Picture Perfect Marriage

by Marquita Valentine

  “You don’t know until you ask.” Tate leans back in his chair, the perfect example of a man who is comfortable in his place in the world. That used to be something I admired about him, because in my experience, a man who is confident in himself doesn’t see a self-assured, independent women as a threat to his existence.

  But now, right now, I struggle to not to be unkind. Instead, I settle on, “I don’t want to argue.”

  “That won’t be a problem for me.”

  “I don’t want to rehash the past either.”

  He frowns. “That will be a problem for me.”

  The waiter brings appetizers, and I’m grateful for the distraction he provides as well as the time it gives me to strategize.

  “Stop scowling. Everyone is staring at us,” I order as soon as he leaves.

  “Everyone always stares at me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, Hollywood.”

  His lips thin. “Stop trying to provoke me.”

  “I’m not.” I totally am.

  “You are.” Tate knows exactly how to read me. He’s known me my entire life, but I know him just as well. “You’re not a child. You normally don’t act like a child, so stop being one.”

  I frown at his commanding tone. “You’re not the boss of me.” Yeah, so not helping the child comparison.

  “Someone should be,” he replies.

  On second thought, maybe I don’t know everything about him anymore because I didn’t get to see him as much once he left Castle Beach... I don’t really know actor and producer Tate. Maybe that’s to his advantage, but I won’t let that stop me from getting exactly what I want.

  A divorce.

  From the corner of my eye, I see a woman approaching our table. “One of your adoring fans?” I murmur.

  Tate’s gaze bounces to her, then back to me. “Possibly.”

  “Oh, goodie.” I’ve been out with Tate before when his adoring fans approached him. Some are nice, genuine people while others... other scare the bejeesus out of me, with their very real delusions of grandeur about my... Tate and their very real threats against me for daring to have lunch with him. Like legit threats of violence in the comments of his Instagram feed, and this was before we married.

  “It is you,” the woman gushes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I drove three hours to meet you and when someone posted you eating here, I rushed right over.”

  When Tate extends his hand, the woman takes it, hers shaking. “So nice to me you...?”

  “Olivia Smith.”

  “What a beautiful name. It’s so nice to meet you, Olivia,” Tate says, now standing so he can hug her.

  Olivia appears as if she might die of happiness.

  I politely smile. “Do you want me to take y’all’s picture?”

  Smiling all the while, she nods and holds out her phone. She doesn’t see me as a threat. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I say as I take her phone and Tate stands to pose with her. They do a quick photo session, and I give the phone back to Olivia. “You look great in these.”

  She smooths down her dress. “Thank you.” She swallows nervously. “I’m such a fan and um, your last movie... Caine’s River? It was just beautiful. I cried for days after it. I actually thought it was better than the book.”

  “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever had.”

  Olivia beams, then turns to me. “Are you starring in his next movie? I’ll follow you on social media if you already have accounts. Oh wait, I bet you already do.”

  My heart goes out to her. “You’re so sweet, but I’m not an actress.”

  She blinks at me. “You’re not?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m—”

  Tate places his hand on my shoulder. “My muse.”

  His response stuns me into silence.

  “Oh wow.” Tara’s eyes round. “That’s even better.”

  “Every movie. Every script.” He fixes his gaze on me. “They’ve always had threads of you woven into each one.”

  Olivia sighs dreamily. I want to do the same, because I’m not immune to his charm... or his sincerity. Tate has both in spades.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I murmur, my cheeks heating. The intimacy of the moment makes keenly aware of how much I’ve always adored the man touching me.

  And how far we’ve drifted apart.

  “I’d say he’d get a free pass for anything,” Olivia says breathlessly, fanning herself. “I’ll let the two of you get back to dinner. It was so very nice to meet you.”

  Tate lets go of me, focusing on Olivia. “Give me your number and I’ll have my assistant text you a couple of weeks before American Sweetheart premiers next month. If you’d like, I’ll escort you down the red carpet.”

  “Oh my gawd.” She stammers out her number, correcting herself a couple of times before getting it right, her face a stunned mask of disbelief.

  “I’ll provide hair and makeup... if you want,” I blurt, inspired by Tate’s generosity.

  “Holy shit. This is the best day ever.”

  I burst out laughing. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

  “Oh yeah.” Olivia shakes her head, closes her eyes, and opens them again. “That really just happened. Oh my goodness. Thank you. Y’all enjoy dinner.”

  Tate leans down, lightly kissing her cheek. “Thank you for making our dinner even better.”

  Olivia all but floats out of Ten Blue, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Haven’t seen one of those in a long time.”

  “Puh-lease.”

  He shakes his head. “I meant your smile.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hope that you’ll feel that way even when we’re alone.”

  I bite my lip, and he sits. “Did you mean what you said about me being your muse?”

  Tate’s dark chocolate eyes grow darker. “Yes.”

  I swear I can feel him touch me. The connection we once shared is forming again, growing stronger than before, or it will, if I allow it. In the deepest part of my heart, I realize that’s true.

  And it scares me.

  Our server, along with a food runner, returns with a tray laden with food for our table and the one behind me. I smile brightly, like I’m auditioning for a teeth-whitening commercial.

  “Yum,” I say loudly. “I cannot wait to dive in. You?”

  Tate’s brows crash together, and he mutters something under his breath before giving me a resigned smile. “Absolutely.”

  I try not to regret the moment I purposefully ruined, but it’s impossible.

  *

  “Thanks for dinner. This has been great. Don’t be a stranger. Actually, on second thought, be a stranger.” I make my way toward the door, intent on climbing into my borrowed Range Rover and hauling tail home, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me. “What do you want?”

  “Come away with me this weekend,” he says, his voice rough. Urgent. Tempting. “Just the two of us away from Castle Beach. Away from your business. Away from memorial services. Away from family. Away from everything but us. You aren’t—we aren’t like this. This isn’t us at all. We don’t argue and fight. Sure, we like to banter and tease, but this... blasé attitude mixed in with pure meanness? You’re better than this, wild child. So much better.”

  I’m half tempted to take him up on that offer. There’s such a large part of me that still loves Tate. That still wants to be with him. Still remembers every kiss, every touch, every moment in his arms... just everything.

  And he’s not a stranger to me. He is someone who, until four months ago, I trusted with my life. He knew my secrets, my dreams, and I always thought he got me, but when he left me to deal with my brother’s death, so he could go and work on a stupid movie... he broke my heart, and I don’t know if I can deal with another heartbreak.

  This big-talking man who stands before me has the power to crush me.

  “Sorry, but I can’t.” I swear my entire body trembles from head to toe. He has to fe
el it.

  Tate cocks a brow. “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You promised to give me thirty days, Quinn,” he reminds me.

  Our stupid agreement. Think, Quinn, think. Then it hits me. Barron is getting sworn into office this weekend. “Actually, I do have plans. It’s Barron’s swearing in... and Blackbeard Days! I can’t believe you forgot that.” Actually, I forgot not to remember that at the last second. “I’m in charge of face painting, and you know my family is responsible for the pirate fight reenactment as well as the Queen Anne’s Revenge replica. So I’ll be super busy Saturday and Sunday.”

  “I’ll help,” he says in all seriousness.

  I stare at him blankly. “Help?” I echo.

  “Yes, as in assisting you for the weekend.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You want to be my assistant?”

  He pulls me to him, and I almost sigh at the feel of his muscular arms. Tate might be mostly behind the camera now, but he feels like the movie star he used to be. “Absolutely. What time do I need to be there?”

  “Festival starts at nine AM,” I say before my mind tells me to shut up.

  “Then I’ll be at your salon at eight thirty,” he said with a smile. “We can walk over together.”

  “All right.” OMG. What did I just agree to?

  Tate kisses my cheek, and I swear goose bumps appear everywhere. “Tomorrow will be so much fun, wild child.”

  At my nickname, I snap out of my helplessness. That’s what he thinks. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in costume.”

  “What?”

  I step back, taking my wrist out of his hand. “Oh I forgot to mention that part, didn’t I?” I tilt my head to one side, trying to appear perfectly innocent while I’m perfectly devious. “Silly me. You totally have to wear a costume, but don’t worry—I’ll provide it.”

  Costumes are optional, but the locals and tourists alike enjoy them.

  Tate’s unsure expression turns into a confident one again. “You’re not going to scare me away.”

  This time I’m the one who leans in, my mouth inches from his. “Don’t bet on it.”

  Chapter 9

  Tate

  Castle Beach might be a small costal town, but they sure as hell know how to throw a huge festival to honor the pirate responsible for its founding. Even at quarter past seven in the morning, volunteers have already descended upon the boardwalk and waterfront, adding last minute touches to pirate themed decorations.

  Boats of all sizes—wooden and fiberglass—are anchored in the small harbor that Blackbeard used to go ashore. The harbor is fed in to by a canal wide enough for a pirate ship or a ferry to pass through.

  If I were of a mind to direct a movie in Castle Beach, this right here—with the sun over the ocean, the ships and boats in the harbor while waves crash against the shore—would be my opening shot. I frame the picture in my mind, zooming out to pan the area, only to stop dead center, focusing on a woman busily setting up a booth.

  A wry smile kicks up the corners of my mouth. Naturally, she’d be in the center of it all.

  Quinn King has always been the center of it all for me. It’s the best and worst thing about our relationship.

  I jog over to her, not speaking until I’m within hearing distance. “Good morning.”

  “I thought you were meeting me at my salon at eight thirty?” Her gaze bounces to me as she winds twinkling lights around an old post that’s doubling as a sign holder.

  “I’d planned on it, but why wait when we’re both already here?” I pick up the menu she’s created. It lists all the face painting and hair options available. “Need some help?”

  “Not really.”

  Her reply isn’t dismissive, but it isn’t exactly warm either. “I’m your assistant for the day. If you play your cards right, tomorrow, too. Put me to work.”

  She straightens. “You could assist me with donuts from Bette’s.”

  “Absolutely.” When I smile, she blinks at me, as if expecting a different response. “What flavor do you want?”

  “Har-har.” She shakes her head, but those pouty lips of her actually curve upward. “Get enough for us to share.” She shoves her hand into her pocket, pulls out some money, and holds it out.

  “My treat.”

  “It’s a business expense,” she says, wiggling a twenty. “Take it, please.”

  She wants to hold onto her pride, let me know she’s self-sufficient, even if it’s something I already know and adore about her. “You’re the boss.” I take her money, then dash over to Bette’s. Thankfully, there isn’t a line out the door... yet. It takes me all of five minutes to get a bag of donuts, one coffee, and a bottle of water, but by the time I get back, Quinn is completely finished.

  “Looks good.” I set our breakfast down and study her, suddenly realizing she’s wearing a white shirt under a black-and-red striped corset along with booty shorts that show off her amazing legs and ass. The irony of what the shorts are called isn’t lost on me. “Where’s my costume?”

  Her cheeks heat. “I don’t have one for you.”

  “Well, that sucks. I was really looking forward to wearing one,” I lie. I’ve never enjoyed dressing in costume, not even as a kid during Halloween.

  “I know you better than that.” She opens the brown bag from Bette’s and pulls out two glazed donuts, passing one to me. “You are the worst when it comes to costumes.”

  “Good thing everyone will be staring at you, then.”

  Rolling her eyes, she bites into the donut, chews, and then swallows before saying, “Roxi made it. I couldn’t not wear it.”

  “Damn,” I mutter, then raise my voice. “Has she ever considered—?”

  “Stop right there, Prescott. No way will I let you take her.” She shoves the rest of the donut into her mouth, proceeding to suck the bits of glaze off her fingers. I swear my dick gets hard watching. “Promise me you won’t try to take her back with you to LaLa Land and get her an industry job.”

  I shrug. “You have to admit Roxi is talented, and all that talent is being wasted on costumes for Blackbeard Days.” I have no idea if her talent is being wasted or not. I simply like to rile Quinn up.

  “Tate.”

  “What’s in it for me if I leave her alone?” I ask. This isn’t blackmail. This is us. How we’ve always been.

  “I’ll be nice to you for the entire weekend.”

  “I don’t know.” Nice is manipulative.

  “Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll be fun and kind for the entire weekend.”

  “Was that so hard to agree to do?”

  Her eyes grow sad, then snap with fire. “In the past, it wasn’t hard for me at all.”

  “We can go back there.”

  “Look, you have my cooperation for the next twenty-eight days, so don’t press your luck by attempting to blackmail me.” Quinn makes to whirl away, but I grab her upper arm. She flicks her gaze to where I’m touching her. “I mean it, Tate.”

  “Are you really going to let one mistake come between twenty-some years of friendship?”

  Her jaw works. “You left me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her stance softens, so I press on. “I should have come back before now, but I can’t change the past four months. All I can do is prove to you that I won’t ever leave you again.”

  Her mouth trembles. “I wish I could believe you.”

  “Have I ever lied to you?” I caress her cheek.

  “No,” she whispers. “But you never left me before either.”

  “It was a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing.” I exhale. “Give us, this, another chance.”

  Her lashes sweep downward, hiding her pretty eyes from me. “I gave you thirty days.”

  “I want a lifetime.”

  She doesn’t answer me. As the seconds tick by, I realize she’s not going to, so I do what I loathe the most... I let her go.

  *

  As the morning
flies by, I do my best to assist Quinn while she paints faces, chats up locals and tourist alike, and ignores me. This time, at least, she’s not hostile. She’s not mad, either. Honestly, I think she’s sad. One of the most basic of emotions, but it encompasses a lot.

  Most people don’t recognize me, and that helps as well. It’s been over five years since I’ve been in front of the camera. Most everyone in Castle Beach still thinks of me, for the most part, as the nerdy mechanic who made it big.

  Fine by me, because I actually enjoy being in a place where I don’t have to have bodyguards up my ass twenty-four seven. At the height of my career, I got ambushed by fans and paparazzi alike while filming on location down in Miami, and they nearly ripped every bit of my clothes off in their excitement. Hell, they even managed to rip out chunks of hair while they were at it.

  Scared the shit out of me, and it hastened my decision to find a faster way to get behind the camera.

  Our fingers brush when she reaches for a clean sponge as I replenish her supplies. Desire sparks, making me want to grab her hand and hold it against me, let her feel how hard and fast my heart beats for her. But she steps away, quickly completing her pirate skull design on a little girl’s cheek.

  “Your designs are so lifelike,” I say. “You have a real gift, wild child.”

  She smiles faintly. “If I hadn’t been a stylist, I would have been an artist. Studied in Paris. Rome...”

  “You still can.”

  “Not really. I’m closing down to eat,” she says, turning the little clock on the post to three pm. “You’re on your own for lunch.”

  “I can grab us something.”

  “Already have plans.”

  I don’t believe her, but I go along with it. “All right. Have fun.”

  “I’m meeting Ophelia and Momma at Café Delmare, over in Royal Bay.”

  Now that, I do believe. “Be sure to tell them both I said hello.”

  Quinn nods and walks away, then pauses to glance at me over her shoulder. “You’re doing a really good job assisting me. Just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But don’t let that go to your head.” She sashays away, her booty shorts doing remarkable things for her entire body. “Later, gator.”