Chapter 29 #2
"I'm all set," I respond, placing my napkin beside my plate. I get up first, pulling Cecily's chair back for her as she stands.
"I suppose I'll see you all tomorrow, for whatever it is Grandma has planned," Cecily addresses her family. Kerrigan blows her a kiss, her mother waves, and Duke and Glenn dip their heads at her.
If Cecily is hurt by Duke's harsh assessment, she doesn't say on our walk back to our casita. It isn't until I'm turning the key in the lock that Cecily says, "At dinner Kerrigan pointed out that we aren't affectionate. She called us 'hands-off' newlyweds."
I push open the door, allowing Cecily to step in before me. "What do you think about that?"
Cecily collapses onto the bed, her gaze stuck on the ceiling. "If that dingbat sister of mine noticed, then so did my grandma."
I'm toeing off my shoes, depositing my wallet and lip balm on the nightstand. "And how did you feel about that?" I sound like a tired therapist falling back on the most basic question.
Cecily massages her knuckles over her eyebrows.
"I don't really know. A lot was said, or not said, or intimated, at dinner.
It's hard to pick one topic to turn my attention to first." As if she's thought of something, she sits up.
"I'm sorry about Duke. I don't know what's wrong with him, other than that he's turning into my dad. "
I'm dying to take a hot shower and trade these jeans for sweats, but Cecily has an air of fragility about her right now, and it's becoming increasingly obvious the glimpse of it is rare. There will be no hot shower, or comfortable clothing. Cecily needs me.
"I think," I start, taking a place on the bed across from her, "that Duke feels he's solely responsible for the continuation and future success of the Hampton family, and its business interests.
Something like looking into someone, which sounds insane to the common individual, to Duke feels normal in the course of life.
To him, it's simple due diligence. If this, then that. "
Cecily nods like she's considering. "Like, if he found something, then he'd reveal it and provide grounds for an annulment."
"Exactly."
A muscle twitches in her cheek. It's the tiny movement that precedes mischief, usually of the verbal variety. "Well, Errand Boy, tell me, do you have a history of con artistry?"
"Hate to disappoint, Menace, but you've married a man as straitlaced as they come."
Cecily holds my gaze, eyes darkening, chest expanding with a slow exhale. "Probably not straitlaced at all times."
I could do it, right now. Scoop her up, the heat of her surprised gasp on my shoulder, and put her on her back.
I want to. Dying to, really.
But then a thought occurs to me, and I'd really like to dropkick it from existence. There won't be an annulment if we've consummated the marriage. I learned about it that first morning when we woke up married, when I was figuring out what's considered justifiable grounds for an annulment.
The seconds tick by. Three, four, five. The spell breaks.
Cecily gets off the bed, pulling the binder from her bag.
"I need to look this over," she says. She collapses into the leather chair in the corner, light from the low lamp beside her illuminating her face.
She scratches a hand over her collarbone, something innocuous but somehow sexy.
I suppose when a man is starving, like I am, even tofu starts looking like a steak.
Forget the hot shower. Better make it a cold one.
When I'm finished in the shower, I find Cecily still seated in the chair.
She snaps the binder closed when I walk out.
Her gaze starts at my head, dragging down.
"I was wondering if you'd pull one of those obvious man-moves where you only wear a towel and force me to look at your bare upper half while you rummage for clothing. "
I run a hand through my wet hair. "Uh, no. I'm not interested in making you uncomfortable."
"Speaking of uncomfortable," she says, tossing the binder on the table. "We need to talk about what level of physical affection you're comfortable with."
"Because of what your sister said?"
"Because I read the binder!" Cecily gestures frenetically.
"My grandma put an unreal amount of work into this trip.
Hotel rooms, dude ranches, glamping tents?
Booked. Excursions? Booked. Dining reservations for certain nights?
Booked. Desert stargazing? Booked. All she wants from my family is three weeks of being in close proximity and not acting like we did tonight.
And we are going to give that to her." Her pointer finger jabs her opposite flattened palm.
"Grandma deserves it. She needs it. From here on out, this road trip must be ideal.
Even if it means opening up old wounds with my parents and having to sit there with the pain.
I can handle feeling hurt if it means bringing relief to my grandma before she's"—Cecily's voice catches—"gone.
" Tears flood her eyes, and my heart lurches.
I want to take her in my arms, console her, dash away her tears.
Cecily extends a hand, like she's stopping me from something. "Let me guess, you expected me to cry tears of blood or some other heinous substance."
My mouth opens to object, but she forges ahead. "By coming on this trip you have gone above and beyond for my grandma. I didn't realize how entitled I was acting until now when I saw that binder and understood the amount of work it took to plan and execute a road trip like this."
Her lower lip trembles. Not a lot, but enough to pinch my heart.
I wish I could take away what's upsetting her.
I can't, of course. In fact, I can't do much of anything for her.
The lack of control makes me uncomfortable.
I'd love to be her knight in shining armor, slay her dragons. All I can do is be there for her.
"Do you want to tell me what's on the agenda for tomorrow?" I ask gently.
She sniffles. "It's a sunrise trail ride to a breakfast somewhere else on the property."
"An early wake up, then?"
She nods. "Looks like it. I texted my family. I told them I read the binder, and they better have, as well." Her gaze slides past me, to the bathroom. "I guess I'll get ready for bed."
I step aside, motioning. Cecily escapes, while I set up my phone charger, then settle into bed with my laptop to work until Cecily is ready for bed. Cecily's phone vibrates numerous times, likely her family responding to her text.
My fingers falter over the computer keys when I hear the snick of the bathroom lock. The opening of the door. Cecily steps tentatively from the bathroom wearing an oversized plain peach-colored T-shirt.
"Cute," I comment, "but I think I prefer you in No Muff Too Tuff."
"Satan's Errand Boy forgot to deliver T-shirts to me today, so"—she pinches the fabric between two fingers and holds it away from her body—"I'll have to settle for this."
Sliding my laptop off my lap, I stand and cross the room to my open bag. "Here," I say, handing her my softest heather gray T-shirt, the one with the V-neck. "Satan's Errand Boy might be late, but he never no-shows."
Cecily laughs. Two in one day? I'll take it.
She twirls a circle in the air with a lone finger. "Turn around."
Dutifully, I pivot. Close my eyes against the soft swipe of fabric. She is so close, an arm's length away.
"Ok," she says, and I turn back around in time to see her throw her shucked shirt into her bag. She faces me, and I'm pretty sure everything in the world disappears.
Help me. Cecily's nipples welt beneath the thin fabric, and I swear, I swear, they are calling to me.
She gives me a droll look. "Yes, yes, I have nipples. They are erect. Changing in a room with the air conditioning blasting will do that to a girl."
Summoning all my strength, I force my gaze to remain on Cecily's face, which isn't exactly a hardship because she is so, so lovely. "Is that your version of a lady boner?"
Cecily smirks, sliding past me to the bed. She pats my chest on the way by. "Nope."
I rake a hand down my face and follow her to bed. Setting my laptop on the nightstand, I climb in beside her. She snuggles down, eyes on me. Reaching behind my neck, I tug off the T-shirt I wore out of the bathroom.
"Whoa, whoa," Cecily says, alarmed. "Why are you undressing?"
"Calm down. I realize my naked torso is a lot for you to handle, but let's be adults about it, alright?" It's possible I'm enjoying her perusal of my chest and torso equally as much as I enjoyed it at the pool this afternoon. "Besides, this is more than I usually sleep in."
"You sleep naked?"
"Sure. Things need to breathe."
Cecily's eyes narrow. That playful sparkle enters those brown irises, and I know, I just know, I am in for it.
Her hands disappear under the bedding, she wiggles, and out from under the sheets she produces a black thong.
She positions her fingers in the scrap of clothing, and slingshots it across the room, where it lands softly beside my bag.
Here lies Dominic Bellinger. He died bravely.
Cecily grins, a menace in every sense of the word. Leaning back on her elbows, she glances at me, all innocence and wide eyes. "Things need to breathe." Then she flops over, stretching out to turn off her lamp.
I do the same, feeling as if all the blood has been sucked from my body. Into the darkness, I say, "I better not find you on my half of the bed."
She snorts. "Oh, please. With the look you just gave me? I won't be surprised if I find you draped across me by midnight."
I'd like to do far more with her than that, which means I need to change the subject. "You don't like Rainbow, do you?"
Cecily yawns. "Her face is so punchable."
I laugh. "Have you ever punched someone?"
"No. But when I do, I'm going to do a really good job. Closed fist, follow through."
"Remind me not to get on your bad side."
"You've been on my bad side since the day I met you."
"Have I?"
Long pause. "Yes," she finally says.
But she doesn't mean it. I know it, but more importantly, she knows it.
"I'm comfortable with PDA," I tell her, remembering what she said when I stepped from the bathroom after showering.
"Huh?"
"Public displays of affection. You said we needed to talk about what level of physical affection I'm comfortable with."
"Are you saying that because it's an opportunity to touch me?"
"Sort of sounds like you're accusing me of being a creep."
"I am not."
For a woman who claims to have never punched anybody, Cecily spends a lot of time with her fists in fighting stance.
Staring up at the dark ceiling, I say, "You asked a question, and I'm answering it. All typical levels of PDA are fine. Holding hands, light touches, chaste kisses."
"Light and chaste. Got it."
"Try not to attack my mouth, ok, Cecily? Once my lips are on yours for that chaste kiss? I didn't bring the right tool to fend you off, and menaces are very hard to get rid of."
The bed dips. Cecily flips over. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that I recognize her dim outline.
She kicks me. Hard.
I grunt through the pain, rubbing at my calf. "Good night, ornery wife."
Cecily rolls over, back facing me once again, and doesn't say another word.