The Officer Says I Do

by Jeanette Murray

  The CO went on, oblivious to Tim’s inner thoughts. “And my wife has mentioned that if Mrs. O’Shay needs any pointers or tips, she’d be more than willing to help out. Lessons on hosting, appropriate dress, that sort of thing.”

  “I actually enjoy my wife’s originality,” Tim commented casually. “She’s exactly what I needed.” And he meant that.

  Tim was walking a tight rope. He disagreed wholeheartedly with the Colonel’s point of view. But saying so would get him nowhere. Not only would he not change the mind of a man so set in his ways, but a negative review could seriously hamper—or ruin—his hopes of staying on through twenty years.

  Blackwater raised a brow but didn’t comment on Tim’s remark. “So I wanted to just let you know that I was pleased with your situation. You know you are setting an example for the younger Marines. And I look forward to seeing your wife again at the Dining Out next week.”

  Shit. He’d completely forgot to mention the event to Skye. “Right. Of course.”

  “You can go now.”

  Tim left, barely making it to his office and quietly shutting the door before letting his hands fist with anger.

  The man was a certifiable jackass. But Tim had to keep reminding himself that one man wasn’t the Marines. For every dipshit CO, there were five great leaders. And Blackwater would be leaving soon for a new duty station, hopefully to be replaced by a Marine who understood and appreciated the boundaries between home life and work. Who wouldn’t judge Tim’s performance on his wife’s outfit of the day.

  Tim grabbed his cover and left his office, hoping he could catch the two Marines who needed to reshoot the next day. He wanted to wrap up business and head home to his unique and perfect-for-him wife.

  ***

  Skye plopped down on the couch after another exhausting—but fulfilling—work shift. Oh man, was she ever ready for a nap. Who brought their three-year-old and twelve of his friends into a fine dining restaurant for a birthday party? A parent who didn’t mind that she and the staff would be scraping noodles off the ceiling for a week, clearly. Her hair still smelled like marinara sauce and garlic. She wouldn’t be able to eat spaghetti for months.

  She toed her shoes off and then propped her ankles on the coffee table. Then, with a sigh, she picked up the shoes and walked them to the shoe rack by the front door before resuming her seat on the couch.

  When had she started caring about her shoes and where they went? Who cared if they went on the shoe rack? She was just going to put them on again in the morning. So what made her get up to put them away?

  Because she now lived with a neat freak, and sometimes people needed to make adjustments and compromises to make a marriage work, she reminded herself. It was a small thing to do, and she was only being snippy because she was tired.

  She hoped. Otherwise, her attitude was starting to become a habit. And snippy was definitely not a personality trait she wanted to adopt.

  Skye glanced up at the mantel, noticing how stark it was. Her incense and other decorations were still upstairs in a box in the guest room. Hiding. The original plan had been to replace them right away. But now that she stared at the area, she realized how uncluttered it looked. How fitting that was for Tim’s home.

  Compromise. The word of the day. More like the word of the year. She just had to remember it wasn’t that big of a deal. Tim’s house worked the way it was. She was newer, her things needed to earn their spot. Perhaps it was rude to just sort of Skye-bomb the place with all her things from the start.

  Maybe eventually she could work a few of her own items into the mix. But for now, it seemed like the best thing to do to make Tim—the biggest obstacle in their own marriage—comfortable. The more comfortable he was, the easier, more relaxed he seemed with her, with their marriage. It hadn’t escaped her notice at all that since the night of the Blackwater dinner, he’d been much more stress-free. His shoulders weren’t tense; his face wasn’t screwed up in a scowl. He could just be. And she couldn’t help but think the main reason for that was her success in not embarrassing him at his boss’ house, at a coffee, and just in general.

  This was his life. His livelihood. His childhood dream. To be a Marine and serve his country until he retired. If it took a few years of wearing subdued clothing and keeping her goddess statues in a private room for the time being, she would survive.

  Later on she could bring in the sneak-attack.

  But until then, it seemed like keeping the place spotless and wearing boring outfits would have to do. She wanted this marriage to work more and more each day. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  ***

  Tim walked in, expecting to find the house back to its original clutter and chaos that he’d come to accept living with Skye. Clothes on the floor, shoes in a heap in the middle of the hallway just waiting for someone to trip over them, some candle burning that he couldn’t identify, music he’d never heard of before blaring. Instead, he found the place exactly as he’d left it the night before.

  Pristine. Quiet. Sterile.

  Had he really lived like that before? Tim glanced around the living room and dining area, marveling at how big the table looked when it wasn’t covered in discarded mail, draped with a drying bra or seven magazines with various pages ripped out. The kitchen was sparkling, no hint of a mess or a burned batch of some unidentifiable who-knows-what in the oven.

  It was completely devoid of all the little hints of Skye.

  A ball of ice formed low in his gut, and he darted to the back door to check the patio. No Skye. He bound up the stairs before remembering her car had been outside. She was obviously still in the townhouse. He forced himself to take the second half of the stairs extra slowly to make up for his unreasonable—and completely confusing—panic. Why was he so worried she would leave?

  He saw the light on in the master bedroom and breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was probably practicing some bizarre yoga pose or had placed herself in some restorative trance and hadn’t heard him come home.

  Instead, he found her asleep. Curled up in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers, she looked so small. And she still had her clothes from work on. Stark black pants molded to her legs, which were folded up, knees almost reaching her breasts. The white shirt was wrinkled and had some mysterious brownish-yellow stain all down one arm. But the color only served to show how pale her skin was. Not two months ago, she’d had a healthy tan, glowing from her time outside.

  Was it just from the exhaustion of her day? Could one shift make someone so pale? Maybe she was coming down with something. Twenty-four-hour bug. Or had he been missing cues that she was stretching herself too thin until now?

  Tim sat on the bed gently, doing his best not to wake her. One hand was contracted into a fist by her mouth, and he traced over the knuckles one at a time. Empty. Her fingers were empty. She always wore such big, chunky jewelry before. Rings so big he wondered how she could bend her fingers. Bracelets that clinked and jangled all the time and swallowed her tiny wrists.

  When had she stopped wearing them? The emptiness of her hands only served as a reminder that he’d never given her a wedding band.

  Nice move, dickhead.

  Tim vowed to take care of it the first moment he had time.

  Skye stirred, and a breathless little mewl escaped her parted lips. Tim was hard in an instant, but he was determined to let her rest. As she shifted, her face turned toward the waning afternoon light, he saw the faint darkness under her eyes.

  He was going to take better care of his wife. Starting now.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, smiling a little. “Hey, you. Good day at work?”

  Yeah, if you count a run-in with a jackass of a boss. “It was fine. How about you? Tiring?” He traced a finger down her cheek, heart clenching a little when her lips curved and she closed her
eyes as if savoring the touch.

  “You have no idea. What kind of parent brings their child to a four-star restaurant for a birthday party and expects the servers to entertain them? That’s why man invented Chuck E. Cheese.”

  Tim chuckled and leaned over for a kiss, rearing back at the smell. “Um, did you take a bath in the restaurant Dumpster?”

  She rolled her eyes and sat up. “That would be the combined effort of a dozen toddlers with little parental supervision. I eventually had to ask them to leave, then comp a dozen desserts for the poor people around them to make up for the mess and the noise.”

  “So, what’s for dinner… spaghetti?” When she gave him the evil eye, he laughed. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t resist. We can order Chinese or something.”

  Skye flopped back down on the pillow. He managed to hold back the wince at what her hair and clothing must be doing to the comforter. Barely. “Thank the goddess for that.” She leaned over and sniffed her shoulder, grimacing. “Ug, I really should shower first.”

  He wasn’t going to argue with that plan. But first… “Um, I might have forgotten to mention it, but there’s this thing next weekend. A Dining Out. It’s required for me to go, but you don’t have to go. Unless you want to,” he added quickly. “They can get boring and long sometimes. But one of the second lieutenants is the vice and he’s actually hilarious, so it might not be so bad…” He trailed off, watching as what little color had come back to her cheeks drain out. “Honestly, you don’t have to go.”

  “No. I’ll go.” She gave a smile, though it looked almost painful. “What do I need to wear?”

  “I’ll be in my dress uniform, so something that matches that.” When she raised a brow, he shrugged. “I don’t know. A dress. With sparkles?” he added as she sighed.

  “How helpful. I’ll call Beth and find out.”

  He debated how to ask the question, then just decided the hell with it. “What do you think you’ll wear?”

  Her eyes were averted, but he would have sworn she rolled them. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. I’ll figure something out.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant at all.” The taste of shoe leather was not the most appealing thing. How did he possibly explain? You don’t, that’s how. Let her wear what she wanted. Regardless of what she picked, she’d look beautiful. And if it happened to be something unique and a little off the beaten path, then he would just have fun watching the Colonel’s face turn tomato red and silently snicker about it.

  “I’ll let you shower, then we can order dinner. Sound okay?”

  She mumbled something that he assumed was an agreement, plus or minus a few colorful curses. Tim turned to leave but on impulse leaned down and brushed a light kiss against her lips. Skye’s eyes opened slowly, curiously.

  Had he been so stingy on simple affection? Passion, sure. Burning up the sheets wasn’t a problem anymore. But the easy, sweet stuff—did she miss it? He would fix that. Now.

  “Or maybe we can both shower, then get some food,” he murmured against her jaw.

  He felt her smile. “I like that plan much better.”

  ***

  Tim stood at the bottom of the stairs, still not sure why he followed Skye’s directions of not peeking at her outfit until it was too late. Not like she would have known if he glanced at it or anything. But it was likely the right choice. Too late now to debate how to handle whatever she chose, so regardless, he would go with the flow.

  Funny how that thought didn’t inspire the panic and sheer terror it did a few months ago. Going with the flow was about as natural to Tim as walking on the ceiling. But something about Skye’s very nature inspired him to just let go more often. To not worry. To trust.

  “Are you ready?” Skye called from upstairs.

  “Sure am.” Tim used the last few seconds to check in the mirror above the mantel that his ribbons were on straight. Nothing like having to use a ruler to get dressed. And for some reason, one wasn’t laying flat. He frowned as he tried to even it out just a little bit more. Why tonight of all nights was it—

  He stopped, breath sucked from his lungs, as he caught movement in the reflection. He turned to see Skye standing next to the couch, hands clasped in front of her in a very un-Skye-like pose.

  Her dress was gorgeous. Strapless, it cupped her breasts like a lover’s hand, gently supporting their weight. The neckline dipped in only slightly, giving a mere hint of the shadow between. The midnight material molded down her rib cage to her hips where it flared out gently to give the hourglass illusion. The black was relieved only by a hint of shimmer when the light hit the fabric right. A dainty silver necklace and teardrop-shaped earrings were her only accessories. Nothing showy, nothing flashy, nothing that spoke of life or the vibrancy that was Skye.

  But her hair—he breathed a sigh of relief—was one hundred percent his wife. The front made it appear as though she had tried to tame the heavy mass into submission with two clips pulling it away from her face. But her hair knew better. Curls rioted everywhere, moving and twisting with every slight movement of her head, as if they had a life of their own. As if they couldn’t stay still. Tim’s hands balled into loose fists, fighting the urge to pull the pins out and let it completely free. Let his fingers sink into the weight and hold her steady while he reminded her exactly how submissive she really wasn’t. He wanted to ask why black. Why choose midnight, when Skye was as bright as the sun.

  But instead all he said was, “You look beautiful.”

  The uncertain smile that tilted her lips bloomed into a relieved grin. She gave an exaggerated “Whew!” and swiped a hand across her forehead. “Had me worried there for a minute.”

  He shook his head. “No worries. Did Beth help you pick it out?”

  Skye nodded and picked up the handbag she’d placed on the side table earlier. “Yes, thank goodness. She showed me the dress she picked out and I went from there.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

  How the hell did he show her that she wasn’t an embarrassment at all? Where the fuck was his wife? The one who would have worn neon orange to the Dining Out without apology, and would have made it look damn good. There was no way to say that now without pissing her off. So he walked to her and kissed her forehead. “Not even close to embarrassed. I’m going to have to beat the guys off with a stick.”

  She laughed at that, her body even more relaxed now. “Well then, should we get the show on the road?” She walked to the door and paused, looking back at him over her shoulder.

  God. What a picture she made. That impish little smile peeking over one bare shoulder, curls framing her gorgeous face. Tim’s chest tightened in what he wasn’t ready to identify yet. Not quite. When he had more time, he’d think about the emotion that was more than pride, more than gratitude, more than lust. But tonight, he had a Dining Out to get through.

  Chapter 21

  She was drowning. There was no other word for it. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t handle the tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with the fit of her dress and everything to do with what her life had come to. What she’d talked herself into.

  She was one of a million. Though Beth had tried to convince her that colors were fine, Skye wasn’t so sure, and had picked black anyway. Black was universal, right? It was the color people wore when they wanted to show how serious they were. And she was serious about Tim. About making sure that she didn’t get in his way, screw up his career, ruin his chances for the future.

  Which, inevitably, would ruin their chance for a happy marriage.

  But as she looked out among the other dresses, so many in dark colors, but even a few in brighter hues, she just felt depressed. This outfit wasn’t her. The dress was nothing she would have picked out on her own. It was lovely. The cut flattered her figure. It was appropriate f
or the event. And it was all wrong.

  The dress wasn’t the problem. The dress was, in the most basic and complex way possible, the current symbol of how much she had changed.

  How happy could the marriage be if she was unhappy herself?

  The thought slammed into Skye like a tank.

  Beth walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “A few of us are over by the tables if you want to come have some girl time before everything begins. Cocktail hour always ends up being cocktail hours. At least two. Things never start on time.”

  Skye nodded and signaled to Tim where she was walking. Suzanne was a part of the group, as well as a few other women she remembered from the other gatherings.

  “You look wonderful,” Suzanne said. “I love that dress. I’m surprised you didn’t wear something colorful though. I was telling my husband I was looking forward to seeing what you chose!” Several women nodded, another one remarking she’d also been curious to see what Skye would wear.

  “You really need to take me shopping one day soon,” a third mentioned.

  Were they laughing at her? Or was she oversensitive?

  “She was staring at this gorgeous turquoise number that I begged her to try on. But she wasn’t having it,” Beth said.

  Skye brushed a hand down the front. “I just wanted to be appropriate.”

  Beth gave Suzanne a side glance, then said, “Well, you are. You look great.”

  The women continued talking, but Skye only half listened. She was losing her touch with everything. It was to the point where she couldn’t tell if the women were laughing at her, or with her anymore. She was going crazy. That was the only explanation. She’d let paranoia and doubt creep in until it coated every one of her senses. But Skye couldn’t escape the feeling of judgment lurking over her like a shadow.

  A rustling close behind had her looking over her shoulder.

  Oh. Bingo. The source of the judgmental black cloud.

  Mrs. Blackwater stood just behind Skye, slightly turned, sipping a drink, her eyes on something in the distance. But Skye knew without a doubt she was tuned into the conversation between the group of women, just waiting for some juicy tidbit, maybe even a word about herself. Though the conversation was benign, who knew what simple comment the woman could take and twist into some bit of untrue gossip. To save anyone from the embarrassment of being overheard, she said in a louder-than-necessary voice, “Mrs. Blackwater! You look lovely tonight!”