Wedded to a Wayne: A Finn World Holiday Romance

by R. G. Alexander

  “Dad?”

  Lang is standing in the doorway of my office in his boxers and a t-shirt that’s already riding up his stomach like a crop top. Either his twelve-year-old body needs to take a break from growing or I need to sign him up with a shirt-of-the-month club.

  “I thought you were supposed to be asleep,” I say. “It’s a school day tomorrow.”

  “I woke up.”

  When he gets closer, I see the baseball he’s squeezing in his hand. The one that Tanisha got for him. He loves that damn thing. And I know that he’s missing his team already.

  “If you keep playing with that the signature’s going to wear off. Why did you wake up?”

  He shrugs, trying to look at the papers on my desk. “You’re working?”

  “I am.” I snap the folder closed and look at him over my glasses. “What’s the problem?”

  “I think we should put lights up this year. Outside.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking about?” I eye him in disbelief and then chuckle. “It’s not even Thanksgiving and you’re already decorating the house?”

  “Seamus and Bellamy put theirs up already. Penny told Barry that you can see their house from space. We don’t need to go that crazy. But maybe something.”

  Getting out of my chair, I place my hand on his head and spin him around to march him out the door. “I’m sure his neighbors love that. And you know Bellamy is richer than Midas. He can afford to buy as many lights as he wants.”

  Seamus Finn’s husband is an interesting character. Generous to a fault and as great with his kids as Seamus himself.

  “A few months ago, you said you were too old for Christmas,” I remind him. “You were a little grumpy about it, as I recall. You told Grandma you didn’t even want a stocking.”

  “Things happened and I changed my mind. It’s my prerogative.”

  My son is Bobby Brown now. “Fine, Lang. If you want to help me string up some lights, we can do that. Nothing crazy. No blow-up snowmen or animatronic reindeer. A tasteful manger, tops.”

  “Just lights, Dad. Can you do them soon?”

  “Don’t we usually see decorations popping up December first?”

  “Half the block is already doing it.”

  I don’t let him see my eyeroll. It’s getting earlier all the time. One day I’m going to turn around and there’ll be Christmas music playing in June.

  But Lang rarely asks for anything. And he and Barry have both been anxious since Rowena came back into the mix. “We’ll do it soon.”

  When we reach his room, I lean against his bedroom door and watch him climb beneath the covers. “Love you, son. Get some sleep.”

  “Me too. Don’t work all night.”

  I smile as I head back down the hall to my office. I’m blessed with good sons.

  There’s a response waiting on my laptop when I return.

  To: Emerson Wayne

  From: Tanisha Chahal

  Subject: Lunch

  As long as there is a margarita to go with those enchiladas, I’m available for that conversation.

  Short and to the point. My smile widens as I shut down my laptop and take the file to bed for more reading. I have a little more research to do.

  And I’m hungry already.

  ***

  Based on the way her nose wrinkles as she takes the first sip of her margarita, I don’t think Tanisha drinks that often.

  “You okay over there?”

  She sets down the jumbo-sized glass and looks around the restaurant I’ve chosen for our lunch meeting. It’s a hole in the wall. A tiny Mexican place around the backside of a side street near a run-down strip mall. Not many people know about it, which is fine with me, because it has some of the best food in town. I go to church with the old man who owns it.

  It’s private. And that’s what we need for this conversation.

  “It’s strong,” she admits with an embarrassed smile. “But delicious.”

  “Everything on the menu is good,” I assure her. “But the enchiladas are the best.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like them.” She fiddles with the small gold earring in her ear, and then the stem of her glass, before speaking again. “You had questions?”

  “I do.” I place my elbows on the table of our shadowed corner booth and lower my voice. “I’m assuming you can guess what this is about. And that you know what’s missing from the agreement.”

  Her skin darkens with an endearing flush and she nibbles on her lip before looking into my eyes. “I’m aware. I thought it was something we should discuss before it was added.”

  “So you were waiting to see if I showed interest before getting to that topic? I can appreciate that.” I order my heartbeat to slow and keep my expression even. “I believe this lunch is proof of my interest. I think the nature of our potential relationship is something we have to address before I make a final decision.”

  This is crazy, I tell myself again. But I’m following her lead. Keeping it professional.

  What I want to do is drag her into my lap and see if the chemistry I’ve been feeling is one-sided. I don’t think it is, but right now I can’t be sure.

  She’s taking another sip of her drink and staring at me over the sugared rim. Her eyes are a beautiful golden brown. Warm with interest, and more than a hint of nerves.

  When her hands are free, I take one of them in mine. “Tanisha, you asked me to marry you so we could help each other. And I think we can agree we’re alike in how seriously we take our promises and vows. You shared a lot with me yesterday, but we need to be candid about this. Were you imagining a show marriage? Sleeping in different bedrooms at night? No physical contact between us?”

  After a small pause, she shakes her head.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  I’m more aroused than I should be by that simple, silent answer. “Can you tell me what you were imagining?”

  Her eyes widen, then she shakes her head, muttering to herself.

  “I didn’t catch that.”

  “This isn’t a topic I ever discuss. With anyone,” she clarifies. “I’m at a disadvantage.”

  The ache of my full erection takes me by surprise, but it shouldn’t. We’re talking about sex. Well, I am. She’s behaving as if she’s a complete innocent.

  Think about it, genius.

  It’s improbable that she’d make it to twenty-eight without any experience in the subject. Not looking the way she does, with the sensuality she exudes so naturally. Isn’t it?

  “How much of a disadvantage, Tanisha?”

  She’s blushing again. Or maybe the margarita is getting to her. “Just the traditional Indian family, Joey and his nine foster brothers as bodyguards, weird-girl-with-a-prosthetic-leg disadvantage. Though Royal did kiss me once during a game of Spin the Bottle when we were thirteen. It wasn’t that impressive. He nearly cracked my tooth.”

  Royal Hale? My brother-in-law and her friend’s brother? “He’s married to Austen.”

  Now she looks amused. “Yes, I know. I hope for her sake he’s better at it than he used to be. Though based on how quickly JD told me they got married, I can only assume he’s had more practice since then.”

  It’s ridiculous to be jealous of something that happened so long ago. Even more ridiculous to feel possessive of this woman I barely know.

  She could be your wife if you say yes.

  I caught the reference to her leg, but just as quickly dismiss it. Any man who doesn’t see her as the ultimate prize is a blind fool.

  But what she said changed things. “You’re a virgin.”

  She sets down her drink with a snort, obviously more relaxed than when we started. “You sound so grim when you say it. It’s just a word.”

  “It’s special. It shouldn’t be—”

  “My parents thought the same thing. Did you know that after I moved into my house, they paid my neighbors in samosas and, on occasion, actual cash to watch my driveway for strange cars and male visitors who weren’t Joey?�
��

  That sounds extreme. Then again, what I would do if I had a daughter instead of sons? It wouldn’t be that bad, I’m sure, but I’d definitely want to keep an eye on her.

  She’s rolling her eyes at my expression. “It’s not special, Emerson. First of all, there’s no way for anyone to know if it’s true or not. And why? Because it’s actually rare for an active woman to reach adulthood with her hymen still intact, even if she hasn’t had sex. And you look like you might pass out before the enchiladas arrive if I stay on this topic, so forget I said anything.”

  I’m rubbing my temple while she smirks at me. I wasn’t ready to talk about that. I thought I was, but I wasn’t.

  “I’m good,” I lie. “Keep talking.”

  “People only say it’s special with women. Did you notice that?” she asks, warming up to her topic. “Historically a bride’s price was dependent on it. In the end, it’s just about a man selling a woman to another man, and promising the goods are intact. Or a woman being valued for being forced to avoid and hide from what a man is praised for doing early and often. It’s a huge double standard when you think about it.”

  I offer her a faint smile “My sisters have similar feelings on the subject.”

  “I knew I liked them.”

  “I still think anytime we give some part of ourselves to another person, especially for the first time, it should be special,” I insist quietly. “But I understand what you’re saying and can agree there’s a double standard at play.”

  Her shoulders relax. “Good. That’s settled then.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It’s not?”

  I find myself staring at her lips again. They always look so soft and kissable. “If I agreed to this, I would want to share a bed. Sleep beside you every night and wake up next to you every morning. I don’t want to confuse the children or spend my nights resenting the fact that I didn’t buy a better bed for the guestroom.”

  She licks those lips and I almost groan out loud. “Agreed.”

  “Wait until I finish,” I warn her. “We may need to rush the marriage for the optics, but I will not agree to rush the wedding night. And as to a honeymoon, we should at least take a few days to get to know each other without the boys around. Just so we can get comfortable and convey a unified front for them and my family. I want you to be honest with me about what you’re feeling, and take all time you need to get comfortable with me touching you, in public and in private. If I take your hand at a family dinner, I don’t want you flinching in surprise.”

  “Agreed,” she whispers.

  “I told you to wait.” I snare her gaze and feel my blood racing hot through my veins. “No secrets. I see all of you and you see all of me. We talk if anything makes you uncomfortable. We don’t hide anything from each other.”

  She takes a shaky breath, glancing down at the table momentarily before nodding her understanding. “And we don’t do anything until I’m comfortable?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can I answer now?”

  “Yes, Tanisha.”

  “Then I agree.”

  That easily? No hesitation or doubt?

  She looks interested.

  Maybe this is about more than a contract for her after all.

  The food comes then, but I’m not sure I taste a bite of it. Her plate, too, is only half empty by the time I pay the check and we get up to leave.

  She tried to pay, but I stopped her with a look.

  “I might have a few addendums about Christmas presents,” I say as I watch her wrap her long red scarf over her shoulders and then walk her out to my car. “It’s important that the boys learn the value of a dollar. That they understand hard work and appreciate the little things.”

  “That’s admirable.”

  “It’s reality. We should have a budget beyond the prenup that we agree to when it comes to gifts and special events for the boys.”

  She makes a face as if she doesn’t entirely agree, but when we get to the car, she holds out her hand. “I can work with that. As long as you let me haggle.”

  Ignoring her hand, I lean in and take her mouth instead.

  I hadn’t been planning to kiss her. I wanted to. I have since the first time I saw her face, but I wasn’t planning on it.

  Sugar and lime and peaches? Her lips taste like peaches. I have her pressed between the door and my body by the time I raise my head to look down at her stunned expression. Her pupils are dilated. Those peach-flavored lips swollen.

  I want to do it again, but I manage to restrain myself. Barely.

  “I had to know,” I tell her honestly, slightly out of breath. “We should know before we agree to anything, shouldn’t we? I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

  The next thing I know, she’s grabbing me by my neck to pull me down. She’s kissing me this time, moaning when her tongue slips out to trace the seam of my lips.

  I groan into her mouth, circling her hips with my hands to drag her closer, and she whimpers at the contact. She wants this. Wants me.

  More.

  I’m ready to start begging when she leans back with big eyes and a soft, bemused smile on her face. “I don’t think I’ll be disappointed.”

  Neither do I. “I’ll talk to the boys tonight.”

  If that goes well, I think we might have an agreement. I’m already thinking about another kiss to seal the deal.

  God help me. And her, if she doesn’t already know that what’s between us is going to be more than what she bargained for.

  She’ll find out.

  Chapter Three

  Tanisha

  Mrs. Tanisha Wayne.

  That’s right. My last name is Wayne now. Because I just did something I once swore on my life-size cardboard M’Baku that I would never do.

  I got married.

  “Second thoughts?”

  The deep-voiced query has me biting my lip. Do I have second thoughts? If I do, it would be too late to voice them now. We negotiated for a week before signing, got blood tests, said our vows, dropped off the boys at his mother’s house and are now on our way home.

  Just the two of us.

  But I’m fine.

  “My second thoughts are reserved to the number of pancakes I ate for breakfast,” I tell him. “You?”

  “Same. Your friend’s little girl can really pack them away, can’t she?”

  “Rue claims she can usually eat a cajillion.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  We both smile at that, then the awkward silence settles around us again, the only sound in the vehicle the hot air blowing through the heater, insulating us from the chill outside.

  I pretend fascination with the view from my window, smoothing my hands over the sunshine yellow skirt I wore to the courthouse. Joey says this is my “someone needs a hug” color. The one I wear when I’m feeling particularly vulnerable.

  That’s not why I wore this. I happen to look good in yellow, and I decided white would be too obvious and sad.

  The one-legged desi virgin has finally snagged herself a groom.

  I told Emerson I hadn’t planned to marry and it was true. I’d decided years ago to be a wealthy old maid living with or in the vicinity of my best friend instead. J&T Nanny Placement was more successful now than we’d ever dreamed, but who knew? It could eventually go international, and I’d finally have a good excuse to visit Paris. Maybe even Brussels. For chocolate reasons.

  Anyway, after my world tour, I’d use my free time to throw more charity events and expand our company’s outreach programs. I’d already started planning a Christmas extravaganza for the local youth center, Bellamy House.

  I also played with the idea of having a live-in masseur I’d call Winston, even if that wasn’t really his name.

  I would be that aunt. The tiara-wearing, crazy auntie to whatever offspring my brothers managed to produce. If, that is, they could stop being stereotypes of toxic masculinity long enough to deserve a decent relatio
nship.

  Sure, there’d been a few hiccups in my original plan. My family wasn’t speaking to me and my best friend was in love and moving in with his man. But the rest of it had been a done deal.

  Had it? You’ve never gone anywhere exciting. No man has touched you, because you’re too shy to get a massage. You lived a block away from your parents and when you weren’t working or with Joey, you watched reality shows.

  But I was going to do all of those things. Someday.

  Until I proposed to Emerson.

  My lips are still swollen from the kiss he laid on me at the courthouse. Right there in front of Joey and Elliot, in front of his sons, Lang and Barry.

  He tugged me up against him until my feet were off the floor and took my mouth as if we were alone and had all the time in the world. The cheers and embarrassed groans around us faded away. Everything faded except for his lips parting mine, his tongue invading my mouth with a skill that left me reeling.

  And now we’re riding in polite silence in his minivan. As if nothing has changed. As if this wasn’t, for all intents and purposes, our wedding night.

  What did Aunt Tanisha’s advice get me into?

  I was named after her, and we always had a special affinity for each other. She made faces while my father lectured us. She snuck me candy and watched Star Wars with me—because it was Joey’s mother’s favorite—making comments that made the movie a million times funnier than it should have been.

  The letter I got after her death changed everything.

  My darling Two,

  Your parents won’t tell you this, and so I must.

  It’s a trap.

  I’m kidding. I know how you love those space-princess movies of yours, and I thought I could give you one last laugh before passing on some of the hard truths you need to know.

  Are you ready?

  You are a daughter in a family that elevates sons. You’re outspoken in a world that prefers its women silent. I hope you get that from me.

  But the car accident that took your leg gave you yet another obstacle. One that will hinder your ability to have more of a say in your future. Particularly when it’s time to choose a husband.