Chapter 5 Adore You
Adore You
Franki
Elliot behaves himself at dinner. Not that I expected anything else. But even I’m surprised when, red-faced, he apologizes to me in front of his mother, then later to his brother and Dante.
He even makes a toast that doesn’t reek of arrogance or snark, using the Chianti on our table.
When Elliot retakes his seat across from us, he sneaks a nervous glance at Henry. Henry smiles blandly in return. Elliot flinches and immediately looks down to fuss with his napkin.
I lean into my husband. “What did you do to him?” I whisper. I’d been too distracted to ask earlier.
Henry brushes my hair back and speaks softly against my ear. “I dangled him off a cliff until he apologized for being a wanker.”
It’s impossible to tell if he’s kidding. But if that statement is true, he put himself in danger for no good reason.
I turn accusing eyes in his direction. We’ll discuss this later.
His lips quirk at the corners.
I sigh. He’s sitting beside me perfectly safe. That’s what matters. “You know what you are?”
“Are you going to call me a scamp? I accept.”
“Incorrigible.” I give his chest a poke, partly to emphasize my point and partly because I’m married to the hottest man on the planet, and he’s given me permission to touch him whenever I want.
And I want. Desperately. The interlude cut short in the wine cellar was a form of torture.
When Henry raises my pokey finger to his lips and presses a kiss to the tip, I forget about Elliot and the cliff.
For the rest of the dinner, we make small talk with the others at the table, but Henry’s primary attention stays on me—on whether my chair is comfortable, whether my cane is within reach, whether I’ve had enough to eat.
When we reach the dessert course, he stops pretending to be interested in anyone else at all and turns sideways in his chair to face me directly, watching me as I speak with Noah’s relatives.
Tomorrow, we’ll dine on the terrazzo after the ceremony. Tonight, we’re in a large dining room that feels very much like a restaurant. Since it’s a destination wedding, the rehearsal dinner includes everyone who has traveled. So . . . everyone.
Janet Spencer, her short silver curls loosely framing her face, leans toward Henry and me warmly. “This was so thoughtful.”
At her words, Henry looks around the room, then nods. “Very.”
Janet double-blinks. Elliot closes his eyes and appears to give himself a stern, but silent, talking to.
I know exactly what Henry did. He assessed the dining space to determine if he agreed the design was “thoughtful.” It didn’t occur to him that Janet was expressing her appreciation for the way Henry and I covered the cost of this event as our wedding gift.
“We’re very happy for Dante and Noah. We consider them part of our family,” I say.
Henry’s brows move a millimeter closer together before, with an infinitesimal shake of his head, he appears to decide I have a handle on this particular conversational thread all on my own, and he doesn’t need to know whatever prompted my apparent random segue.
Instead, he twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, lets it unspool, then does it again. And again. And again.
When the Spencers become engaged in conversation with each other, I glance Henry’s way with a smile. He smiles back, watches my mouth for the space of three heartbeats, then looks into my eyes.
We’re not newlyweds. We haven’t been for years, but he still gives me flutters. “To think you once told me you didn’t know how to flirt,” I murmur.
“I figured it out. The trick was to stop trying to do it correctly and just do it.”
The mild ache that seems to have taken up permanent residence behind my ribs squeezes my heart. Maybe that’s the answer: Stop expecting a perfect life first.
Would it be so wrong to ask for what I want? He used to talk about one day leaving both corporate life and his dangerous vigilante missions behind. We’d get jobs at the same university. Then, we’d have kids.
He hasn’t said the word “someday” in at least three years. Henry tends to think in “all or nothing.” Maybe he can’t visualize one part of our dream coming true until all of it does. It looks more every day like none of it will.
“Franki,” he murmurs gently.
Startled, I turn my focus back to Henry and do my best to plaster a “normal” look on my face. “Hmm?”
His navy eyes search mine. “If you need to leave, for any reason, whatsoever, I will have you out of here in two minutes flat. Talk to me.”
Oh, this man.
I press my palm to his cheek, the coarse beginnings of his evening scruff tickling my fingers. “I’m fine.”
His jaw flexes. “Something is wrong. Your patterns have changed.”
“I was just distracted. Running through our schedule in my head.” Not exactly a lie, even if the context is misleading.
That word . . . misleading . . . hits me like an icy splash of water. Trust was hard-won between us. We don’t lie to each other. Not ever.
Which means I have to figure out how to talk to him without leaving one of us raw. Soon.
Sunday works. It’ll be after the wedding excitement, while we’re soaking up some sun and drinking in the local flavor. It’s close enough to assuage my guilt and far enough away to let me relax tonight.
As long as Henry doesn’t keep returning to it like a dog with a bone.
“Can we relax tonight and enjoy ourselves?” I ask.
Henry releases a heavy breath and resumes twirling my hair. “Relaxation, I can do,” he says, quietly enough that his words are for me alone.
By the time a waiter clears our dessert plates and wedding guests linger over coffee and wine, Henry’s attention has me the opposite of relaxed. I’m wound tight with anticipation. There was no break after leaving the wine cellar. He revved my engine, then left me to idle.
“Ready?” he asks.
His voice lights a fuse inside me. “So ready.”
Henry assists me to my feet, then his hand settles on my lower back. We make quick work of saying good night to the people at our table.
But when Henry heads directly for the doors afterward, I balk. “We have to talk to Dante and Noah first. And your parents.”
“Why?”
“To tell them we had a lovely evening, and we’ll see them tomorrow. To tell them we hope they have a good night,” I say.
He screws his eyes shut, then opens one. “They already know we’ll see them in the morning.”
“I know, but it’s polite.”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and trudges belligerently toward where the two grooms are engaged in a lively conversation with my in-laws and Henry’s brother, Gabriel.
Dante lifts his chin in a quick bob of hello. “Whatever you two did, thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. Truly,” Henry says dryly. “Now then. I’m here to advise you: Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll be seeing you . . . tomorrow.”
“Why does that sound threatening?” Noah muses.
Because he said it like a mafia goon on purpose. How can other people not see how funny he is?
“It isn’t a threat. It’s a declaration.” Henry hesitates, then adds, “The two of you appear content. Is this accurate, or do I need to take other matters in hand?”
Noah shakes his head. “We’re wonderful. Nothing more than excited pre-wedding jitters.”
Henry assesses his flushed personal assistant, then turns on his heel and strides to a member of the staff working about ten feet away.
We watch as he speaks to the man quietly.
“What do you think he’s doing?” Henry’s dad, Arden, asks.
I shrug. “We’ll find out.”
“He hasn’t figured out yet that the world doesn’t need him to keep it spinning,” Gabriel says.
At my curious frown, Gabriel shrugs. “You have to admit, letting go of the reins isn’t easy for him.”
No it isn’t. Not even when he wants to.
When the staff member speaking with Henry nods, Henry pulls out his phone, raises the camera lens to his face and double-clicks.
Then he pockets the device, pivots, and returns to us before addressing Dante and Noah.
“I’ve sent you two a year’s subscription to a guided meditation app.
It’s clinically proven to reduce stress.
I’ve also arranged for the staff to provide both of you with chamomile tea tonight and again in the morning. ”
Without another word, he hooks an arm around my waist and guides me firmly toward the dining room door.
When I sputter a laugh, he grabs a handful of my ass. “No more polite socializing. I want my wife.”