“Manicotti,”
he mused, then asked. “May I choose a wine?”
“Absolutely.
Dinner won’t be ready for another hour at least, though,” she warned.
“I’ll
open the bottle and join you. I assume you drink while you cook?”
“I
do.”
“Good.
I’ll be back.”
“That
might be the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten.”
Mason
had reappeared in the kitchen about twenty minutes after he left. He had
changed into a worn pair of blue jeans, and an old grey t-shirt with his alma
mater’s logo on it. His feet were bare, and he carried a bottle of red wine in
his hand. After opening the bottle and pouring them each a glass, he sat down
in the kitchen and kept Emma company as she cooked. Occasionally, he would toss
Chaos a pretzel or a nut from a container on the counter, and laugh when the
dog would skitter over the floor, once nearly taking Emma down with him.
Emma
was amazed. This was a side of this very unemotional man that she’d never seen.
And she kind of liked, she admitted. Plus, while the man was hot in a suit and
tie, he was positively smoking in jeans and a t-shirt. The material was soft
and well-worn, and his muscles were clearly defined, even under the loose
fabric. She needed to be careful, she suddenly realized. Because what she was
seeing here, tonight, could cause all sorts of emotional storms if she let
herself think that this man really existed. She needed to remember who he was,
and how coldly and ruthlessly he had pressured her into this marriage. She
needed to remember that he had no use for her, apart from being able to claim
his uncle’s voting options on his stock. And she needed to remember that they
had no relationship, and never would. The man had the emotional sensitivity of
a brick.
Still,
watching him tonight as he entertained her dog, she let herself enjoy his
company, even while sternly reminding herself that this was a one-time thing.
So she continued to work on dinner, instinctively knowing that any commentary
from her might end the level of comfort he seemed to be feeling this evening.
In
addition to the manicotti dish, Emma had rounded out the meal with a tossed
green salad and piping hot garlic bread, fresh from the oven. Now, she was
sitting at the table, her face flushed, still sipping from her glass of wine.
“That
may be about the most delicious wine I’ve ever tasted,” she rebutted. “Tell me
more about it.”
Mason
smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorites.”
The
conversation was easier tonight than it had been before. They chatted about
wine, about food, and then about how they had each come to love pairings. By
the time the bottle of wine was empty and the food was eaten, Chaos was again
asleep at their feet. Emma sighed and pushed away from the table.
“OK,
I’d better clean up the rest of the mess,” she groaned.
“Just
leave it for Teresa tomorrow,” Mason offered.
But
Emma looked around her and shook her head. “Nah, that’s not fair. I made the
mess, I clean it up. Besides, almost everything just goes into your
dishwasher.”
“Then
I’ll help.”
They
worked companionably for about twenty minutes. Emma rinsed the dishes and
loaded the dishwasher while Mason put away leftovers and wiped down the
countertops. After adding soap to the machine, Emma started the cycle and bent
down to replace the soap under the sink. Standing up, she turned toward the
kitchen, only to find that Mason was right behind her.
She
stopped abruptly to prevent herself from careening into him, and nearly fell
backward into the sink. But he reached out and caught her arms, holding her steady
until she found her footing. She thanked him, and then moved to walk around
him, but Mason didn’t step away. He just stood there, looking down at her with
a puzzled look on his face, his fingers still loosely wrapped around her
elbows.
“What
are you doing?” she asked, silently cursing the breathlessness in her voice.
Reaching
up, he lightly caressed her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ears, his
expression almost tender.
“That
was a delicious meal, Emma. Thank you for letting me join you.”
Emma
nodded, trying again to move away, but she was cornered between two sides of
kitchen cabinetry.
“I’m
glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for the use of your amazing kitchen,” she added,
trying to keep the conversation light, unsure what Mason was doing or why.
When
he reached out again to run his thumb over her cheek, Emma pushed away.
“Stop
it,” she said quietly.
He
immediately dropped his hand and moved away, blanking away any expression on
his face. “I apologize. I forgot for a moment...”
“That
I’m not one of your dates?” Emma smiled to defuse her comment. “Don’t worry
about it, Mason. I’m sure this is odd for both of us.” Turning, she gestured to
Chaos and headed for the doorway. “I’ll take Chaos out for a walk.” Turning in
the doorway, she added, “Thanks for the wine, Mason. It was some of the best
I’ve had.”
Later
that night, Emma looked up from the book she was reading when she heard a tap
on the door of her bedroom. She had left the door open to allow Chaos to move
around a bit, but she was still surprised to see Mason standing there.
“Your
room looks different,” he said immediately.
“I
made a few changes,” Emma admitted, putting the book down and standing up. She
needed to be at a more equal height with him while they talked, particularly
given what had happened earlier this evening in the kitchen.
He
just nodded. If Emma had expected that he’d compliment her on all of her color
choices, she was apparently going to be out of luck. The wall was back up, the
hardness had returned. She could see it as well as feel it.
“Are
you settled in? Is there anything you need?” he asked.
She
shook her head. “I’m getting there. I’ll unpack my office tomorrow.”
“Good.”
He hesitated, then started to turn away. “I’ll be in my office. Just knock if
you need anything.”
“I’ll
be fine. Good night.”
“Good
night, Emma.”
Emma
sensed that there was more that he wanted to say, so she asked softly, “Mason,
do we need to talk about what happened earlier?”
But
he shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about, Emma. It was an accident,
and I apologize.”
“But...”
Mason
turned back around, spearing her with a sharp look. “We have an agreement,
Emma, and I intend to abide by it. Neither of us wants to change the rules,
correct?” He held her gaze, waiting for an answer.
Emma
nodded. “No, you’re right. I’m fine with things the way they are. Were. Oh, you
know what I mean.”
His
expression didn’t change. “I do know what you mean. Good. We’re fine then. Good
night, Emma.”
“Night,”
she said softly.
Life
continued, Emma thought as the days turned into weeks. And hers wasn’t much
different from what it was before, apart from the fact that she lived in a
different neighborhood, and never dated. It wasn’t like she was with a
different guy every week, but she had a fairly active social life that seemed
to have largely ground to a halt, now that she was married to Mason. She missed
going to happy hours after work, then out to dinner with a few good friends,
but it just wouldn’t do for her to never be seen with her husband. She spent a
lot of nights alone, or with Chaos. Even her relationship with her family
remained strained these days. So she just threw herself into her work during
the days, and even found herself bringing work home with her - something she’d
been loath to do for the past several years.
One
evening, Emma was working in her office when Mason knocked at the door.
“Hi,”
she said, looking up. Mason was in his work clothes, his dark suit and matching
tie making him look especially handsome this evening. “What’s up?”
“Can
you be free on Saturday night, Emma?” he asked.
“I
think so,” she said, pulling her calendar toward her and checking to be sure
she was free. She was. “What’s happening on Saturday?”
“There's
a charity benefit at the country club that night. My mother and my sister will
be there. We should take advantage of that and introduce you in public.”
She
hesitated before asking quietly, “You’re sure that public is better than
inviting them over here?”
“Yes.”
Nodding
slightly, she sighed, then penciled the information into her calendar. Looking
up again, she asked, “Mason, do they know anything about the will or about the
circumstances of our marriage?”
“They
do not.”
“So
they think….”
“That
we fell in love and I proposed. Or that you managed to entice me into your bed,
and trick me into marriage,” he said half-seriously.
Emma
rolled her eyes. “You have to tell them, Mason.”
“No.”
“They
will wonder what happened to Jen. And they will wonder what the hell kind of a
woman I am who would marry you after knowing you for such a short time.”
“How
good of an actress are you, Emma?”
“Not
that good.”
“And
if I make it worth your while?”
“With
what?” she asked incredulously, leaning back in her seat. “Money? Jewelry? I’m
not going to be bought, Mason. You’ve got to know that by now.” She closed her
eyes and counted to ten. “OK. What do you want me to do?”
“Pretend
that you’re madly in love with me,” he said, only half kidding.
“I
barely know you,” Emma pointed out. “Even after all this time.”
“Then
you don’t know me enough to hate me,” he stated.
“Mason…”
He
walked over to the chair in front of her desk and leaned on it, his arms
crossed in front of him and his expression once again serious. “Look. I don’t
think my sister or my mother expect any woman to fall madly in love with me.
They both think that the only reason anyone would be with me is for my money.
So if you play it up too much, they’ll just roll their eyes and assume that
you’re worse than the rest of the women I normally date.”
Some
of Emma’s surprise must have shown in her eyes. “Good Lord, Mason. No wonder…”
“No
wonder what?”
“No
wonder you’re such a hard man. The two women who are supposed to be 100%
squarely in your court, think that no one can love you for you? That any woman
who chooses to be with you is only doing so because you’re rich?”
“I’m
not exactly lovable,” he said dryly.
“Well,
maybe not at first glance,” Emma agreed. “But you have good qualities.”
He
lifted an eyebrow. “Name one.”
“You’re
smart.”
“Is
that the first characteristic you look for in a boyfriend?” he asked.
“No.
But it’s not the last either.”
“So
what’s the first?”
“The
first thing I look for? Kindness, I think. Someone who is genuinely nice to
others, not because anyone is watching, but because they want to treat others
well.”
“So
that’s not me. What’s the last?”
“Oh,
there are a world of traits that I don’t care about at all. Those aren’t worth
listing.”
“So
you’d take kind over smart?”
“Probably.
I’d rather be with someone dumb and sweet than smart and mean.”
“I’m
not the nicest man in the world, Emma.”
“You
may not be the warmest man I know, but you’re not mean. Mean is kicking puppies
and making people feel small so you can feel bigger. That’s not you.”
“And
you know this how?”
She
shrugged. “I’m a lawyer, Mason. I’m a pretty good judge of character. Usually.”
He
looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Why the qualifier?”
“I’ve
been off once or twice,” she admitted. “Look, Mason. I can’t pretend to be
madly in love with you to your family - it would come off as an act, since I’m
not exactly the simpering type. But caring? Yes. Putting myself squarely in
your corner? Yes. And I won’t say anything that will completely alienate your
family or your friends.”
Mason
was silent for a few minutes before saying, “No, you’re not the simpering type,
for which I am eternally grateful.”
“Trust
me, Mason.”
“For
some reason that I cannot define or name, I actually do.”
Emma
laughed lightly. “Your mother is going to eat me alive, isn't she?”
"She’s
going to try to,” Mason agreed with a shrug. “But I’ll do my best to prevent
it.”