The Marriage Debt

by Waltz, Vanessa

  "You killed him?"

  "Christ, Naomi." He shook his head, laughing. "I bribed two local cops to take a walk, and they locked me into his cell. Then I beat the shit out of him."

  What kind of state had he left him in?

  "It wasn’t a fair fight, but neither was mine. I paid him back." Ethan grabbed my wrist, fingers biting into my skin. "Go ahead, say it again. I’m a monster, right?"

  "You are!" I screamed. "You’re a fucking disaster. A ruthless, unfeeling bastard. You’re brothers, for Christ’s sake!"

  "He is not my fucking brother!"

  I launched from his arms, startled by his wild rage. I lost my footing and slammed into the curb. My foot slipped, I whirled to regain my balance, and a sharp pain seared through my ankle.

  I cried out as I hit the ground. Heat radiated from my ankle, and when I applied pressure, it was white-hot agony. My arms shook, and I willed myself not to cry.

  Ethan breathed hard, his stony facade crumbling into shame.

  * * *

  I hobbled back to the villa. Once there, I hopped on my good foot to my room, but Ethan wouldn’t let me lick my wounds in private. Ethan pushed himself against the wall, looking utterly miserable.

  "I think it’s a sprain," I said.

  "Great."

  For the first time, I wondered what made him close off to the world. What turned him into this anguished creature? How did he grow up without a heart?

  Maybe there was a cure. Compassion.

  I sat next to him. Ethan’s wary gaze widened when I took his face. He drew away at first, confused, but I didn’t let him go. I wanted him to see that I meant every word.

  "I forgive you, Ethan. For everything."

  "How charitable of you."

  "Holding onto hate makes me sick. I don’t want it anymore. I want to be free. I want it for you, too." I watched his throat bob up and down as he swallowed. "Because I feel so sorry for you."

  "Fuck you."

  He smiled, but it was so hollow that my pity for him deepened. He couldn’t hide his emptiness.

  "I hope you find happiness. I mean it. But you’ll never find it with me."

  He stiffened when I pulled him into a hug. After a few seconds, his arm slid across my back and squeezed hard. It was strangely familiar and yet devoid of romantic attachment. He seized my wrist before I moved away and leaned into my touch. His hand enveloped mine.

  The mask slipped from Ethan’s face. He looked hopelessly lost and wounded.

  "I’ll take you back."

  Thank God.

  I disengaged from him and stood.

  When I left, Ethan’s head still faced the floor.

  Naomi

  I was going home. If only I could stop vomiting.

  I dashed into the bathroom and heaved saliva. The gut-wrenching nausea would not subside. Miserable, I sat on the bathroom floor. I hugged my legs and shivered. For hours, I alternated between the fetal position and retching into the toilet.

  When dawn scattered pink light over the tiles, Ethan found me huddled on the floor.

  "Jesus, how long have you been here?"

  "All night," I groaned.

  He touched his hot hand to my forehead. "Sick again?"

  “I’m fine. Just take me home.”

  "Doctor, first," he insisted. "Otherwise, you’ll be miserable in the car. We can—”

  “No! I don’t want. I—”

  Another wave of nausea gripped me. Ethan jumped away when I heaved, but nothing came up.

  "That's it. I'm taking you to a clinic." Ethan threw my hand over his shoulder and stood. "Goddamned broken arm. I could carry you if it weren't for this."

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can walk.”

  But I couldn’t. My ankle still throbbed like a bitch. I caught myself around his neck.

  He grunted when I accidentally yanked his collar. “You’ve barely eaten the entire time we’ve been here.”

  “I don’t know why—what’s wrong with me.”

  "We’ll find out."

  Ethan led me into the sunlight. It was an unusually hot April and my head spun from the baking heat. He brought me to the car, tucked me inside, and fastened my seatbelt. I laughed at the irony of Ethan taking care of me.

  He disappeared into the villa and returned with water bottles, passing one into my hands. “You need to drink.”

  “I can’t keep anything down. It’ll just end up on the carpet.”

  “I don’t care. Drink.”

  I twisted the cap and pressed it to my chapped lips. I swallowed water, shuddering.

  Ethan started the car. “Watch the road. It’ll help with your carsickness.”

  We sped through narrow country paths, finding a small clinic in the next town. Ethan parked and dragged me across the lot into a chapel-sized building. Every sign was in Italian. Bewildered, I allowed Ethan to take charge.

  Locals packed the inside and Ethan's lip curled. He had contempt for waiting, and it killed him to sit in a plastic chair, but he did it anyway. Ethan filled out paperwork as I struggled not to pass out. After watching me knock nails for five minutes, Ethan tipped my head onto his shoulder. I dozed, wishing Graham was beside me. I curled my hand around his bicep and imagined him leaning over to kiss my head.

  Someone rubbed me awake. Ethan, not Graham, whispered in the shell of my ear. I snapped upright and blinked away sleepiness as a dark-skinned woman brought us back. She made small talk with Ethan, who translated for me.

  We ran the full gamut of healthcare questions, and then the woman handed me a plastic cup.

  I smiled at him. “I don’t need a translation for this one.”

  The woman led me to the bathroom. I prepared the urine sample, left it in the slot, and returned to the examination room. Ethan wore a grave expression.

  “What?” I said as I sunk into the seat.

  “Nothing.”

  I stared at him, as a red flush crawled up his neck. I’d never seen him like this. “You’re scared.”

  Ethan wouldn’t look at me. “No, I’m not.”

  Why was he nervous?

  The doctor, an older woman in heels and a white coat, walked in. She was a cheerful, big-boned woman whose name was Doctor Rossi.

  Ethan straightened at her approach and seized my hand. A bulge lodged in my throat from his clenched jaw. Aside from the visit to the hospital, I don't remember seeing him this vulnerable It was almost as though he held me for his sake.

  The doctor had his full attention. Suddenly, he repeated a word the doctor used.

  “Incinta?”

  Doctor Rossi beamed. "Si, signor."

  "Oh." Ethan rapidly turned a shade of pale cream.

  Unable to take the suspense, I slammed my fist into his leg.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Pregnant,” he whispered.

  Oh my God.

  Tears punched my eyes. I glanced at the doctor, who grinned at me. I couldn't believe I was pregnant. My cycle had been off, but in the madness of everything that happened, I hadn't noticed.

  It was wonderful news.

  The joy swooped my stomach was followed by pain. Graham should’ve been here, celebrating this moment.

  A shell-shocked look replaced the confidence that Ethan wore like a second skin. He looked at me, and then he faced the doctor. He barked something in Italian. She nodded and swept from the room.

  “What did you do?" I asked.

  “I asked for an ultrasound to find out how far along you are.”

  I winced. “You’re hurting my hand.”

  He released me and rubbed his head. “Sorry.”

  I didn’t understand his reaction. “Are you—are you worried it’s yours?”

  “More like I’m worried it’s not mine."

  I gaped at him. "What?"

  He opened and closed his mouth, suddenly at a loss for words. He didn’t get to make his point. An ultrasound technician entered the room, switched on the screen, and gabbed happily to Etha
n. Ethan still held my hand, and I wished I could shake him off. All the pretense was annoying. He watched the screen with a locked jaw.

  The technician applied jelly to the stick and rolled it over my stomach. He pointed to a blip on the sonogram that was my baby. My throat tightened. Graham had to know.

  I looked at Ethan. “How many weeks am I?”

  Ethan rattled off the question. When the tech responded, he crushed my hand.

  "Oh shit." Trembling, he slid from my grasp. "I can’t believe it."

  I wanted to scream. "How many?"

  "Eight weeks."

  Quick mental math told me that was before Graham and I got together. That would time it around Ethan and I last had sex. A dull horror struck my stomach.

  By contrast, Ethan was ecstatic. His eyes slowly filled with tears and he laughed with a delirious sort of happiness. He grabbed my hand and held it to his face, and I felt his tears wet my palm.

  No.

  “It’s mine." Ethan leaned over and stroked my head. "You’re having my baby.”

  I wanted to throw him off, but he touched his forehead to mine, beaming with joy.

  “We’re having a baby, Naomi.”

  I looked at him and cried.

  * * *

  We left with a bottle of prenatal vitamins and a prescription for an anti-nausea medication. During the ride home, both of us were quiet. I don’t think either of us expected this to happen.

  I slept with him all those weeks ago out of sheer loneliness. Did we use a condom? I couldn’t remember.

  I paced the living room of the villa. Tears streamed down my face. Ethan watched my meltdown, his expression shifting from sly amusement to annoyance. Ethan caught my arm and pulled me to the cough. He wasn’t shy about touching me, and I think it had something to do with the fact I was pregnant.

  It was as though he owned me.

  "We should talk about our baby," he said.

  “It’s not yours!”

  “Are these pregnancy hormones at work, or have you gone insane? Did we not just come from a doctor’s office? Eight, Naomi. You are eight weeks pregnant. That makes this baby mine. Undeniably mine.”

  “No,” I moaned.

  “Weeks ago, you would’ve been thrilled to have my baby." Venom throbbed from his voice. "Now you hate it?”

  “I don’t hate it. I’m upset! Let me be upset!”

  “Okay.”

  He patted my shoulder, and when I didn’t resist, he pulled me into his chest. I trembled from his rock-hard touch.

  "You don't have to decide anything right now."

  "Decide what?"

  He swallowed hard. "Keeping it versus…you know."

  "I’m keeping it."

  I felt his smile on my head.

  "Then what are you panicking about? I will be there for you and the baby, Naomi. Always."

  “I love Graham." Tears squeezed from my eyes. "I wanted it to be his.”

  He tensed, and then relaxed. “But it’s not.”

  I dissolved into a fresh wave of tears.

  “I don’t see him raising another man’s kid, especially mine. Not that I would let him,” he added in a fierce growl. "He hasn’t even called you. Why do you think that is?"

  "I don’t know!"

  "I’ll tell you why," he said gently. "You only knew him four days. He took you to punish me, and now it’s over."

  I pushed him away, angry that he was making sense. He did this to me when I wanted it to be Graham. Fuck me.

  "He doesn’t want you anymore, Naomi."

  Was it true?

  "But I do." Ethan stroked my cheek. “If you can’t be with Graham, you should be with me. Your child’s father.”

  He wasn’t right. He was right.

  I got up and stormed to another room. He followed, so I slammed the door in his face.

  Graham

  I found them.

  Finally.

  Ethan was photographed in Milan with my wife, and then in Venice. My cousin convinced Vincent to ask the local crime boss to locate my prick brother. They discovered he was on the guest list for a wedding reception.

  I showed up early. It was an al fresco party, and the streets were slung with golden lights. Businesses from each side were shuttered to accommodate the guests, the white-linen tables covered with Venetian fried fish, sardines, and grilled eel. Women in summer dresses floated among me, beautiful Italian women who didn’t interest me in the slightest. It wouldn’t be hard to find my wife, but it’d been a month and a half since Naomi was taken. I didn’t know what condition she’d be in.

  A navy, chiffon dress with a vibrant floral pattern caught my eye. Its owner walked to the drinks station, her hips swaying in a mesmerizing rhythm. Her midnight hair bounced as she filled a cup of water.

  Then a man in a charcoal suit approached her from behind, wrapping a possessive arm around her. The other sat in a sling. He kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear. Pain cleaved my heart when the lights illuminated Ethan’s disgusting face.

  He was without his bodyguards.

  He was mine.

  I didn’t care that it was someone’s wedding. All I saw was a man with his hands all over my wife.

  The moment he let her go, I grabbed the back of his collar and yanked. He tripped over my leg and hit the ground. I kicked his face and shattered his nose. He rolled to his side and spat blood.

  People screamed. I ripped my fist across his jaw, knuckles grinding against bone. Grimacing, Ethan socked me in the ribs. I felt nothing but a slight ripple of agony. Such was my rage. I grabbed a loose cobblestone and seized his cast. Then I smashed it. He screamed. I took the cast in my hand and rammed it into the ground until it broke apart.

  "Graham!"

  I heard her, but I didn’t want to stop. She oozed joy, and he was a cloud of hate. He did not get to touch Naomi and smile. If he did, I’d be there to bring him agony.

  "Stop!"

  Men yanked me back, but I slid out of their grasps. I wanted to beat him into the stones, but Naomi blocked me. She touched my bloodied knuckles, arms, and face. It was as though she searched for proof that I was real. Naomi flung herself at me and pressed her face into my chest.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you’d left me.”

  “Never.” I brushed her hair behind her ear. “I was banned from travel. It’s a long story, but I didn’t send messages because I knew he’d read everything and spirit you away. I love you. I would never abandon you. I’m taking you home."

  Joy flashed on her face before it melted into grief. "Graham, I-I can’t go with you."

  "Yes, you can. Let’s go."

  I grabbed her elbow and tugged, but she looked for Ethan. A crowd of people surrounded him. Her tearful gaze met mine, and she shook her head.

  "I can’t."

  I wasn’t in a mood to hear her out. "Let’s go."

  I took her hand, but she didn’t move. Grief shone on her beautiful face.

  "Graham, I can’t! I’m pregnant...and it’s his baby."

  All the warmth vanished from my chest. It was beyond devastating, like a megaton gut-punch. I took her shoulders.

  "Are you happy with him?"

  A tear slid down her cheek. "No."

  "Then we’re leaving."

  Ethan recovered enough to limp from the darkness. He pushed aside offers for help, the broken arm hanging at his side. “We’re having a baby. You don’t factor into this equation. So for the last time, fuck off.”

  “You know what? Prove it.”

  “Prove what?” he snapped.

  “Prove you’re the father.”

  Ethan smiled, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “She is twelve weeks pregnant. You were not around. Do you want a schedule of every time we fucked?”

  "You could say that grass is green, and I wouldn’t believe you."

  Naomi’s whitened as she faced Ethan. "You translated what the doctor said.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I did.”
>
  “Was it a lie? Ethan, did you tell me the truth?"

  Slowly, he lifted his head to face her. "I told you exactly what you needed to hear."

  "You lied to me." She was raw, hurt beyond belief. "I don’t know why I’m surprised."

  “I saw an opportunity to keep you. So I took it.” Ethan watched her cry without a flicker of remorse, and then his gaze shifted to me. “I didn’t think he was coming back.”

  “You piece of shit.” I snarled, shoving him. “You and Naomi are done.”

  Ethan bristled for a moment as he watched Naomi run into my arms. The light in his eyes dimmed.

  “Yes, we are,” he said.

  Then he walked away.

  * * *

  As soon as we flew home, I booked an appointment with an OB/GYN doctor. An ultrasound performed at the office confirmed Naomi was ten weeks pregnant, not twelve. Ethan lied, but that was no surprise. The real crime was making her think I didn’t want her anymore.

  I hoped I’d never see him again.

  I kept tabs on Ethan. He disappeared from New York’s vibrant high-society scene. Eventually, his Instagram filled with photos of a new woman.

  God help her.

  Naomi sold the land where Loretti’s once stood to a couple who wanted to open a co-op grocery. News about the arson investigation disappeared. The judge threw out all charges. Paying Damon for Vincent’s help in Italy was the last of my loose ends.

  Life was good.

  Naomi and I poured our energy into each other. Our house desperately needed positivity, so we focused on the baby. Blair was ecstatic at the news. She signed up for planning the baby shower, and Naomi and I went through designs for the nursery. There was little time to spare. We needed each other to heal after spending so much time apart, which meant lots and lots of sex.

  I found her stripping in the bathroom. She peeled the blouse from her glowing skin and let it slide down. I nudged the door and stepped inside. There was nothing I appreciated more than my naked wife.

  I wrapped my arm around her waist, palming her baby bump. Naomi shivered. She arched her neck over my shoulder. I kissed behind her ear, watching myself stroke her hips, thighs, and breasts. She sighed, leaning into my touch.