Wife in Name Only

by Hayson Manning

  She pushed her hair behind her ears. “If you take the ten days, then who knows? You may even find the inner Rory.”

  He stopped and gave her a curious look, as if he was surprised more by her snark than by her words. “You’re staring at him.”

  She cocked her head to one side, slowed down and chewed over his words. A light, free feeling bloomed in her chest. “Yeah, maybe I am. Do you ever think you could live in a place like this?” She didn’t know why, but she held her breath.

  “Hell no.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with shock. “Being here for ten days is going to do my head in.” He frowned. “It isn’t just about geography. It’s the whole way of life that I just don’t get.”

  “Seriously, you don’t get this place?” She stopped, anger choking her response. Her hands on her hips, she stared at him, really stared, and what she saw had her shaking her head at the bewilderment and anger in his eyes.

  “You really don’t get this place. I see that. You don’t see the serenity, the way of life here that isn’t ruled by a timetable or a deadline. No people cutting you off to get to their destination five seconds earlier.”

  She felt the warmth of the sun kiss her skin through the canopy of centuries-old trees that grew an inch a year. Her hands went from her hips to hang loosely at her side and she couldn’t help the smile that curled her lips. “This place. It’s heaven on earth. This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

  His eyebrows disappeared under his dark, messy hair. He studied her. She tilted her head and studied him right back.

  Time paused for a beat.

  “We couldn’t be more disconnected than we are right now,” she said quietly.

  He broke the contact and slipped on his mask of indifference.

  She walked away from him and heard him following a few paces behind. Silence. Why speak when there was nothing more to say?

  Her office building came into view. The words Only As Long As Necessary were stenciled above the door.

  “I’ll be around if you need anything. You know where the kitchen is if you get hungry. I’ve got stuff I need to get done.” She glanced out at the waves landing with a gentle sigh on the shore. With the hurricane having hit Niuafo’ou, and air traffic and yachts being rerouted, there was no way the honeymoon magazine photographer would be arriving.

  She closed her eyes.

  Hang on a minute.

  Back the Polaroid camera up, Batman.

  Her eyes flew open. If Honeymoon Heaven were delayed at least she could redo the photos for a brochure. Maybe even stick some on her desk of her and Rory to fool the next batch of honeymooners.

  She smoothed her hands down her towel. “While you’re here, would you mind if I took photos of us?”

  “What sort of photos?” he asked slowly, his body going on alert and stiffening. Eyes wary. Going through his mental checklist before committing.

  She fiddled with the edge of her towel, trying for the world to look nonchalant when surely he could hear her heart booming all super-bass in her chest. “Photographs for a new brochure. Maybe some for my desk. Updated ones.”

  When he stared at her, it was as if he could reach in and read her mind. His beautiful baby blues narrowed. “Photoshop memories, you mean?”

  “Yeah.” Her mind spun. “I could show you the island and you could work on a tan and get all, you know, yoga Zen-master Rory.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I’ll work it into my schedule and let you know some available dates.”

  “Let me know.” She shook her head. Nothing like being a calendar entry. With a resigned sigh, she turned and walked into the day filled with happy sunshine, uncomfortably conscious of the burn of his eyes on her back.

  …

  “Are you sure?” Rory yelled down the telephone a long, agonizing two hours later. “It can’t possibly be sooner? If it’s a question of money…” He listened to the muffled reply. “Okay. If anything changes, can you please phone me at this number or at my office in Los Angeles?”

  He let out his breath in a long hiss, refusing to give in to the panic rolling around his gut like a bad burrito. Instead, he concentrated on the facts.

  Zoe was right. There were no charter planes available. He glanced at the dot on the map that hung on her office’s wood-panel wall. This island didn’t even qualify for dot status. He pushed his hands through his hair and stared longingly at the west coast of the US.

  His personal assistant Hillary had contacted people in Fiji, neighboring Samoa, and even Vanuatu, but he would have to wait for Smithy to make an appearance. Nobody else was available. Nobody. He’d even offered up plasma and a kidney to no avail.

  Hillary had asked after Zoe and told him to give her a big hug. He’d grimaced when he remembered the last time he had touched Zoe.

  That had been a bit bigger than a hug.

  He rubbed his jaw. He really should apologize for lasting all of four seconds. They’d always been nuclear in the sex department. It didn’t escape him that she’d come twice. But his performance with Zoe had never been that abridged. Physically, they still had it going, even if it was at a cellular-only level, and, though it had lacked a sense of connection, he could live without that. If she was up for no-feelings-sex in the next ten days, hell yeah. Count him in. His dick gave a yee-haw twitch, but he put it into time-out.

  Then the quiet squeezed in around him and a restless feeling had him pacing the small space. He frowned, trying to remember the name of the resort.

  That’s right. Last Stop, Paradise.

  A snort of laughter burned the back of his throat. Paradise, his ass. This was as far away from his version of perfection as he could imagine. Paradise was knowing that no matter what happened, if the banks failed, if the Dow Jones tumbled, he had enough money and investments in offshore accounts to never be poor again. That was paradise. A remote island with no real Internet access and shitty mobile reception was closer to paradise lost.

  He sat and stared at the phone, willing it to ring. He straightened pencils and put them in ascending order. Then he sharpened them. He sighed, put his feet on the desk, and tried for a power nap, but abandoned the idea when the sound of yet another ABBA song blasted through the open window.

  He closed his eyes and blew out his breath in a long hiss. The racket competed with the happy chatter of insects. Little fuckers never shut up. Although it shouldn’t, the noise pissed him off. This place was all happy sounds and swishing waves and sappy ABBA songs and probably freaking rainbows and pots of gold.

  He swung his feet off the desk, following the sound of “Waterloo.”

  As if the island sensed his mood, a coconut tree chose that moment to drop a payload two feet from him.

  He jumped as the heavy brown orb thumped the ground.

  “Screw this.” He hurried toward what Zoe referred to as the hub and heartbeat of the resort, the squat building that housed the kitchen and dining room. He stepped through the open door and walked down the hall toward the sound of Zoe singing. He ended up in the kitchen. Zoe had showered and changed into a pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs that would get a blind man in trouble. A blue ribbed tank hugged her curvy frame and showed off a hint of lace bra strap. Blood roared in his ears. Lacy underwear on his wife was the hottest sight on the planet.

  Wife in name only.

  The tension of the morning had disappeared from her shoulders. Her posture was relaxed. She hip-swayed to the song, with her hair a cascade of softness down her back and her bare feet tapping out a beat.

  She stood surrounded by chopping boards, fruit and different lined up jugs. A huge industrial fridge had love heart magnets on it with notes and hundreds of letters of the alphabet in a square at the top. He peered forward and read.

  Live your life. Love. Be kind to your soul. Find what you’re looking for.

  Underneath he read the words stuck there.

  Zoe most definitely has.

  He pulled h
is eyes away and scanned the rest of the room.

  Multicolored bowls filled with tropical fruit sat on gleaming benches. An unplugged toaster with a piece of forgotten toast lay off to the side. It wasn’t so much a kitchen attached to a restaurant. It was Zoe’s kitchen.

  The air pooled heavily in the bottom of his now too-tight lungs.

  He’d forgotten she was happy in a kitchen. She had loved to cook. Nothing had made Zoe happier than trying new recipes. Some had worked, some hadn’t. She’d wait for him to get home. There he’d be met with the smells of garlic and rosemary, just out of the oven bread, and sticky toffee pudding. If it was a Thursday she’d have gone to the Farmers’ Market and be juicing whatever fruit was in season. He used to rush home to find out what she’d cooked, baked, or juiced. They’d talk about their respective days over a glass of wine. But as his work hours became longer, he’d taken to grabbing something on the way home. Finally, she had stopped cooking altogether.

  He pushed away the unease that had his heart in a mini-chokehold.

  He stepped closer, close enough to catch a whiff of her sweet floral-yet-musky ‘do me now’ scent. “Is this more Hunka Burning Love?”

  She jumped backwards, and they collided. He grabbed her around her waist, his palm flat against her belly. Her skin heated under his touch. Again.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he murmured into her hair.

  She jumped again, this time like she’d fallen against an electric fence. She turned to him with huge eyes. “Sorry. I’m not used to anyone being here.” She grinned and the unease in her face disappeared.

  “What about Simi? Isn’t he around much?” The thought of her alone on the island with only Cinderella as a backup curled his fists. He didn’t like the idea of her being here unprotected against the wild and isolated from help.

  “I’m a big girl. Simi’s around. Not so much when the resort is closed. If I need him I go to the village. I can walk it in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, it’s just me and Cinders.” A shadow passed over her face. “It’s pretty safe around here. There’s only been one incident.” She glanced to where her dog lay asleep in the corner, and a flash of disquiet lit her denim colored eyes. “And I’ve got that under control.” She tilted her chin and stared at him.

  He held her gaze, seeing uncertainty, a little bit of fear, and a whole lot of pissed off. “What do you mean?”

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I came across a guy beating Cinderella nearly to death. I didn’t think. I just picked up a stick and hit the spade out of his hands, grabbed Cinderella, and took her to the local police officer. He questioned the guy who said he had no idea what had happened to his dog. I don’t know how it got out that I’d take his balls off with a spade if he came near her again, but it did. And he became a laughing stock. A woman took away his dog and his manhood. Male pride runs deep over here.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “He said he’d come home and found his dog like that. His word over mine, but he and I know what happened. I would, by the way, take his balls off with a spade if he came near her again.”

  No dog deserved a beating, but Cinderella? What the hell kind of asshole would abuse a dog as sweet as her? His hands curled into fists at the thought that Zoe had run into a freak like that. “Where’s the fucker live? I’ll go and rip his arms off.”

  She grasped his arm. “Relax, caveman. It’s all good.”

  He stared down at her amused face and forced out a breath. “If you say so, Zo.”

  She gripped his arm a fraction tighter then let go.

  “Yeah, Rory. I do. All’s good.”

  He forced his muscles to relax and made a mental note to ask Simi about the dude. Then he’d track him down and show him how it felt to be really afraid.

  “So what is this?” He picked up a nearby glass, dipped it into the bowl, and let the icy combination of pineapple, mango, and mint slide down his throat. “That’s good. Be better with bourbon.”

  “Yeah, but these are virgin drinks.” She tapped the side of the glass. “It’s missing something, and I can’t figure out what it is.” She dipped a glass into the bowl and without it touching her lips poured it into her mouth. A groan of pleasure purred out of her throat. “Passionfruit,” she murmured, seemingly completely oblivious to the effect she had on him.

  Blood swept through his body in a heated rush. All parts of his anatomy responded, and he had to use every bit of self-control to haul on the brakes.

  Thinking with big head today.

  Zoe’s journal sat open, pages filled with her familiar squiggly handwriting. One entry caught his eye. “This one’s called The Breakup Cocktail. The quick-step, two-step, right-out-of my-life cocktail.” He closed the book. “Interesting title.”

  “I made that one when I got here.”

  “Taste good?” He held his breath.

  “Yeah it does,” she said in a quiet voice, her eyes slowly rising to meet his.

  He took that front and center. “How’d you find this place, Zo?”

  “I saw an ad in the LA Times.”

  He watched as the light in her eyes died. Her face froze.

  Guilt ripped him a new one. He’d seen that look on her face before she’d left. She used to turn away when she didn’t think he saw the deadness in her face. Silence had become their constant companion though they used to be able to finish each other’s sentences. But toward the end he’d seen her frozen look more and more and had blocked it out. Why? His blood chilled. Plain and simple truth? He had not wanted to know. Figured whatever she had going down in her life would resolve itself in time if he left her alone. Turned out what she had going down in her life was him and the end of their marriage.

  Shit.

  Sweat trawled across his body. She carried on cutting up fruit, the light in her eyes returning.

  She’d left the bad place that had shut her down and had returned to her happy place.

  He stilled and looked into her lovely eyes: they didn’t judge him or want anything from him.

  Nothing. Not one freaking thing did she want or need from him. He fought the seizing of his lungs and pulled in short breaths.

  “I used Mom’s inheritance.” A touch of color returned to her ashen cheeks. “I knew we were just a boat load of hurt about to happen. I took counseling classes in L.A. to find myself, basically.” She rolled her eyes. “I know, right? But it worked.” She paused. “Then I found this place, and I think it found me. This is where I belong.”

  “You’re truly happy here, Zo?” He didn’t need to wait for her answer. Happiness bubbled in her eyes. Her skin glowed, and, if she were in a cartoon, there would be bluebirds circling her head and fawns staring up at her.

  “Yeah, I really am.”

  Rory rubbed a hand across his chin, his brain short-circuiting. “I didn’t call or e-mail. I just kind of thought if I gave you time, it would all work out.”

  “Gotta love the caveman in you.” She patted his hand and turned away to clean up all her fruit.

  He ignored the sudden jolt that spiked up his arm. She took a deep breath. “I’m starved. What about you. Hungry?”

  His stomach, as if alerted, sent a growl of hunger that echoed across the room. It knocked out the sound of “Mamma Mia” coming from her iPod speakers.

  “Come on. There’s fresh baked bread cooling in the dining room.” She looked over her shoulder, her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks. “Were you able to get a yacht to come pick you up earlier?”

  “No.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll forgo lunch. Your computer takes five minutes to boot up, and that’s with encouraging words.”

  She laughed. “His name is Herbert. If you pat him and whisper sweet words, he might go faster.” She smiled. “I’m around if you need me. Otherwise, see you at dinner.” Her eyes slid to his. “In case I don’t see you, here’s the key to bungalow four. From here, turn left and follow the path. It’s the last bungalow. Everything you need is there.”

  He pick
ed up the creamy clamshell with the number four etched into the side in gold. A single key swung from a gold chain. “Why number four?” He scratched his head.

  “Why not?” Her clear blue eyes held his for a long pulse before she walked out of the kitchen with her hair bouncing on her shoulders. His gaze was glued to the gentle sway of her hips before he ripped it away and returned to the office. The sun was pounding the back of his neck with the intensity of a sledgehammer. A huge bumblebee crash-landed on a pink hibiscus flower and might have toppled over if not for its sticky grip on the petal.

  I know how you feel, buddy. I know how you feel.

  Time to get his mind back on track.

  Ten days.

  He could do ten days.

  What could go wrong in ten days?

  Chapter Four

  Hot sex with the ex yesterday had forced Zoe’s head on the pillow at nine last night. She’d slept until Cinderella whined at the door at five with an I really gotta go look on her face. Just as she’d managed to unbolt the last of the seven locks, her dog had raced out the door.

  Cotton candy clouds smudged the powder blue sky. She breathed in the salty, mango-stained air. Fishermen chugged out toward the reef in boats filled with nets. The ripples radiated outward, disturbing the sleepy waves. Insects and birds yawned into life. Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze that kissed the leaves on the path and pulled them into a gentle sway. She gave herself a squeeze and thanked every star in every universe that she’d found this place. She glanced at the office. There was Rory with the phone attached to his ear. He was prowling like a caged tiger that was unable to see the beauty of his surroundings.

  She shook her head. Even at this hour of the morning, he was barking at some poor soul. She could hear the anger in his low growl.

  Still the same old Rory.

  She went inside and changed from an oversized t-shirt into her running gear. She cleaned her teeth, and pulled her hair back. She walked back outside and pulled up her big-girl pants.