heart squeezes in my chest at everything he told me, attempting to process it all. The fact that it seems he’s never done anything just for himself, that he told me about his writing. That he’s telling me about his parents now and what seems to be all these secret parts of himself.
“Are your parents not with us anymore?” I ask quietly. I hold my hands steady in his as he grips them tighter.
“Yes. Both in the last five years.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. I wish they could have been around longer, but they lived good lives. And despite my father’s shortcomings, he was a good man, even if he made me angry often. He did the best he could. Same with my mother.”
I try desperately to keep the tears from my eyes and hold it together. But all I want to do is throw my arms around Elijah and hug him, to ease all the pain and loneliness I see hidden beneath his soft smile. But I manage to hold back. I stroke my thumb over the top of his hand instead.
“You know, I used to do more creative writing at Spark until I took the promotion Oliver offered me. I still do some but not a lot. I enjoyed it.”
My eyes brighten at the change of tone in his voice while revealing that. “If I know my dad, I know that if you told him that, he’d work with you to create a role better suited for you—or at least adapt the one you have now. I may not have known he was talking about you when he talks about his friend “Astor,” but I know he loves and admires you. He sent you to this house for a weekend to get some rest and relaxation and knew you would enjoy it because you like art and architecture. That shows me even more how much he cares for you. You should talk to him.”
Elijah strokes the pads of his fingers up and down my arm, his eyes unfocused. “You’re giving me a lot to think about this weekend, Alex.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
He turns his gaze back to me. “I think it’s a good thing.”
I snuggle into him and turn my attention back to the screen where the couple is now getting married. My imagination takes over as I picture what a wedding to Elijah would be like. When I planned to marry Sean, it was going to be a big affair in my mind, with hundreds of dad’s friends and employees and of course, all of Sean’s. It was going to be lavish and probably in a five-star hotel because that’s what Sean liked.
I turn my attention to Elijah’s bearded jawline, the light from the TV reflecting on his masculine features. If we were to get married in real life, I think it would be in a little chapel somewhere with old stained glass windows casting rainbows on my white dress and only our close friends and family. I’d say the beach, but something tells me he wouldn’t like the sand between his toes. Maybe I could convert him.
That has me smiling.
Elijah feels my gaze on him and looks down into my eyes. “You’re staring at me again.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what, my sweet wife?” He grins.
My mouth opens, ready to tell him that I’m thinking yet again of what it would be like if this was real. If we could both come home from work every night to each other. From our time together so far, I know I would cook him meals, then we would do the dishes together before we settled in for the night. He’d rub my feet since I stand all day while we debriefed our time apart before he’d take out the trash, then we’d brush our teeth together side-by-side.
Afterwards, I’d thank him for being such an amazing and attentive husband by letting him come inside me each night. I’d let him fill me with him until we had miniature versions of us running around the house.
But instead, I squeeze his hand and grin back at him. “How lucky I am to have met you.”
His eyes soften, and he kisses my forehead. “I’m lucky to have met you, too, Alex.”
I press a kiss to his T-shirt-clad chest then rest my head over his heart, trying to enjoy the present with him. And praying that, by some miracle, it doesn’t have to end.