Once Upon a Marriage

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  It wasn’t “out there” he was worried about.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T SO bad being alone on her side of the table at Gabi and Liam’s that night. The pasta was good—great. Warm French bread, fresh salad and a small glass of wine were nice, too. Knowing that the seat next to her, while vacant, was also taken, was the best part of all.

  “If you ladies don’t mind, I really need to get some more words done on the next installment of Dad’s piece,” Liam said as the three of them were finishing up. “I’ll get the dishes, though, if you want to head into the living room and relax.”

  Marie wasn’t fooled. And didn’t think Gabi was, either. He was giving them time alone. Girl-talk time. Liam was Gabi’s husband now, but he knew them. And was their best friend. Still.

  “So, tell me how you’re doing. Really doing.” Gabi didn’t even wait until they were seated on the couch before starting in. Picking up the remote, she clicked on the TV.

  They’d already decided what movie they wanted to watch. Grease, starring Olivia Newton John and John Travolta. It was before their time. But they’d seen it with Barbara one summer and loved it. When they’d passed a Grease-themed slot machine in Vegas, they’d looked at each other, said simultaneously that they needed to see the movie again and laughed.

  “I’m really doing great,” Marie said. And then added, “Mostly.” She nodded. “Yeah, mostly great.” If you didn’t count that she worried about getting worried. Was afraid she’d start to fear that her husband could be unfaithful to her. Look how she’d freaked out when Liam had dinner with his editor. The residuals of watching her father rip her mother’s heart out. Again and again. And being unable to do anything about it. A product of knowing that sometimes love wasn’t enough. She’d chosen them because they’d had first priorities other than her.

  Elliott didn’t.

  He was good at his job. But he loved her.

  “Mostly?” Of course Gabi would pick up on that. “Do you regret getting married like you did?”

  “Absolutely not.” Elliott had been right about that part. She was glad he’d waited to tell her about his duplicity in their original meeting because if he hadn’t, she might have done just as he’d said and bolted—robbing them of at least a chance of finding heaven together.

  Except that his having done so had shown her she couldn’t tell when he was lying to her. “I am so in love with that man. I... No.” She shook her head. “Mom getting married in Vegas, Elliott needing to be there with Liam...it was meant to be.”

  Gabi watched her. “So why, mostly?”

  “Do you ever worry about Liam? When he’s out with his editor, for instance?”

  “No.”

  Chin jutted out, Marie nodded. “And there’s no reason to. But I do. You know?” The way Liam used to talk...about wanting other women when he was in an exclusive relationship. He’d been a kid then. And he’d never acted on the temptation. But it had been there. He’d talked to them about it.

  “You don’t trust Liam? Our Liam?”

  “Of course I trust him! I just...”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Gabi moved scooted over. Gathered her close for one of the rare hugs she’d instigated over the years. “You worry, but you know why you do it. You realize it’s unfounded. So while it’s there, you don’t give in to it. It’s like someone who doesn’t see well without glasses. She knows that, and she deals with it by putting on glasses. You took the big step. You let yourself love and get married. We’ll keep the other in line. You aren’t alone, you know.”

  Marie wallowed in Gabi’s caring for a minute more, thanking the universe for the life, the friendships and love she’d been given. Until Liam coughed. “You guys want some tea to go with that sugar?”

  He was grinning at them.

  Gabi threw a pillow at him.

  And Marie grabbed the remote. Definitely time to start the movie...

  Facing the screen, her hand on the play button, she froze. And peripherally realized that Liam had come farther into the room. Gabi was completely still.

  “And tonight, gathering at the...” Marie stared, the news announcer’s voice fading out and back in, like a cell phone losing reception. “...and with all the domestic violence issues suffered by the NFL this past year, some of the NFL’s biggest stars are in attendance...”

  She shook her head. Knew when Liam sat down on the arm of the couch beside her.

  “It’s a no-press-allowed affair, but a local shelter, who helped plan the affair, passed along a couple of pictures...”

  Still photos. That were plastered on the screen.

  A woman standing at a podium, obviously one of the speakers. A gorgeous, rich, smiling woman. And her name on the caption. Along with the name of her escort for the evening.

  Marie dropped the remote.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ELLIOTT HAD JUST dropped Sailor off at the airport with her sincere thanks for a successful evening, on all counts, when his phone rang.

  Seeing Liam’s name come up on the dash screen, he pressed the answer button on his steering wheel immediately.

  “Tanner.” He said the one word clearly and quickly. His mind geared to process just as rapidly. Something had happened. He shouldn’t have left...

  “You’d mentioned earlier about dropping your client off at the airport for an eleven o’clock flight. Are you alone?” The man’s tone was different.

  “Yes.” He pulled onto the main thoroughfare that would take him to the downtown area where the historic Arapahoe stood among other stately homes—most of them housing boutique businesses now.

  “So you’re free to talk.” The streets were dimly lit. Traffic was light.

  “Yes. Is something happening there? Are you all okay?” He’d ascertained no hint of alarm in the other man’s voice, but Liam’s usual congenial conversational approach was most definitely missing.

  “We’re fine. The girls are in on the couch. Marie was going to go downstairs to wait for you, but Gabi insisted that she stay up with us.”

  All things Liam—or Marie—could have told him when he got home.

  “Soooo...” Liam paused. “You were working tonight?”

  His neck tensed. “Yes.”

  “I don’t suppose you can tell me what you were doing. Or with who.”

  Dread filled his gut. “You know I can’t.”

  “But you were working.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. I guess I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

  Whoa. That was it?

  Sitting back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, Elliott said, “Hold on a minute. You mind telling me what’s going on here?”

  “Caught a glimpse of the news this evening. A piece about a high-end fund-raiser attended by some pretty impressive people. A domestic violence benefit. Not a cause Connelly has ever supported—though I don’t know why not and I think we should—so I didn’t know about it until tonight.”

  Elliott swore silently. Twice.

  The week of foreboding. He’d known. Or he’d brought this on himself by focusing on it so much. “It was a no-press-allowed event.” He knew, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, that he was only making himself look worse.

  “Someone from a local shelter took some photos. Shared them with a local news station.”

  He’d been working. But the only way he could prove that would be to break his client’s confidence.

  Elliott swore again. Not as silently. “Marie saw.”

  “Yep.”

  He couldn’t believe it. Just couldn’t...what the...? He’d been working. And couldn’t live his life feeling he had to apologize for that fact. Or explain himself.

  And needing to explain to Marie meant explaining to the other two
triplets.

  “She’s the daughter of a long-standing respected client of mine. At his request I protect her anytime she’s in town.”

  “I understand.”

  Did he?

  “But she doesn’t.”

  “That’s between you and your wife.”

  Right.

  “So why the phone call?”

  “I felt it was my duty.”

  “You think I’m cheating on my wife?”

  “Just checking.”

  Elliott didn’t like it. But it was probably fair. “I wasn’t. And I won’t.”

  “I know.”

  He turned a corner and then made another quick turn. Onto the back lot. Pulled into his parking spot and stopped the car.

  Was he understanding this correctly? Could Liam be calling for his benefit? “You want to give me a heads-up what I’m walking into?”

  “I think I already did that.”

  Right. Okay.

  Pocketing his keys, Elliott nodded at the guard by the back door and, once inside, decided to take the stairs.

  Two at a time.

  * * *

  HE WAS A MAN used to going home alone at the end of the day. Answering to no one when he was off the clock.

  Elliott kissed Marie hello, as though he’d done nothing wrong.

  Because he hadn’t.

  She kissed him back the same way.

  A trap?

  “How was your evening?” she asked as they took the elevator down to their floor.

  He shrugged. Told the truth. “Uneventful. Which makes it good.”

  A quick twinge showed on her upper lip. In the right corner. Once.

  “Mostly you wait out in the car when you’re on the job. Unless someone needs extra security, or there’s no security where they’re going to be.”

  Swearing silently again, he knew exactly where this was going.

  “Mostly.”

  The elevator door opened. Key ready, Elliott let them in.

  And waited.

  What did he do now? Heading off to the bedroom, which was all he really wanted to do, probably wasn’t good.

  Her arms slid around his middle. “I love you.”

  Elliott held on tight. He was not a stupid man. “I love you.”

  Chin at his chest, she looked up at him. “You ready for bed, or you need to unwind first?”

  Was there a right answer here? He’d give her whatever she needed. He just really needed to know what that was.

  “I’d like to go to bed,” he said. “But not until you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  She took his hand. Started to lead him down the hall. Elliott pulled her back.

  Held her to him and pinned her with a look he hoped reached her soul. “I was working tonight.”

  Her gaze didn’t falter and he had a feeling she was struggling. She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the way she was looking at him. She was trying. And she was failing.

  “I know,” she said. Lying to him. Tears filled her eyes.

  He had to be honest with her. “Liam called me. About the photo on the news.” There would always be things he couldn’t tell her. Things she’d find out only if his clients happened to make the news. People who needed bodyguards were often newsworthy. And bodyguards were often in the background when they were photographed out in public.

  The news could report. He couldn’t. And so he had to have complete honesty when he could. Even if it wasn’t easy.

  Even if he could get away with less.

  “I didn’t know he’d called, but I’m not surprised. He’s been slaying dragons that he thought might hurt my heart since I was eighteen.”

  They were talking. Just as they’d said they would.

  “I work for her father. For the whole family. Anytime any one of them is in town.” He could tell her that much. Harcourt didn’t hide the fact that he had a bodyguard. Only Sailor had done that. The last time she was in town.

  “The caption said you were her escort.” Her doubts were there. Loud and clear.

  “It was part of tonight’s job.”

  She studied him. “I threw up when I saw you.”

  His stomach knotted.

  “My head is telling me that you were working, Elliott. But my heart... It knows you were out with a beautiful woman at a fancy event—my heart knows that men get tempted all the time while they’re working.”

  His heart sank.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  IT HAD BEEN Elliott’s suggestion that he pack a bag and stay elsewhere until they had time to sort through what was going on. To determine if their rushed, impromptu wedding had been a mistake. Not Saturday night. He’d stayed with her then. But they’d slept far apart, each hugging their own side of the bed.

  He’d tried to get close. She’d pulled away when he reached for her.

  Early Sunday morning after she and Grace had finished labeling the day’s baked goods and before the shop opened, Marie had gone up to tell Liam and Gabi that she and Elliott needed some time apart. She needed time apart, she’d told them.

  Because of the unsolved threats against Liam and the heightened security they were still under, Liam had suggested Elliott bunk in their spare room. He’d agreed.

  In spite of her friends’ protests, Marie went right back downstairs to work. She stopped in the office first, to put the wedding ring she’d removed in the safe. And then she spent the next several hours losing herself in coffee. In closing up alone, having let her overworked weekend staff go home early. Eva was too thrilled with unexpected time off to notice that Marie wasn’t her usual cheery self. She was smiling. Eva would have had to look more closely to know that the expression only went skin deep.

  Did he kiss her good-night?

  The questions started to seep in.

  Since when does a bodyguard pose as an escort?

  Never.

  Unless there was some reasonable explanation that she didn’t know. Because Elliott was not at liberty to tell her.

  She tried to shut down the doubts. She was screwing up the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  She filled out orders. Counted receipts. Made out a deposit. Studied her budget to determine how many more employee hours she could afford, while still making a decent profit, and then made up a sign for the front door, seeking part-time weekend help. She’d put it up in the morning. Take it down every night. Until the position was filled.

  In the early days...all the conversations. The way he’d listened. I thought he was different. That we had something. And all the while, I was just a job to him. He was listening, asking questions, because he was being paid to do so. At least in the beginning.

  Would you please just shut up?

  She swept all the floors, moving tables as she went. Followed herself with a mop.

  She didn’t call anyone. Not even Gabi, who’d been texting her nonstop since they got home.

  And when she was done with all she could do in the shop, she notified the security guard out front that she was going upstairs. She didn’t tell him that Elliott wouldn’t be at the elevator, waiting for her. She could get herself upstairs.

  Once there, she drew a hot bath. Poured in two capfuls of rose-scented bubble bath. She lit a candle. Put in a CD she’d found years ago in an artsy bookshop. Voice of the Feminine Spirit. She had no idea who it was by. Didn’t care.

  With all the lights out, she slid out of her clothes and into her bath.

  From there, by candlelight, she could see Elliott’s cologne on the counter. He hadn’t taken it with him.

  His extra shaving cream and razors would be in the chest, too.

  Marie turned around in the tub.

&nb
sp; She closed her eyes. And thought about her mother. Did Barbara have so little faith in her that she’d felt the need to hire someone to babysit her?

  She could let herself think so. If she wanted to wallow in self-pity. Marie didn’t need pity. Nor did she need to go looking for reasons to hurt. The pain that she was barely holding at bay, one that was threatening to attack her so acutely she doubted her ability to cope if it broke free, had little to do with her mother.

  Barbara’s hiring of Elliott had very little to do with Marie. She knew that. It had to do with Barbara. With her own paranoia. Her need to reassure herself.

  She’d hired Elliott because she loved her daughter that much. Not because she trusted her that little.

  Still, it rankled. And she told herself again that she was going to talk to Barbara about all this.

  At some point.

  When the rawness wore off the wound.

  And this wasn’t about Elliott’s lie to her. Not really. She’d be having the same exact reaction if he’d been exactly who he’d said he was, and she’d married him and then seen him sitting at a fancy dinner with another woman.

  As tears threatened, she closed her eyes against them. Squeezing tightly. Holding them in. And imagined that young woman staring up at Elliott. Marie’s husband. Her eyes flew open.

  Towels were hanging on the rack. His and hers. Both hers. One had just been used by him.

  Was Elliott sitting in the living room upstairs with Liam and Gabi? Or was he alone in his room?

  What was he doing?

  Had he had dinner?

  Had Barbara paid him to marry her?

  She sat up, sloshing water on the floor as she reached for her towel. Her robe was next, and then she was in the living room, grabbing her phone out of her purse.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” He never said that. He always answered with his name.

  This wasn’t Elliott’s issue. It was hers. Even her father wouldn’t have been so crass as to step out in the first two weeks of marriage. And for what? To attend a governor’s function?