13. Liar
Chapter Thirteen
LIAR
I was legally married to a man I barely knew, except that I knew how he looked without a shirt, and that seemed to trump everything else. How had I gotten so superficial?
The drive to the hotel was a blur, but once we got there, I stared up at The Providence, a tall, monstrous building that was all sheen, not a ton of neon.
In a word, it looked expensive. The traffic outside the building was slow, or busy.
Anyway, our car wasn’t moving very fast. I stared at the woman on the sidewalk with the enormous feathered headdress and very little else, and felt kind of, very, out of place.
I was still wearing my wedding dress, a knee-length number that made me feel like I was dressing up, but I wasn’t sure who I was dressing up as.
For? I’d thought that it logistically made sense to marry the man before I died so he’d have security in his deal with his mother, but actually marrying him, it felt a lot more like I was getting deeply involved in something I couldn’t get out of.
It all started with the ring. No, the church.
I mean, it was a real church, not just some drive-through or tacky chapel on the strip.
When he pulled into a parking garage and circled down, I grabbed his hand.
“We’re staying at a hotel for the honeymoon?
I’d rather just go to your house, save money, not make such a fuss.
The ring was enough, and the dress, and the tamales.
I can’t take any more opulence, or I think I’ll drop dead from the shock. ”
He smiled at me, a smile that didn’t quite soften his eyes. “I live in the hotel. I have a friend who manages it, and sometimes I do security for him, so I get good rates.”
I stared at him, then out the window at a Lamborghini we passed as we went down into the bowels of the garage. “You live in a hotel? Oh. Wow. No wonder your mother wanted you to settle down for six months. Or more. Living in a hotel is kind of…”
He laughed, but it wasn’t that amused. He sounded tired.
Of course he was tired. All that stress, getting married when it was one of his greatest fears, and he hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol.
He was definitely more than a drop of alcohol kind of person.
Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested hayrides tonight when he was so stressed out.
I’d thought that he’d like the idea. I mean, I was a pretty girl.
He’d seemed to like me well enough, and he said sweet things about how perfect I was.
That was suspicious, because I definitely wasn’t perfect.
Still, men usually liked being with women, particularly if they were stuck with them for six months, unless, of course, he didn’t like women at all.
Was that the real reason that his mother had insisted that he date a woman, because he liked men?
He shot me a look. “The expression on your face, Kitten, is positively scandalized. Living in a hotel isn’t quite as degraded as you seem to think.”
“I’m just surprised, is all. It’s a lovely hotel. You don’t think that we could find a nice rental, a duplex, or a condo, that would be a little less…”
He frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah, I could get a different place if you’d like, but it’ll take some time. Maybe you’ll like living in a hotel. It has a good coffee shop, and they have their orders ready to pick up when you get to the lobby.”
“Oh. Well, that does sound nice.”
He laughed and pulled into a parking place, the muscles on his arm flexing in the most distracting way.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before now.
I’ve never had a long-term anything. There’ll probably be a lot of things like that.
I want you to be comfortable, but you’re stepping into my life.
Clearly I’ll have to make a lot of adjustments that I don’t know about, so don’t be shy saying what you want.
I have every intention of giving you what you want while we do this. ”
While we do this. Because marriage was a thing to do, like getting a tattoo or trying out a new restaurant.
Maybe this wasn’t going to work. No, it was fine.
If I didn’t like it, he’d make adjustments, like he said, because he was going to make me comfortable.
Give me pleasure. Protect me from Dupre.
Right. Everything would be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?
We got out, parked right beside an elevator, and then after Nix got our bags from the back, we got in the silver elevator, not going into the main hotel at all. We came out in a wide hall that looked like money, cream carpet that made me feel self-conscious about my shoes.
I didn’t have to worry long because he picked me up, with the duffels, and carried me down the hall, without the slightest change of expression even though I was against his chest, staring into his eyes, on his level for the first time since the shower.
My heart thumped at the memory, and I tentatively kissed his cheek.
His intent blue eyes searched mine and then he kissed me back, on my lips. He hadn’t kissed my mouth after the marriage ceremony, but he was kissing me now, like he’d remembered that’s what people who just got married were supposed to do. Was it possible that female was not his preferred gender?
He stopped kissing me and then fumbled with the door, finally getting it open and walking in with me into the most spare hotel room I’d ever seen.
I’d expected money, but instead of fancy everything, there was empty space, with punching bags, treadmill, and other exercise equipment, mixed with a long couch that looked out at the view, not a tv screen. There was no tv screen.
He carefully set me down while I looked for any sign of art, femininity, but it was absolute metal, black, and functionality.
There was no plush carpet, no paintings at all, no décor items of any kind, just a functional space where he exercised, ate, and slept.
It was huge, empty, and didn’t feel sexual at all.
“You bring girls here?” I asked, looking around curiously.
“No, of course not. How awkward to talk about other girls when I’m with you.
” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There haven’t been that many, and I get hotel rooms that aren’t this.
I guess it’s not very welcoming, is it?” He gave me an apologetic look.
“But the shower is really great. There’s also a tub if you’d prefer.
There are two bedrooms if you’d like your own space. ”
He so clearly was accustomed to having his own space, and keeping it as empty and lifeless as possible.
Hm. I sensed a psychological issue in there, but it wasn’t my job to actually help him with his issues.
Nope. I was dying. And I needed to stick a needle into my leg.
Having my own room would be fine. So what if I’d absolutely loved sharing the tiny cabin with him?
This was a logical arrangement between two people who were completely unattached to each other.
And that’s why my heart was aching something fierce.
“I need my other bags from the car. I’ll go grab them,” I said, heading to the door.
He caught me up in his arms and held me so that I couldn’t escape unless I really hurt myself.
Even then, he was so much muscle, will, and power.
For a home health specialist, he was kind of terrifyingly intense.
He almost reminded me of Beastie until he brushed the softest kiss imaginable to my lips.
“You aren’t bringing anything up. I’ll go get everything while you wander around and think about what this lifeless cavern needs to be more comfortable for you.
If it’s not going to work, we’ll get a place that will.
And no hedging, Miss Sunshine, because if you’re not happy, I’m not happy.
” He kissed me again, then put me down and headed out, so fast, so decided, so absolutely in control of himself and whatever he exerted his will against.
He shut the door firmly behind him, leaving me there, breathless from that kiss, aching for who knew what reason. Probably because I was going to die. Yep. That’s always what it came down to.
I got busy giving myself a tour. I looked into the bedrooms, well, two bedrooms and one office, with detailed maps of the desert on all the walls, dirt roads it looked like, as well as geographical features.
His desk itself was empty except for a laptop.
No papers, no books, just a laptop, and maps.
He didn’t work here. He didn’t live here.
His bedroom had a very big bed, but other than that was as personal as the rest of the place.
His closet was the most interesting thing there with a wide variety of clothing that I’d almost call costume, from more western type gear to fancy tuxedos.
It must be for his seasonal job when he did security and helped out with backstage stuff.
Other than that, there was exercise gear, different martial arts outfits, and that’s it.
“Kitten, I’ve got your stuff. Do you want it in here or in the other room?”
“The other room,” I said absently, fingering a pair of very expensive designer jeans that hung neatly on a hanger.
What kind of man hung up his jeans? Did his mother buy them for him?
Oh, he must have the hotel housekeepers clean.
They probably hung up his clothes, although his little house had been remarkably tidy too.
I turned and followed him out of his bedroom to the other one, also a black bed, but smaller, as was the closet, although it was still plenty large for me. I could fit all of my paintings in it, no problem. Not that I had any with me.
“Are you tired, hungry, or do you just want to take a shower? The other bedroom has a nicer bath. If you want separate rooms, I’m fine taking this one,” Nix said after he’d put my medical kit neatly on a shelf and turned to face me with an easy smile that didn’t go with the tension in his eyes.