The young woman serving them was clearly upset by Paul’s terseness. Emily could see it in the woman's face as she returned the omelet to the back of the plane. So Emily made a perfectly reasonable comment to him about how he didn’t have to take out his bad mood on the people around him.
They got into a long, heated argument. Over absolutely nothing. Finally Emily was so frustrated and indignant that she’d just given up. The jet was able to take off at last, so she read Shakespeare for most of the trip while Paul made calls and worked on email.
She listened to him get in arguments with four different people on the phone, over various issues connected to his work that weren’t going the way he wanted them to go. From what she could tell from overhearing only one side of the conversations, none of the issues seemed all that important, but Paul definitely acted like they were.
By the time they landed at the Charlottetown Airport on PEI, Emily had absolutely no patience left with her husband. Because of the way the day had gone so far, she wasn’t at all surprised that there was a hold-up as they tried to get through customs. It wasn’t long, but it was enough for Paul to speak sharply to several more people.
She was actually a little embarrassed. He never raised his voice, and the words he said were always basically civil, but his tone and his expression made it clear he was displeased with everyone he encountered. Because they’d arrived on a private jet, airport employees were going out of their way to accommodate him and so were flustered when he was so obviously unhappy with them. Emily tried to smile sympathetically and speak kindly to whomever he was terse with, thanking them for everything they did to help.
She didn’t try to talk to Paul. Obviously, any attempt at friendly conversation would be futile.
When they’d gotten off the plane, Paul had tried to get her to put her leather satchel on the baggage cart with the rest of their luggage for the porter to wheel to the car. She’d refused, ostensibly because she’d wanted to have her laptop and Shakespeare with her for the car ride to the north of the island but mostly because he’d been so bossy about ordering her to give it up.
Now she was regretting her stubbornness, though. Her bag was really heavy with the laptop, Paul’s old hardback edition of Shakespeare, and several other potentially useful items she’d tucked away in it. Although the airport wasn’t large, they did have to walk a bit to get from their gate to where the car was going to pick them up.
She didn’t complain though, since she’d been the one who insisted on carrying the satchel.
If Paul was just walking at a normal speed, it wouldn’t matter. He was moving through the airport with long, impatient strides, however, and Emily could barely keep up.
Eventually, she stopped trying. She was out of breath. Her satchel was too heavy. There was no reason they needed to hurry. And Paul was infuriatingly grumpy.
She wasn’t going to run to keep up with him.
When he noticed she was no longer beside him, Paul turned around and walked back toward her.
She glared at him, but he just ignored it. Without speaking, he reached over and lifted the strap of her satchel off her shoulder and moved it onto his.
Then he just started walking again.
Emily stared in outraged astonishment at his lean back and long legs in his expensive clothes.
Why the hell had she ever thought it was a good idea to get married to such a presumptuous, bad-tempered man?
She was tempted to just sit down on the floor of the airport in well-deserved retaliation. She didn’t though, since it was a rather childish impulse. She walked after him, not trying very hard to catch up. As it happened, she did catch up because Paul had simply stopped in the middle of the hall, evidently waiting for her.
She hoped his waiting was a sign of remorse at his gruff mood, but he didn’t say anything when she fell into step with him. She didn’t say anything either, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to speak without biting his obnoxious head off.
They eventually made it to the hired car waiting for them, and Paul returned her satchel after they’d both climbed into the plush back seat.
Paul’s phone rang then, and Emily listened to him have a brief conversation with someone who had evidently called to tell him that a project he was working on was put on hold indefinitely.
When Paul hung up the phone, Emily slanted him a look of annoyed impatience.
“What?” he demanded, catching her expression.
She rolled her eyes and looked away, determined not to get into another argument with him, since nothing could be resolved until he was out of this mood.
“If you have something to say,” Paul said in a clipped tone, “then just say it.”
“If I have something to say!” she repeated in outrage, her patience snapping like a twig. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing is wrong with me. There have been a number of frustrations—”
“That’s ridiculous!” she interrupted. “You’re acting like people have engineered all these things on purpose to spite you. I don’t care if you’re in a bad mood. You can’t take it out on everyone around you. You’re acting like the world is out to get you today. I'm telling you it’s not!”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I do not think the world is out to get me. I’ve had a lot on my mind today, and things aren’t going smoothly, but there’s no reason for you to overreact just because I expect a certain level of service and—”
“A certain level of service? People are running in circles trying to accommodate you, and you’re treating them all like crap. I’m sorry if things have frustrated you today. I’m sorry if thunderstorms and computer problems and legal contracts signed years ago have all conspired to give you a very bad day. But you can’t do anything about them! It’s all out of your control. It’s out of your control! Why the hell are you getting so uptight about little things you can’t do anything about?”
Paul lips tightened ominously, but he just looked away from her, gazed out the window of the now-moving car.
She breathed raggedly and stared at his impassive profile. For no good reason, she suddenly recognized that he didn’t just look tense and grumpy.
He looked wounded somehow.
“Paul,” she began again, her voice softer and broken by a surge of concern. “Paul, what’s going on? Has something happened?” She wanted to scoot over and hug him, to press herself against him in some sort of comfort. But he was too stiff and standoffish, and she was sure her advances wouldn’t be welcome.
“Nothing has happened,” he said coolly, looking back at her with eyes that now gave nothing away.
“Then why are you in this mood? It’s not like you at all.”
“Can we just drop it?”
She flinched slightly at his clipped tone and withdrew immediately. She pulled her Shakespeare out of her satchel and opened it up to the Merry Wives of Windsor. She pretended to read.
* * *
Emily woke up in a comfortable bed in a picturesque room at an inn near the Prince Edward Island National Park on the north coast of PEI. Paul had gotten them a suite for the three days they’d be camping, just in case Emily got sick or decided she’d rather have a real bed and bathroom.
Emily wasn’t planning to use it, since she was determined to go through with their camping plans, but she hadn’t objected when Paul suggested they spend the afternoon in the suite so they could comfortably shower after traveling, she could rest, and he could get a little work done before they went to the campsite.
She had taken a long bath in a lovely, claw-foot tub and then had taken a two-hour nap. She was tired from the frustrating morning and still kind of worn from her latest bout of fever, and she’d slept harder than she usually did in the middle of the day.
When she woke up, she felt comfortable and drowsy. She glanced over at the clock and saw it was already four-thirty in the afternoon. They would have to get moving soon if they were going to get to the campsite and set everyt
hing up before dinner.
Reluctantly, she rolled out of bed, glancing idly in the mirror and disturbed by the sight of her tangled hair and sleep-flushed face. It was much cooler here than it had been in Philadelphia, so she’d put on an oversized sweatshirt after she’d gotten out of the shower, and it didn’t do anything to flatter her figure.
She tried to smooth her hair down, and then she wondered what Paul was doing. Maybe he was finally out of his bad mood.
With this hope, she got up and padded across the room wearing socks but no shoes. She opened the bedroom door and looked out into the main living area of the suite.
Paul was there, standing with his back toward her, looking out the window at the view of the coastline. He was holding his phone to his ear with one hand and combing his fingers through his hair in evident frustration with the other.
“No,” he gritted out to whomever he was speaking to. “That’s not good enough. I’ve told you for weeks now we’re on a very limited timeline, and I’m expecting real results.”
He sounded urgent, almost angry. Much more tense than with anyone else he’d talked to all day.
After the other person replied, Paul continued, “I don’t want to hear excuses. You told me the resources you would need to make this happen, and I’ve provided everything you requested. This is the most important thing on my radar. Do you understand? The most important thing. You can’t possibly think I’ll accept ‘we’re trying our best’ as an acceptable report.”
Emily had stepped out into the living area, but now she froze. She had no idea what Paul was talking about. She’d had no idea he was working on a project that was evidently so important to him.
She had no idea what it might be.
It bothered her that he had something going on in his life—something so important to him—that she was absolutely ignorant about.
After a long pause, Paul made a rough sound of frustration. “That’s not good enough. It is not beyond your control when I’m willing to provide you with whatever you need to control it. Listen to me. You will make this happen.”
Emily’s heart pounded frantically, and she wasn’t even sure why. This project—whatever it was—was ripping Paul apart. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the tense line of his neck and back.
“Fine,” he said, after the other person evidently told him something more acceptable. “A week from today I’ll be expecting to see some legitimate progress.”
He disconnected the call and kept staring out at the scenic view of the coastline and the blue-gray waves of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. She saw him take a long, shuddering breath, as if he were trying desperately to rein something in.
Her heart went out to him, no matter how grumpy and unreasonable he’d been today.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, moving over to him with an instinctive need to comfort.
Paul jerked visibly and whirled around to give her a cold glare. “Damn it, Emily. Tell me you’re there next time.”
She ignored the complaint and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. “Paul, please tell me what’s wrong.”
He gave a tight shake of his head and looked away from her, back out to the view from the window.
She slid her hand up to his face and made him look back down at her. “Paul, please.”
Something softened in his eyes. She saw it, but he was still holding his body far too tensely. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“But I do worry about it,” she insisted. “If it’s bothering you this much, then I do worry about it. Why can’t you tell me what it is?”
Paul took another slow, ragged breath. His eyes devoured her urgently, but his features were painfully impassive and his voice was strained as he spoke. “It’s just a project I’m working on. A project that I’m…I’m very invested in. I was really hoping there would be progress by now, but there’s…there’s just not.”
“I’m sorry. What’s the project?” she asked, gratified that he’d told her at least that much but really wanting to know more. Anything so important to Paul was necessarily important to her too.
He opened his mouth, as if he would tell her. Then he closed it again. He cut his eyes away from her face. “It’s complicated. And I can’t really go into it.”
“Okay.” She swallowed over her disappointment because he was obviously still so upset. “Can I help at all?”
He shook his head, and his features relaxed into a bittersweet smile. “No. Thank you, baby.”
She released a sigh and pulled him into a soft hug, overwhelmed by the compulsion of her tender emotions and something almost like fear. She tried to process the reality of how deep and complex and conflicted and haunted a man Paul really was.
Comforting him, taking care of him, being married to a man like him would never be easy or simple. Not if she tried to do it for real. It would be hard, littered with hidden landmines she would have to learn to avoid, full of long-standing walls she would somehow need to get past.
In some ways, Paul was almost simpler when she was sick. Then he showed her nothing but care, protection, and tenderness. It was exactly what she needed from him, and it was a real part of who he was at the core.
But it wasn’t the only part. He was so much more than just that. He had so many more frightening depths and mystifying complexities.
If she’d been planning to be alive for more than a matter of weeks, if she’d been expecting to spend months, years, decades as wife to Paul Marino, she might actually be a little panicked by the prospect.
But she could do it. She was sure she could be a good wife to him—a real wife. With a little more time and experience.
Not that it really mattered. Three months wasn’t long enough to work through all the barriers Paul had erected around his so sensitive soul. She would do whatever she could to make him feel better at any given moment. She could give him what he needed for today. And that was all she would ever be allowed to do.
It took Paul a minute, but he eventually returned her hug. When did, his arms tightened around her with a surprising intensity. She hugged him more tightly too, responding to the need she felt in his body.
When he pulled away, Emily was somehow sure he’d forced himself to do so, like he wasn’t allowing himself to take what he needed.
Her heart was still pounding, and her hands shook a little as she watched him go over to sit behind the desk with a mumbled thanks.
He was going back to work. Or pretending to work. Or whatever he was doing.
But he was hurting just as much as he’d been the minute before. She was getting better at reading him, but it was still sometimes so hard to do what her intuition prompted her to do.
This time, however, the compulsion was just too strong.
So, ignoring the sharp pangs of insecurity and nervousness that needled at her, she walked over resolutely to the desk and plopped herself down on Paul's lap.
He huffed in surprise. “Emily,” he began.
She didn’t want to hear him object to her position. She was afraid it would make her feel rejected. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him like she’d been doing earlier. “Surely you don’t need to work anymore today. You were supposed to be taking the weekend off.”
Paul’s body was incredibly tense, stiff, almost awkward, but his voice was dry as he murmured, “I don’t have regular vacation time. I’m still on probation, you know.”
“You deserve a vacation anyway. You won’t be able to work when we’re camping, so you might as well stop now.”
He evidently ignored her dubious logic and relented to her attempt to comfort him because he started to adjust her on his lap, until they both were more comfortable. Then his arms went around her again, just as tightly as before.
They just held each other for a few minutes. Emily felt the heat of his body, felt the hard lines of his chest against hers, felt the tension in his muscles gradually start to relax as his uneven, ragged breathing slowed down.
Her body responded strangely as his body softened against hers. An ache of desire clenched between her legs, growing even deeper as his body relaxed even more. It was an inexplicable reaction, since there was nothing sexual or even romantic about their embrace.
But she was definitely becoming aroused from the intimacy, the closeness, the entitlement with which Paul was holding her, and she shifted restlessly in his lap in response to the throbbing at her center.
Paul’s body felt softer now, except for the tightness of his arms around her. But, as she shifted, she felt another part of his body that was no longer soft.
She moaned throatily at the way the bulge in his trousers felt against her thigh. She rubbed herself against it instinctively.
“Baby, don’t,” Paul said thickly, after his breath had hitched.
“But I want to.” She moved both hands up to tangle her fingers through his thick hair. “Paul, I want to.” They’d only had sex the one time because she’d gotten sick the following day. Since he’d claimed to enjoy it, though, she assumed it wasn’t supposed to be a one-time event.
“I know.” He eased backward in his chair, trying to withdraw from her. “But we can’t.”
She stiffened with a sharp stab of hurt and disappointment. “You really don’t want to have sex with me ag—”
“I do,” he interrupted, his body almost painfully tense again. “I promise I do. But I can’t right now. I…I just can’t.”
Since he sounded serious—and rather upset—she dropped her hands to his shoulders. She also stopped trying to rub against his erection. “Why not?”
When he glanced away without responding, her fingers tightened on his shoulders reflexively. “Paul, you have to tell me.”
“You know the mood I’ve been in today,” he explained hoarsely, his face twisting slightly as if the words resisted being spoken. “I’m still in that same mood. I can’t take you to bed when I’m like this. I couldn’t restrain myself. I might…I might hurt you.”
Listed: Volume IV Page 4