Once Upon a Marriage

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Similar to one Marie had thrown for Gabrielle and Liam six weeks ago.

  “Anticipation adds to enjoyment,” he said, avoiding the mirror that was going to show him a picture of him and Marie together. “Maybe I should move to the other bathroom,” he blurted before he’d even thought about what he was saying.

  He didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay right where he was. Sharing a bathroom, a life, with his wife.

  The wife he’d married with a lie between them. Barbara Bustamante would be coming back from her honeymoon soon.

  That reminder did not sit well with him, either. He’d lied to her, too.

  “Am I bothering you?” Marie’s hands dropped away from him.

  She’d backed to the doorway leading into their bedroom. The room that had been hers alone for the past eight or nine years.

  “Of course you aren’t bothering me,” he said. “I thought I was in your way. You’ve had this room to yourself for so long and...” He pointed to all his stuff on the counter. She’d said she was going to move some of the things that she didn’t use every day into the cupboard in the spare bathroom to make room for him and hadn’t done so yet. But stuff on the counter wasn’t the problem.

  The man in the mirror was.

  The hurt he’d seen flash in her eyes quickly dissipated and Elliott breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Whose fault is it that I haven’t had time to move?” she asked him, grinning.

  “Yours.” He smiled at her. Might have tried to kiss her, uncaring of the shaving cream on his face, if she hadn’t suddenly seen the clock on the counter.

  “Oh, my gosh. The shop’s going to open in fifteen minutes and I’m not down there.” She was in their bedroom, throwing on clothes, leaving him to concentrate on shaving.

  He’d visited his apartment on Monday, long enough to grab everything he could fit into his two biggest suitcases, had emptied his bathroom drawers and vanity into a duffel. They were planning to spend Sunday over there together, going through the rest of his things. Deciding what to keep. What to donate or sell.

  She’d be in his place. Going through his things. He’d show her the pictures of his mother. At some point he was going to have to call his aunt. Tell her he was married. Take Marie to meet her...

  “I’m heading down.” She was back. Fully dressed. Putting her hair in the ponytail he’d learned he loved to take out. He wiped the rest of the cream off his face and met her lips in a kiss that reminded him they were joined.

  One.

  Never to be separated.

  “I’ll be in as soon as I get Liam and Gabrielle to work.”

  “You can start calling her Gabi anytime,” she said. “She’s your sister-in-law now. Or as close to one as you’re going to get. She’s family.”

  He nodded. If it made Marie happy, he’d call her friend Queen Elizabeth.

  “I love you,” she called as she raced for the door.

  “I love you, too.”

  The words came so naturally. And the stab that followed was just as potent. Marie was going to be in his place on Sunday. Going through his things.

  He had records of deposits from Barbara Bustamante’s checks there. Paperwork that she’d signed. She was in his list of business contacts...

  If he hadn’t remembered, didn’t get over there to hide everything, Marie could have walked right in on the file folder on his desk.

  And what if she ever did find evidence that he’d worked for her mother?

  What about his computer? Barbara had emailed. The paperwork he generated for every client was there...

  He added cleaning out his computer files to his list of to-dos.

  Slid into black pants, a black button-up shirt and black shoes. Black. Fitting for a man who suddenly had a dark cloud of guilt, of fear, hanging over him. One he couldn’t seem to shake.

  And it wasn’t just fear, he had to acknowledge to himself. It was shame. He was a man of integrity who wasn’t being honest with his own wife.

  He should have told Marie the truth. Being sued be damned. He’d had no idea loving Marie, holding her at night, needing to protect her from hurt, would instill into him such a sense of responsibility to be the best man he could be because everything he did reflected on her, as well.

  He’d promised Barbara, outside a chapel, that he wouldn’t betray her to her daughter. The woman, who was still on her cruise for another week or more, wasn’t even around to defend or explain herself. But he’d also promised Marie’s mother that he wouldn’t pursue a personal relationship with her daughter.

  Truth was, he’d acted selfishly. He’d married Marie because he loved her too much to let her go, knowing that she loved him, too. He couldn’t walk away from her when he knew she didn’t want him to do so.

  But she wouldn’t ever have wanted to be lied to...

  He couldn’t expect her to love him when he was beginning to not even like himself.

  He couldn’t put any faith in a union that had a gauntlet hanging over its head.

  Waiting to fall. To take her away from him.

  Keys in hand, he pushed the button for the elevator that would take him upstairs to collect Gabrielle and Liam.

  He had to tell her the truth...

  She was happy. In love.

  A miracle. As Gabrielle and Liam had said every single day that week when he’d driven them to work. Neither of them could believe the change in her. The glow about her.

  It was a miracle, all right.

  One that was as fragile as Marie’s newfound ability to trust.

  If she found out he’d lied, before he told her himself, believing that he’d never planned to tell her, the damage would be worse. At least if he came clean, told her why he’d kept his secret, surely she’d give him a chance.

  If she loved him as much as she said she did.

  She’d know he’d never wanted to deceive her. She’d know he’d married because he had needed so desperately for her to be his wife.

  Their love would see them through. After all, love was stronger than any of the evil forces that opposed it. Or so he’d been told.

  All a man had to do was live with integrity and happiness would be his. Right?

  He was going to stop borrowing trouble. Stop worrying. He’d tell Marie the truth and trust that everything would be just fine.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “DADDY? IT’S ME.” Marie turned her back to the closed door of her office Friday morning, leaning forward in her seat. “I have something to tell you.”

  “What’s up, baby?”

  She opened her mouth. Stared at the boring black walking shoes on her feet—shoes designed for those who stood all day.

  “How was your flight?” He’d texted her when he arrived back in the States late the night before.

  “Fine. Long. Same as always.”

  “And Monte Carlo? Did you win?”

  “I did.” Could mean monetarily. Might not. “Now, what do you have to tell me? Is it about your mother? Is she...okay?”

  Translation: Did she go through with it?

  “She’s married, Dad.” Her mother’s business was her own. Barbara had given Marie’s father enough of her life. But... “And I really think she’s going to be happy. Bruce considers himself a very lucky man.”

  “He is one.” Her father was not. The unfinished part of the sentence hung between them.

  There wasn’t a lot she could say to it. Her father had blown it. Many times. And now wasn’t the time to lay anything else on him.

  Or look to him for reassurance.

  Her mother was on her honeymoon on the ocean or some island. And...

  “Okay, well, I just wanted to hear about your trip,” she said, changing her mind about the phone call.

/>   She’d say goodbye and go make the best coffee drinks she’d ever made.

  Elliott would be back soon. He had a meeting with a Denver detective and the FBI agent in charge of the Connelly case, Gwen Menard, later that morning. Apparently the report had come back on the boxed sports drink bottle.

  “Wait! You said you had something to tell me.”

  She’d called in a moment of weakness. Of doubt. Afraid she’d let loneliness, her mother getting married, Gabi’s marriage, all the change convince her that she was a marrying type of person. But what if she wasn’t? What if she was her father?

  Not in the cheating sense, but in the not-being-able-to-be-a-good-spouse sense.

  She loved Elliott to distraction. But when he’d said he had the meeting with Gwen Menard, she’d had a doubt. For a second there.

  Okay, for more than a second. She was still, that very minute, doubting.

  “It’s okay, Dad. We can talk about it another time...”

  “Tell, me, baby. Whatever it is. I’ve been a good dad to you. The issues with your mother aside. You’ve always been able to come to me...”

  “I... I don’t really know how to tell you this...”

  And didn’t want to talk about the rest of it. Not anymore. She’d deal with her doubts. Beat them down until they didn’t dare surface again.

  “Just say it right out. Whatever it is. You’re scaring me. Are you sick? What’s wrong?”

  “I... I’m married, Daddy.”

  Silence hung on the line. Total silence. For a second she thought they’d been disconnected.

  But then she heard him take a deep breath.

  “I knew I should have waited to tell you.” First her mother. Now her.

  “No! You should have told me sooner,” he said. And Marie felt like an idiot.

  “Oh, Daddy. It’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t deliberately cut you out. It wasn’t planned! It was crazy, really. I’d been falling for this guy for a while, but wouldn’t let myself admit it. Remember before when I called you late that night and you asked me if I was in love? Well, I guess I was and just wouldn’t let myself see it. And then there we were in Vegas and it was the middle of the night and...it just happened.”

  “Does he consider himself a lucky man?”

  Like Bruce did. Did he love her that much? She got the question.

  “There’s no doubt that he loves me as much as I love him,” she said. And wished that the world were perfect enough for that much love to be enough. To guarantee happiness regardless of life’s challenges. And people’s issues.

  “You really love him?”

  “Oh, yes. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.”

  Another pause. “So, what are the doubts in your mind?”

  “Love wasn’t enough for you.”

  “That’s me. That’s not him.”

  “It’s not him I’m worried about.”

  “You think you’ll be a cheater?” He couldn’t have sounded more astonished. She had to hold the phone away from her ear.

  “No! I really and honestly don’t think that,” Marie said. “I’m not even worried about it. I’m worried about my ability to trust. What if I screw up and get all paranoid on him?” What if I’m like you, Daddy, and love isn’t enough to keep me healthy and happy in a relationship? What if it isn’t enough to make me a good wife?

  She and Elliott should have talked about it before they’d married. About how her inability to trust, her paranoia, could affect their relationship. And now that it was too late, she wasn’t sure how to bring it up to him.

  They probably should have talked about plans for the future, too. Like where they’d been going to live. If either of them wanted a house in the suburbs someday.

  Did he believe in starting college funds...?

  Did he want kids?

  “I suspect that if he gives you no cause to doubt him, he’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  It was Marie’s turn to hang on the line in total silence.

  “A woman gives her whole heart to her man, baby. She’s an emotional creature. More so than men a lot of times. It’s in the genetic makeup. And in one sense, the instinct to bond and give all makes you vulnerable. To counteract that vulnerability, to protect her heart, a woman is given another emotion—an instinct that tells her that something isn’t right. Sometimes she can hear it. Sometimes she listens to it. Sometimes she doesn’t want to be bothered by it. But it’s there for a reason. Be thankful for it. Trust it. And you’ll be just fine.”

  By the time he finished, she had tears dripping off her chin.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, young lady.” Her father took on a tone from the olden days. “I’m going to be flying to Denver as soon as I can get a ticket. I intend to meet this man.”

  “Can you wait at least a week or two?” she asked him. “We’re still in the process of getting him moved in, and we’ll want you to stay with us.”

  He harrumphed. And then said, “Can I at least have a name for this man who has become my new son-in-law? Can I know what he does for a living?”

  “He’s a licensed private investigator and bodyguard who runs his own private business. His name is Elliott. Elliott Tanner.”

  She was Marie Tanner. She still wasn’t used to that. And was struck anew with the oddity of life’s changes.

  She’d been talking to her father, and he hadn’t even known her last name.

  * * *

  ON HIS WAY back to the Arapahoe after his meeting with law enforcement regarding his employer and now pseudo-brother-in-law, Liam Connelly, Elliott glanced at the digital screen on his dash as the phone rang.

  Sailor Harcourt.

  He had information to discuss with the members of Threefold, LLC. One of whom was his wife. He didn’t need the hassles associated with a billionaire’s spoiled daughter. However reformed.

  Two more rings pealed. And a question was raised. Why was Sailor, Rod Harcourt’s daughter, calling him? Why wasn’t it Rod’s ID popping up? Rod was his client. And had always been the one to make contact.

  “Tanner here.” He pushed the button on his steering wheel that activated the Bluetooth call pickup.

  “Elliott, thank goodness. I was afraid I wasn’t going to reach you, and I only have a few minutes to speak in private.”

  If Rod were hurt, or God forbid, deceased, his daughter wouldn’t need to speak in private.

  “I need your help, Elliott.” He didn’t like the sound of that. And had no intention of taking on any other jobs right then. Had no intention of being free to escort the stubborn and spoiled young woman ever again. He couldn’t risk his reputation guarding someone who refused to follow his dictates regarding her safety. He’d dodged a bullet last time.

  Few got that lucky twice.

  “Are you in Denver?”

  “Not yet, but I’m going to be.”

  There was time for her to find someone else. “I’m on a full-time job right now, Sailor,” he said, watching his speed as he took the freeway back downtown. “I’ve got names I can give you...”

  “It needs to be you, Elliott.”

  A bodyguard worth his salt was a bodyguard. He had names of associates worth their salt.

  “The situation is...sensitive. It involves Terrence Metcalf.”

  The yacht designer. Elliott had let his charge ride with Metcalf to breakfast. He couldn’t have forced her into his car. But he could have made himself known to the man. Put the fear of God in him if anything happened to Ms. Harcourt. He could have called her father, his employer at the time, and let him know that his daughter had refused to get in the car with him.

  But he hadn’t.

  Because she’d been sober. And thought she’d met someone real. The gu
y had checked out. And Elliott had been dealing with an attraction of his own that he couldn’t pursue.

  He acted out of emotion. Commiseration.

  His neck tensed.

  “And I only need you for a few hours. Next Saturday night. A week from tomorrow. I land at five-thirty and fly out again at eleven.”

  His two-week anniversary. He’d planned on spending it at home with his wife. Still planned to. But...

  “What’s going on?”

  “Turns out the guy’s a bit of a stalker. Not anything I can press charges against. He just gives me the creeps. And won’t give up. I’ve blocked his number, he found me on Twitter. I have to be on social media for the magazine. He also found me on Facebook, Pinterest, Tumbler and Instagram. I blocked him where I could. Then last week, he showed up at a charity dinner I was attending. He’s got money, Elliott. He’s a charmer, well-known and well liked. He can get whatever invitations he wants.”

  He got the picture. “I’m not really sure what I can do to help.”

  “Just hear me out a second, and I’ll tell you,” she said. He figured, considering the circumstances, that he owed her that much. He’d been preoccupied the last time Ms. Harcourt was in Denver. Hadn’t done his best night’s work.

  He’d kept her safe. She’d never been out of his sight after she left the nightclub that night. But he’d let her get into a car that wasn’t driven by him.

  He passed beneath the sign that indicated his exit. Five miles ahead. He had a ways to go yet.

  “I made some really stupid mistakes when I first became an adult. And earned a reputation I’m not proud of. This past year, with my work at the magazine, I’ve managed, slowly and in one small circle at a time, to gain some respect. There are those who probably won’t ever forget little Sailor Harcourt and her drug use and antics, but I’m a different woman, Elliott. I can’t afford another scandal.”

  Four miles until his exit.

  “This guy, Metcalf, as soon as he found out who I really was, he figured I’d be up for a fun time. I’ve done all I can do to convince him I’m not that girl anymore. He’s not taking me seriously.”