Marriage of Inconvenience

by Penny Reid

  We sat in silence for a minute, her words of wisdom ringing in my ears. I latched on to the idea that I could mourn the relationship I wished we’d had. Then at least I’d be mourning something. I’d spent the week trying to locate my grief, whereas my thoughts had gravitated anywhere and everywhere else:

  What was Caleb up to? Where was he? What sinister plan was next on his agenda?

  What would happen at the reading of the will? Would there be any surprises? Would the transition be seamless? Or would the company suffer? And what could I do to minimize potential instability?

  And, of course, there was Dan.

  Sigh.

  “Well.” Eleanor stood, the movement startling me and yanking me from my thoughts. I watched as she moved to the sink with her dishes, her steps shuffling, like she was out of energy.

  “No.” I stood, inserting myself in front of the sink. “Let me do those. You relax.”

  “Maybe it makes me terrible, but I’m not going to turn you down.” She yawned, giving me another hug before she backed away.

  “Why don’t you go change? I’ll finish making the tea.”

  She nodded tiredly, her hand covering her mouth as she yawned again. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  I washed and dried the remaining dishes, putting them away and busied myself straightening up the rest of the kitchen while my thoughts invariably returned to Dan.

  Yesterday, just after my impromptu therapy session with Dr. Kasai had ended and I’d gone to the study so we could talk, Dan received a call from Alex. I watched as he’d sent it to voicemail, placing his phone on the table so we could finish our discussion.

  I couldn’t even explain it to myself, but something about him sending the call to voicemail had sent a thrill from the base of my spine up my neck, around my heart, to my forehead, and behind my eyes.

  Like nothing else, Dan sending the call to voicemail had made me feel like I was important. To him.

  And that was probably nuts, because he’d already done so much for me, so many big things. He’d married me. He’d opened his home to me. He’d rearranged his life. He’d made me part of his family. Huge, sweeping, selfless deeds I could never hope to repay.

  Sending the call to voicemail wasn’t a grand gesture. It was an everyday, likely unthinking, demonstration of his priorities.

  It took my breath away.

  See? Nuts.

  And then, Dan had looked at me and said, “Let me know if you want to take the lead, or if you want me to.”

  Another grand gesture.

  No pressure, no thought for himself.

  And in that moment, I was arrested by a single thought.

  I’m falling in love with him.

  My feelings exploded. An atomic bomb of emotions, laying waste to every feeble wall I’d tried to erect, to keep us both safe, to maintain an arm’s length between us for his benefit as well as mine. I’d felt like crying, bursting into tears and covering his lips and hands and body in kisses.

  Instead, red in the face, I gave him a quick smile and excused myself.

  But I’d thought of little else since. And today was the last day of mourning.

  The sound of the front door opening then closing pulled me from my thoughts. I straightened from where I’d been cleaning the sink, grabbing a towel and walking slowly toward the foyer. I hadn’t heard Dan come downstairs and, as far as I knew, he was still in the study. We hadn’t spoken since I left him yesterday. I was anxious to see him, spend time with him, be intimate without worrying about reaching the finish line, but I’d also needed time to plan my attack.

  Rounding the corner to the entryway, I spotted a man.

  The sight of him astonished me for many reasons; not the least of which, he was going through Eleanor’s purse.

  “Hey!” I stepped forward, obviously startling him, and grabbed her purse off the console table. “Who are you?”

  The man, his hand over his chest—further evidence I’d caught him by surprise—stared at me with wide, stunned eyes. “Who am I? Who the fuck are you?”

  He wore black pants, maybe jeans, a Bruins T-shirt, and black boots. A silver chain hung at his side, a wallet chain, and the letters F U C K were tattooed on the back of one set of fingers; on the other set were Y O U S.

  The man looked a lot like Dan, just with gray-blue eyes, and older. It was difficult to determine how much older because—even filled with surprise—his eyes looked hard, weary in a way Dan’s weren’t. But his hair held some gray, salt and pepper at the temples. I deduced the age difference must’ve been at least ten years.

  “You’re Seamus.” Now that I really inspected him, I recognized the face from pictures around the house.

  “Yeah. I am.” His gaze slithered over me uncertainly. “And you are?”

  Regardless of familial relationship, I didn’t like the fact that he’d been digging in Eleanor’s bag. I held fast to my righteous indignation and advanced on him.

  He took a step back.

  “I’ll ask the questions.” I lifted my chin, glaring. “What do you think you’re doing with Eleanor’s purse?”

  He raised an eyebrow, his head sliding back on his neck. Seamus peered at me like I was something strange, or maybe like I was something crazy. “None of your goddamn business.”

  I shook my head, looking him over. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  He blinked at me, like I’d again surprised him. “You don’t even know what I was doing. Maybe I was leaving her a birthday card.”

  “Her birthday was last month.”

  “That’s right. It’s a belated birthday card.” His gaze traveled over me again and his tongue swept along his bottom lip, obvious admiration behind his eyes as they settled on my breasts.

  Ugh. Gross.

  I turned from him and walked back to the kitchen, bringing Eleanor’s purse with me and putting it in the cupboard where she kept the plates. As soon as I shut the cabinet, I heard shuffling footsteps enter the kitchen. He was watching me. I felt his eyes on my back as I continued scrubbing the sink.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice quieter.

  Without turning around, I said, “I’m Dan’s wife.”

  A few seconds passed, during which I rinsed out the sink. His footsteps came closer.

  “Dan has a wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since when?”

  “A few weeks ago.” I glanced at him. He’d come to stand next to the sink, five-ish feet away, and he wore a confused frown.

  “Was there a wedding?”

  Turning off the water, I faced him, a little surprised by the subtle hint of vulnerability in the question, like he was hurt—but was trying to hide it—that he hadn’t been invited.

  “No. Not really.” I watched him closely. “We were married at the Cook County Clerk's office with one witness.”

  His eyes dropped to my stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

  Despite myself, I laughed. “Not that I know of.”

  Seamus scratched his jaw thoughtfully, a movement that was eerily similar to one I’d seen Dan do several times, and my heart warmed a little—just a very little—towards this scoundrel.

  Maybe I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. I had a bad history of jumping to the wrong conclusion, so it was a definite possibility.

  Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his earlier behavior. I doubted he was leaving his mother a birthday card, but I wondered if perhaps his reasons for digging in her purse were not as sinister as I’d originally suspected.

  I opened my mouth to ask him again why he was going through his mother’s purse when we were unceremoniously interrupted.

  By Dan.

  “Get the fuck away from her.”

  In unison, we both turned our heads to find Dan, fuming, standing by the entrance to the kitchen. His usually warm brown eyes now almost black, and most definitely cold.

  “Baby brother.”

  “Fuck off.”

&nbs
p; Seamus slid an inch closer to me and grinned. “You’re married. That’s so great. Your lady and I are becoming fast friends. Would you like to join us for a cup of tea? Share the story of how you two lovebirds met?” His voice was ridiculously cheerful.

  Dan was not amused. He strolled into the space, placing himself between us.

  “I said, you fuckfaced shitstain,”—his words were low, slow, measured— “get the fuck away from her, or I will fucking fuckily fuck you the fuck up.”

  I stared at Dan, my lips parting in wonder. He’d just used some variation of the F-word as a noun, verb, adverb, and adjective all in one sentence. I didn’t know whether to be mortified or impressed.

  Seamus’s forced cheer dissolved, his eyes narrowing and turning just as cold as his brother’s. After another two beats of my heart, Seamus backed away, his hands coming up like he surrendered, but the twist of his mouth was bitter.

  “Nice to see you, too,” he muttered.

  For the first time since entering the kitchen, Dan turned to me, his gaze on mine. “Are you okay?”

  I blinked at him and the question, perplexed. Dan was serious. He appeared to be truly concerned that his brother might hurt me.

  I nodded, struggling for words for a half second. “I’m—I’m fine. We were just talking.”

  Seamus snorted from behind Dan, sounding insulted. “Come off it. What do you think? I’m going to come in here and assault your wife?”

  Dan slow blinked, not looking at his brother, and I saw that he was gritting his teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I think. Given the fact that you’re not opposed to roughing up women.”

  “Jem Morris isn’t women, and you know that crazy bitch gives as good as she gets. Didn’t Jem put a cigarette out on Quinn’s chest?”

  Now Dan turned back to Seamus. “You sent your boys to Chicago to kidnap Quinn’s wife. They held her friends at gunpoint. I don’t think I’m overreacting.”

  What the frickedy frick?

  I peered around Dan’s bulky shoulder at Seamus. “That was you?”

  “You’re still not over that, Danny boy?”

  “Oh hey,” Dan’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “I finally got the last knife of the set you’ve been stabbing in my back all these years. Heads up: I re-gift.”

  Seamus snorted. “What did my guys get for their trouble? A fucking knitting needle to the chest, knocked out by a tequila bottle, and two years stateside, that’s what. You should be apologizing to me.”

  “You know what you and our nephew’s diaper have in common, Seamus? You’re both self-absorbed and full of shit.”

  Seamus rolled his eyes and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “And you’re like a plunger, you keep bringing up old shit.”

  “Acting like a dick won’t make yours any bigger.” Dan took a threatening step forward. “You can’t smoke in here.”

  “Yeah, okay dad.” Another eye-roll. “If I was meant to be controlled I’d come with a remote.”

  “Why don’t you make like a tree and die in a forest fire,” Dan mumbled gruffly and moved like he was going to grab the pack from his brother, but stopped short when Eleanor entered the room.

  “Don’t smoke in here,” she said evenly but firmly. She walked directly over to Seamus—like she wasn’t at all surprised by the scene in the kitchen—and pulled him into a hug. “And stop trying to piss off your brother.”

  “Jesus Christ, I haven’t done anything, Ma. I swear.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth. You don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, and you don’t swear. Not in this house.” She pointed a finger at him, lifting her eyebrows meaningfully, daring him to contradict her.

  He gave Eleanor a small, conciliatory nod, stuffing his cigarettes back in his pocket.

  Seemingly satisfied, she turned to Dan and patted him on the shoulder, “You. Be nice to your brother. I mean it.”

  Dan made a low sound in the back of his throat and crossed his arms, saying nothing. His mother placed a kiss on his cheek.

  She moved to me and pulled me in for a hug, her voice adopting a sweeter tone. “I’m taking my tea and going to bed. I don’t know why, but I’m exhausted. Thanks for dinner.” As she pulled away, her hand came to my cheek and she smiled at me. “And thanks for being such an angel.”

  I nodded. “Thank you for the conversation.”

  “Anytime, sweetheart. I mean it.”

  No one spoke as Eleanor poured hot water into her cup, reached into the teapot I’d prepared, and took a tea bag. Glancing around the counters as she left, she called over her shoulder. “Turn the lights off when you go to bed. And if you find the clicker, put it above the TV. It’s been missing since Saturday.”

  Then she was gone.

  No one moved for half a minute, maybe more. I studied Dan’s back, the rigidity of his shoulders, the stiffness in his spine. Seamus’s posture was more relaxed, but he looked equally surly.

  I decided I wanted tea.

  “Anyone want tea?”

  Dan shook his head. “He was just leaving.”

  “Tea sounds lovely.” Seamus, his eyes on Dan, pushed away from the counter and sauntered to the kitchen table, taking the seat Eleanor had sat in earlier.

  I poured hot water from the kettle into the teapot, thinking to myself that I would look at this old blue willow teapot and always remember this moment. I moved around Dan to the table, setting down the steeping tea and three teacups.

  “Dan?” I asked, turning, finding his eyes on me.

  He gave his head a subtle shake, the muscle at his jaw jumping.

  I walked to him and placed a hand on his arm while he watched me. Gazing into his eyes and not liking his stony, aloof expression, I lifted on my toes and placed a light kiss on his mouth. His arms immediately unfolded and his hands came to my waist. It felt good to kiss him, to feel his hands on me—so, so good—and my body reacted in an instinctual way, relaxing, pressing closer.

  Leaning just my torso away, I gave him a smile, whispering. “Chamomile or Earl Grey?”

  He was frowning, but some of the ice in his eyes melted. “I fucking hate that guy.”

  “I can tell.” I gave him another quick kiss, I was addicted to his mouth. “Your mom said to be nice.”

  “He’s still breathing, isn’t he? This is me being nice.”

  I leaned closer again. “Dan.”

  He tilted his head to the side, saying, “Kit-Kat,” and a tiny shiver raced down my spine. He’d lowered his voice to the naughty-secret level.

  Warmth, like a hot hand on cool skin, blossomed in my stomach. “One cup of tea.”

  “I’ll have tea with you,” he lifted his chin toward the table, “after he fucks off.”

  “I can hear you,” Seamus sing-songed from behind me.

  “Then fuck off,” Dan sing-songed in response.

  “You know,” Seamus started conversationally, “I would tell you to go fuck yourself but I’m pretty sure you’d be disappointed.”

  “Since you know it all, you should know when to shut the fuck up.” I watched Dan’s luscious lips form the insult, his eyes never leaving mine.

  He’s so beautiful. I sighed.

  It was a strange thought to have at the moment, but he was beautiful, distractingly so. His eyes, the line of his jaw, the color of his skin, his nose, his stubbornness, his protectiveness, his naughty mouth, his goodness. I could have looked at him all day.

  “Please.” I let my gaze roam over his face.

  “Why is this so important to you?” he mumbled, sounding curious. “I swear Seamus was conceived by anal sex. There’s no other explanation for him being such an asshole.”

  “Because I really, really like your mom. And I know it would make her happy if you made nice with your brother.” His frown deepened, and even frowning he was beautiful. Little starbursts of acute sensation erupted in my chest and behind my eyes, the warmth in my stomach spreading lower as I stared at him and he stared back.

  He studied me for a beat, his
eyes narrowing. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Because I love looking at you.

  . . . Because I’m growing addicted to you.

  “One cup,” I whispered, swallowing my emotions and the troubling thought, “and then bedtime.”

  His eyes flared, and I realized too late how that had sounded.

  But oh well. So what? Maybe it was our bedtime. Maybe it was past our bedtime. My heart rate increased, precariously close to racing, as his eyes moved between mine, and then dropped to my mouth.

  “Irish breakfast,” he said, no longer frowning. “And I’ll get it. You sit. You’re not supposed to be cooking.”

  He kissed me again, just a light brush of lips, and then his hands slid away. I mourned the loss of him, his heat and closeness, immediately. I wanted to chase after him, stay by his side on his quest for tea, but that was a ridiculous urge. A nutty, neurotic, loco urge.

  So, on slightly wobbly legs, I stumbled back to the table and sat/fell into my chair, attempting to get myself under control. Seamus cleared his throat and I blinked him into focus. He was smirking at me, one eyebrow raised.

  I straightened in my seat, returning his gaze evenly and pulling the veil down on my feelings; being a besotted fool for Dan was one thing when I was by myself, being a besotted fool for Dan in front of his brother was quite another.

  Seamus’s eyes flickered to where Dan was hunting for his tea at the far end of the kitchen and then back to me. “How’d you two meet?”

  “None of your fucking business how we met,” came Dan’s grouchy response, shutting a cabinet louder than necessary.

  “I used to work with Janie, the woman you tried to abduct.” I poured him a cup of tea and handed it over.

  “I wasn’t trying to abduct Janie, I was trying to get my money back from her crazy bitch of a sister, Jem. You work at Quinn’s company?” Seamus’s tone during all of this was light, like we were discussing the best way to skin a fish, and when he picked up his teacup I couldn’t help but notice he kept his pinky finger straight.

  “None of your fucking business where she works.” Dan shut another cabinet.