The Marriage Debt

by Waltz, Vanessa

  It looked painful as fuck. Despite our issues, I didn’t like to see him suffer.

  I tiptoed to the fridge and grabbed an ice pack, some Advil, and a glass of water. Carefully, I arranged them on the table next to his chair. Without making a sound, I left his side.

  "Where are you going?"

  His voice launched at me from behind. I whirled around, finding him sitting upright.

  "Crap. You scared me.”

  Ethan unscrewed the bottle and dumped two pills onto his palm. He tossed them into his mouth and swallowed, his eyes heavy with fatigue.

  "Answer the question."

  "We have a cake tasting." I seized the ice from the table and offered it to him. “You need to get the swelling down.”

  "Go.” Contempt darkened his voice. “Pick whatever you want."

  I didn’t expect him to come with me, looking like that, but it annoyed me. He left the wedding planning to me, even though getting engaged wasn’t my choice.

  “Take it,” I said, and he finally grabbed the pack from my hand. "How are you feeling?"

  "Like I got my ass kicked." Ethan’s foot slammed into the glass wall as his cheeks flushed dark red. "What do you think?"

  Lashing out at me was par for the course, but it stabbed nonetheless. Why did I bother with him? Soon he wouldn’t have anyone to give him cold compresses and Advil.

  I turned to leave. Ethan grabbed my wrist.

  Our eyes crashed, his blues as frigid as the Arctic. He pulled me close, his touch gentle. His thumb caressed my hand in a silent apology.

  A thrill of rage ran through me.

  I wanted to slap him.

  His spur-of-the-moment apologies were always calculated manipulations. They changed nothing. He’d hurt me. He’d continue to hurt me. And the butterflies that soared when he touched me were dead.

  Ethan plucked off their wings long ago.

  * * *

  Cake tasting was a welcome change from my routine, even if it was a waste of time. At least I didn’t have to worry about being on for Ethan’s friends. Sophie-Ann’s Cakes was a cute bakery not far from my restaurant in Greenwich Village.

  I left the cab and ducked under the business’ cream and pink awning. A honeycomb pattern was etched into the white walls in gold. Dark concrete sprawled under my feet. A drink menu was scrawled onto a giant mirror, which made the space seem bigger than a shoebox.

  A woman in a leopard print blouse greeted me with an ear-to-ear grin. She stepped from behind the counter. "You must be Naomi. I’m Maria."

  "Nice to meet you." I shook her hand with a sad smile. "Unfortunately, my fiancé is a little under the weather."

  "Oh no! He’s not coming?"

  "No, but it’s fine. He’s not a cake person, anyway."

  Maria’s face fell. She felt sorry for me. I wanted to tell her that we’d both have a better morning without him.

  "We can reschedule." she offered. "Wouldn’t be a problem."

  "No, that’s okay."

  Maria’s gaze flicked over my head as the door swung open. "Oh, is that him?"

  What?

  My heart slammed in my throat when I met a familiar, tawny gaze.

  Even though it was early, Graham looked camera-ready, like a model about to hit the runway. A navy blazer covered a white button-up shirt, which tucked into a pair of dark denim. Besides the bruise welling on his jaw, he looked happy to be here.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  "Sorry I’m late, sweetheart." He pulled me into his arms, his mouth dragging over my cheek to kiss the shell of my ear. "Did you start without me?"

  "No, you’re perfectly on time!" Maria was delighted, clapping her hands. "She’d just finished telling me you were sick."

  He’s not my fiancé.

  All I had to do was tell her, but I was too stunned by the boldness of his lie. She had already bought it, swooning at his attachment to me.

  "Yeah," Graham moaned, pointing to the bruise. "Some asshole did this last night. Stupid bar fight. I was trying to protect my fiancée, and things got a little out of hand."

  “Ohmigod!” Maria gasped. “Did you file a police report?”

  “Nah. I got him back pretty good.” He grinned at me, nudging my side. “Didn’t I?”

  "Ethan, we don’t have to get into what happened."

  "Right. Sorry, babe." He swooped down with an apologetic smile and kissed my head.

  I bristled as he wrapped his arm around my waist and anchored at my hip.

  "So what now?"

  This was a fucking disaster. Ethan was crystal clear—Cut him out of your life.

  "Follow me," she said. "I have everything ready."

  "Perfect." Graham’s hand drifted lower, almost touching my ass. “Something wrong?”

  I refused to go along, and Graham turned his head. His puzzled frown filled me with bile. With Maria a few steps ahead, I couldn't tell him to fuck off.

  I was stuck.

  Gritting my teeth, I headed passed rows of industrial-sized stand mixers and flour-caked surfaces into a walled-off dining room. A dozen pieces of cake sat on porcelain plates, neatly arranged by flavor.

  We sat, Graham hell-bent on playing the part of my adoring fiancé. While Maria prattled on about buttercream icing versus fondant, he listened attentively and caressed my hand under the table.

  “What are your most popular flavors?” he asked.

  “Bourbon vanilla bean and raspberry swirl.” Maria pointed them out. “Lemon, as well.”

  He kept asking her questions, getting so specific that I wondered if I'd walked through a wormhole into another universe where I was engaged to Graham, and not Ethan. If I hadn't, it was a beautiful dream. Graham's never-ceasing attentions ramped up warmth in my body. He brought my hand to his lips. He kissed my cheek.

  Maria beamed. “Go ahead and help yourselves.”

  He pulled the first slice toward him, speared a bite, and hovered the piece near my lips. A mocking grin spread across his face. "Try it."

  I will kill you.

  I opened my mouth and wanted to die. He slid the fork inside. My tongue burst with the citrus flavor.

  "How is it?" he asked, disguising a chuckle. "Good?"

  “Mmm.” I hoped Maria took my fury for embarrassment.

  "Here’s another one." Grinning, he brought a red-velvet slice near my face.

  Prick.

  I pushed it away. "I can feed myself, Grah—Ethan."

  "You guys are so sweet." Maria chuckled as she poured tea. "How did you propose?"

  I’m not answering that. I faced Graham, whose attention swung to me.

  "I did it in Vegas," he said, gazing at me with a gorgeous smile. "At the Bellagio fountains. That’s where we met. I was supposed to fly out on Sunday, but I changed my plans to be with her longer.”

  “Wow, no kidding?”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t leave Vegas without her. I had an inkling, and I was right.” Graham turned to me, face splitting with a grin. “Wasn’t I, babe?”

  He was the one who’d left me. Rubbing my nose in it was the cherry on top of my piece of shit day.

  What a bastard.

  He waited for me to respond, but emotion had seized my throat. I tried to swallow the lump—couldn’t—so I nodded. She pushed the stack of napkins closer. I choked out a thank you, and Graham swept me into his arms.

  “Happens all the time.” Maria chuckled before turning her attention to the bell tinkling in the front. "You’ll have to excuse me for a few. Please take your time. I’ll only be a moment."

  She walked out of the room.

  Graham’s good mood evaporated as I yanked away from him. "You’re an unbelievable ass.”

  He regarded my tears with a cold fury. "I saw an opportunity, and I took it."

  “Congratulations, you’ve upset me.” I blotted my eyes with a napkin, avoiding his gaze. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you, Naomi. I am trying to get you back.”
>
  So he does it like this?

  I glanced down the hall, looking for Maria. "You have some fucking nerve. You know that?"

  "Ethan doesn’t scare me."

  There were probably only a handful of people in this city who could claim that and mean it. Graham was one of them.

  I was not.

  "Naomi, I meant every word I said last night."

  “So did I.”

  “Liar.” He thumbed my chin and swept closer. I watched him through half-closed lids, ready to shove him, but my resistance was weakening. He made me burn.

  "You owe me a kiss."

  "I owe you nothing."

  "Oh, I beg to differ. I am owed five years of your body—"

  I slapped him, my palm striking his unwounded side. "You won’t talk to me that way."

  He smiled as my handprint flushed his cheek. "Get up. There’s a car waiting for us outside."

  My heart jammed in my throat. "Us?"

  "I’m taking you to my place."

  "I can’t do that." Even if I wanted to. "Ethan will flip out."

  "He’s no longer your concern."

  I stared at Graham, taken aback by the menace in his voice. "I don’t know you. And I don’t want to."

  "Well, you won’t have to. All you have to do is wave and smile at the cameras." Dimples carved into his cheek when he stood. "I can’t drag you into the car in broad daylight, unfortunately, but eventually you’ll run out of options. Think about it."

  "About what? Going home with a man who left me stranded at an airport?"

  "I’m not the only one who reneged on a promise.” He gripped my chair and swung close, his breath tickling my ear. “Either way, you will be my wife for the foreseeable future."

  I couldn’t just leave my fiancé and jump into Graham’s arms. Ethan would never tolerate such a betrayal.

  He kissed my cheek again. "Don’t make me wait too long, or I’ll decide for you."

  I seized his collar as he pulled away, and the button snapped. My fingers grazed his chest accidentally. My face grew hot. Graham flattened my hand against his heart. I didn’t look at him, but I heard the smile in his voice.

  "Tell Ethan I said hello."

  Graham

  My last breakfast with Naomi was a snapshot of paradise. I woke up late, my body sore from thrusting all night, and the three nights before that. Naomi sat at the kitchen table, her back to me. Pale morning light washed over arms and her canary-yellow tank. A mug of black coffee spiraled steam into the air.

  I rolled my palm over her shoulder and kissed her head. She leaned into my touch, her lips a perfect shade of pink. She flushed with pleasure, smiled, and a vision of us slammed into my head. I saw us sharing many breakfasts in my apartment, in hers, abroad, in hotels. She was what I needed. Naomi had every quality I couldn’t find in well-bred women: selflessness, confidence, and warmth.

  I’d found her.

  At least, that’s what I’d thought.

  I snapped to the present.

  Every square inch was crammed with tables and chairs in the black-and-white themed Italian restaurant. Family photos stuck to the walls. Naomi’s features shone from a lanky teenager standing beside a man with the same shock of dark hair. It was the only touch of authenticity in an otherwise clinical restaurant.

  A playlist of pop music from the eighties wasn’t enough to combat the lifelessness, but business wasn’t slow. Twenty-somethings drank cocktails from mason jars and sipped espresso served in tiny glass cups. My back protested from the hardness the metal chairs.

  Naomi drifted among the tables, stunning in her low-diving black dress and cabernet-red lips. She paused, introduced herself as the owner, and made small talk with guests. Chaos from the kitchen occasionally spilled into the dining room. Naomi zipped to the back and out again, picking through plates sent back, meticulously tasting sauces, scolding her hostess for texting.

  My waiter returned with a steaming plate of pot roast that made hunger claw my stomach. He refilled my glass while I cut into the tender beef. It fell apart and melted in my mouth.

  Damned good.

  "How's it tasting?" The waiter wiped the bottle's lip with a handkerchief and set it to my table.

  “May I speak to the owner, please?"

  He nodded, looking grim. “Right away, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  Word must’ve spread that a Hawthorne was in the restaurant. Those who weren’t terrified of me were looking for handouts but I didn’t give a shit about flexing my power.

  Naomi hadn’t noticed my presence. Her eyes skipped over me as though I was just another suit. When my waiter approached Naomi, who swept breadcrumbs off a table, she froze, scanning the room. Our eyes crashed into each other. Her panic contrasted the server’s beaming smile. She didn’t want to come over. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

  Too fucking bad, honey.

  Together, they made their way to my table. My waiter approached. Poor bastard was shaking. He probably thought I was going to bitch about undercooked meat.

  “You wanted to see me?” she barked.

  My waiter’s eyes widened.

  “Yes." I smiled, breezing past her rudeness. "I’m having a wonderful meal and I’d like to compliment the food and service.”

  “My pleasure."

  He grimaced at her stiff delivery. “We’re honored to have you in our restaurant, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Would you mind getting a glass for my wife?"

  "Absolutely," he chirped.

  He completely missed that I referred to Naomi, who was rapidly turning the color of a beet.

  "Sit down, Mrs. Hawthorne."

  My waiter stared at us. "Uh."

  She glared at me. "It’s Watson."

  "Not according to our marriage certificate.”

  Naomi crossed her arms. I wasn’t sure which was more entertaining. Naomi’s refusal to play along, or my waiter’s confusion.

  He gaped at her. “I’ll leave the bottle, shall I?”

  “Perfect.” I stood, pulling out a chair for Naomi. "Please, join me."

  My server poured another two glasses before she objected. “It’s on the house, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “Thank you.”

  Naomi’s winged eyes narrowed as she took her seat.

  Soft candlelight kissed her olive skin as she settled into the glow. She leaned closer, shadows darkening her cleavage. Thick, ebony waves spilled onto one shoulder, pinned by a jeweled clip. She was deliciously furious.

  "You’ve thoroughly embarrassed me."

  "That wasn’t my intention, sweetheart. I’m sorry." My fork speared another slice of perfectly cooked beef. I popped it into my mouth, savoring the rich flavors cut with the acidity of tomatoes. “This is amazing, by the way. One of the best stracottos I’ve ever had.”

  Naomi worked to conceal how much she enjoyed hearing that.

  “Thanks.”

  “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  A real smile broke her melancholy. “My dad. He’s an incredible cook. This used to be his restaurant.”

  “I remember you mentioning it. Your dad’s legacy.”

  “Not quite.” She fidgeted, looking impatient. "Look, I’m glad you like the meal, but you need to leave."

  "No," I said flatly. "I’m enjoying the company too much."

  "What are you getting out of this?"

  "Dinner with the missus." I offered her the plate. "Would you like to share?"

  "No, thank you."

  “Come on. You look like you could use some sustenance.”

  “I can’t be seen with you,” she hissed. “Get out.”

  I ignored that. “What did you mean, earlier? Isn’t this the restaurant your dad used to run?”

  “It’s not ours anymore.”

  “I must’ve seen you criticize five different employees while you were here. If you’re not running things, who is?”

  Naomi’s eyes shone with dread. She made a fist as though she wish
ed she could put it through someone.

  “Who else? Ethan.”

  My stomach leadened. “He bought Loretti’s.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. We were on the brink of closing our doors for good. The restaurant hadn’t been doing well. It needed new everything—equipment, staff, a design overhaul.” Exhaustion curled her shoulders. “I didn’t want to close it, so I put it up for sale. Ethan bought it against my wishes.”

  I could’ve figured out the rest of the story, but Naomi continued as though determined to purge it from her system.

  “He got involved in the business. Ethan only approved changes he wanted. I had to fight for every fucking detail. Now I’m stuck working in a restaurant that no longer resembles what my family built.”

  What a prick.

  A ripple of hot rage burned through me. Naomi sipped the wine, staining the rim with her lipstick.

  She swallowed hard. "Thanks for listening, but you need to leave."

  "I’m not going anywhere."

  "Forget about me, Graham. It shouldn’t be that hard." An acid tone crept into her voice. "You had no problem leaving me five years ago."

  "That’s where you’re wrong."

  I’d tried to forget her, but details came to me like wisps in the dark. I’d walk through a department store, inhale juniper, and memories of Naomi’s hair twisted around my fist slammed into my head.

  Naomi was taken aback. Her mouth parted with a question until the curiosity vanished. "You sent me a card to end things on the day we were supposed to leave together." Venom lashed from her words and stung my chest. "And now you're here. Did you think I'd want anything to do with you?"

  She didn’t understand. The choice was robbed from me. By the time I returned to Vegas, she was gone. Telling her the truth—unpacking her relationship with Ethan—wasn’t a conversation for a public place.

  "I want to tell you everything, but I can’t. Not here." I took her hand and folded it in my palm. "Leaving you wasn’t my choice. I returned as soon as possible, but you were gone."

  "I can't deal with this right now." Naomi's hand twitched in mine. Mist gathered in her gaze, but she blinked it away furiously. "None of it makes sense."