Wanted: Wife (26 page)

About what? I could hear Andy stirring in the other room. Not having any more sex was pretty much out of the equation, especially since . . . I shivered. I couldn’t trust myself to resist him. Each time we were together I couldn’t wait for the next. And then there was the elephant in the room.

He
wanted
to get me pregnant.

And I wanted him to keep wanting me. Against my better judgment, I wanted him desperately. I picked up my toothbrush and scrubbed.
Good Lord
, how I wanted him. If anything, this honeymoon was only making it worse, Denny’s skepticism becoming more believable every day.

And what if he falls in love with you? Or worse, you fall in love with him?”

I shot him my iciest glare. “After Richard’s screwing, I’m never falling in love again.”

He laughed. “As if you ever have a choice.”

“I always have before.”

“Then you’ve never been in love. Because when you are, there is no choice.”

“Julie?” Andy said, knocking.

I opened the door, toothbrush in my mouth. “Mmmph?”

He came in, removed the toothbrush and, pressing his hand to the small of my back, kissed me deeply before sliding my toothbrush into his mouth.

“The heels add a whole new dimension,” he said with a wink. He reached past me to the toothpaste, and squeezing an inch onto the bristles, stuck the brush back into his mouth.

I leaned back against the sink. “I was using that.”

He brushed a bit more, then spit, rinsed, kissed me again. “Here.” He handed it to me and glanced to my shoes. “Leave them on.” Then he left, unbuttoning his shirt.

I stood there, numbed, a quivering deep inside me. I guess I had no choice but to place my faith in the Method.

Jesus Christ, I was so sunk.

T
HE NEXT DAY
we didn’t do much of anything, just slept, ate and enjoyed each other, ending up on the beach by early afternoon. A storage shed next to the porch had yielded a cache of beach chairs and umbrellas, and adding to that a blanket and a bottle of wine, we stretched out on the sand in the sun. I was on my back as Andy, on his belly, lay next to me.

He pushed up on his elbows. “More sunscreen?”

I yawned, raising my arms over my head. “You’ve already put enough on me to last a week.” I tilted my sunglasses to peer at him. “I suspect it’s just a ruse to rub me down in public.”

He slipped off his. “Why do you think I’m lying on my stomach?”

I nearly blushed. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“You make it easy,” he said, one finger trailing the half-moons of my breasts.

He kissed along the periphery of my mouth, tiny little kisses that made me sigh, before his arm half-caged me and his lips opened to mine. He tasted of salt and surf and Beaujolais, a wet curl drooping from his hair to swipe my cheek, his fingers caressing my chin ever so lightly. When he raised up and opened his eyes I caught my reflection in their blue shimmer, my heart clenching from his impossible beauty. He wasn’t real, this man, neither the way he looked nor the way he made me feel, and I knew it was only a matter of time. I kissed him once more then closed my eyes, drifting away to dream.

A
GAINST ALL LOGIC,
I was falling for my husband. No matter how much I could blame Andy, it was nobody’s fault but my own.

The evening had begun rather innocently. After the beach we showered and changed, then drove to Kubel’s for dinner at the other end of the island in Barnegat Light. With a half hour until sunset, we went to the lighthouse and took a stroll on the walkway, nearly reaching the end before I made my fatal error. We were both leaning against the railing, facing Island Beach State Park across the inlet, when I posed a question I never should’ve asked.

“Andy,” I said, the breeze blowing my hair from my clip, “why did you do it?”

He looked at me, instantly understanding. “You mean the advertisement?”

“Yes.” I tried to put it delicately. “I mean, you did give me your reasons that day at the firehouse, but—”

“Yes, I did.” He stiffened a bit. “And you thought it so outrageous you didn’t believe me?”

I almost laughed at the irony. “Look, no one knows better than me how truth is so much stranger than fiction, but I’ve always had a feeling there’s more to it.”

“There always is, isn’t there? And you won’t be able to start that book until you find out, right?” He looked down at the black boulders rimming the shoreline. “Always the reporter, eh?”

“That’s so harsh,” I said, bristling more than I deserved to.

“Sorry,” he said, somewhat admonished, “I didn’t mean to be. But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

More than you know
. Which made the whole thing look a bit sordid. “I’m not asking because of the book. I’m asking as your wife.”

He straightened, looking as taken aback by hearing that as I did by saying it. “What difference does it make now? It led me to you, didn’t it?”

“Purely by accident. If my editor hadn’t seen your sign, and I wasn’t—”

“Julie, stop.” His eyes softened, yet he seemed conflicted. “However odd you think my method, it worked, didn’t it? Here you are, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“You say that now, but what about in the future?” My God, did I hear myself? I had no idea why I was saying this, but somehow I couldn’t stop. “I’ve been here before, and I ended up on the street.”

That muscle on the side of his face twitched, the way it always did when he was peeved. How funny was it I knew that now?

“No, you haven’t been here before,” he said. “Because if you had, you would’ve been with me, and you would’ve known the difference.” I tried to pull away, but he held on. “Julie, I’ve told you before I’m not him. You can believe me when I say I’ll always take care of you. What do I have to do so you will?”

Say you love me
. I wanted to hear it, I
needed
to hear it, against all rationality, defying my best laid plans. I knew it wasn’t right, because if Andy was sincere—and I had no reason to doubt he wasn’t— and he knew what I’d done and why, he’d only end up hating me. And what would become of me then?

So I said nothing; I just pushed up on my heels and kissed him. I kissed Andy Devine with everything in me, knowing I would never feel this way about another man, because no man would ever make me feel like I always felt with him:
that I was worth it
. He held me in his arms, lifting me off my feet.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and within the hour we were there.

There was no preamble, no attempt at seduction, just me and Andy and what, by now, came as naturally as breathing. I never thought I’d find someone so intrinsically in tune with me, but there he was, sloughing off what was left of my clothing, leaving it with his by the bed as he took me into his arms. How was it I never tired of him, shuddered each time like the first? Because every time was a small implosion, sparks flying. They were as real as I’d ever felt them. I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in.

As he moved inside me, as he whispered into my hair, I fell deeper and deeper, and I’d never been so afraid. I knew it was illogical; didn’t he say he cared? But did he love me? Oh God—if he did, I’d never get out of here. The man would kill me for sure. But how could I stop it?

Maybe if he hadn’t kissed me. Maybe if his eyes hadn’t looked at me the way they did, so swimmingly languid, so lost in me I was gone. With him buried deep inside me, with his scent dizzying my brain, my heart swelled with such a rush of emotion I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“I love you, Andy,” I whispered, finding release in the words. “I love you with all my heart.”

His eyes widened and he fell to his side, taking me with him, his leg over my thigh, his hand at my hip. Except for our joining we lay a foot apart, his eyes falling to half-mast as he began to move again. He slid his hand down on me, circling slowly, and when it came we came together, my fingers tightening against the swell of his chest as his breath hissed through his teeth, the force of it draining what color I could discern from his face. When he finished he slid himself from me and rolled over, falling asleep soon after.

What did I do?

When I awoke the moon was up. I could see it from the bedroom window, high and bright, shining on Andy’s face from where he watched me, propped up on his elbow. Whatever had been in his eyes before was now replaced by passiveness, his hand insistently running up and down my back until I turned on my belly. With an arm on either side of me he rose up and spreading my legs apart, drove himself in from behind.

All at once he became a force, pounding, pounding, his fingers digging into my neck, my teeth rattling from the impact. There’d been times when I’d crave such an encounter, moaning and groaning until I’d push back with equal gravity, but this wasn’t one of them; something was terribly wrong. “Andy . . .?” I said and suddenly he pulled out, falling to his side, his back to me.

“Andy . . .?” I whispered, pushing up. “What was that?”

“Go to sleep,” he said, pulling the sheet over him.

“And you go to hell.” I shoved my arms into my robe and left for outside, slamming the door.

My eyes stung, but I wouldn’t give in to crying. The air was cool yet sultry, like the eastern edge of a hurricane before it moved out to sea, and wasn’t that fitting? I had the feeling I’d just come blindly through a storm, feeling its rage without ever seeing what it’s about. With most of the houses were dark and the sky was bright and clear. I looked out over the water, the horizon dotted with twinklings of boats and barges. I gathered my robe and headed toward them, wondering why I continually wore my heart on my sleeve. Maybe I needed that bit of abruptness. It’d reminded me that Andy was no different from any other man after all. I hiked up my robe and waded into the warm surf, my gaze tossed up to the stars, the Milky Way spread like smoke.

You just had to go and say it, didn’t you?

A few moments later Andy joined me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, panic all over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I treated you like a whore just now.”

“Yeah, you did,” I said tightly. “What exactly did I do?”

“Nothing. Why would you think that?”

I turned on him. “Then what did
you
do that’d make you do it?”

He sighed, looking down as the water swirled around his ankles. “I’ve done many things, Julie, horrible things to women I could never tell you about—I’m too ashamed.” When I gasped he looked up sharply, holding his hand out. “Oh no—not like that. I swear I never have and never would physically hurt a woman and dear God . . .” He grimaced. “On my life I would never hurt you. But in the past? I’ll just say a cold heart can do infinitely more damage. I should know.” He laughed softly. “I’ve seen my wreckage.”

He scrubbed his face, then looked at me. “Be patient with me,
ma chérie
. Please believe me, it’s nothing you did. Maybe I’ve just been at sea too long. Maybe I’ve just never learned how to treat a real woman.” He took a step closer. “Which you are, more than any woman I’ve ever known. When you left I thought you’d leave me for sure.”

“Ha!” I laughed sharply. “Where would I go?”

It was a throwaway line but where, in fact,
would
I go? Back in my real life I had no home, nor much of anything else. Only a promise of a book and nothing to anchor me anywhere. I looked up. Except . . .

“Here. The cottage.” he said. “I want to give it to you.”

“What?” I was stunned. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I am. It was never meant to be mine anyway.” He looked out toward the horizon. “My father bought it for my mother so she could imagine France on the other side. He thought maybe if she could she wouldn’t feel so homesick, then maybe she’d care for him a little more.” He turned to me. “Julie, you can say what you want, but I know you were desperate when you married me that you felt you had no choice.”

“If I was, I certainly don’t feel that way now.”

“But who knows how it’ll be later? When I said I’d take care of you, part of that was knowing you’d always have a place to go, no matter what happens between us.”

Why didn’t I like the sound of that? “Why? Are you planning on leaving?”

“Leaving’s not the point. The point is you’ll have something of your own, a place you can always go to for whatever reason.”

“But I don’t want to go anywhere,” I said, the thought coming to me like a revelation. “I want to be wherever you are.”

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Which is exactly what I want to hear, but knowing you have a choice will only make it sweeter.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a key, pressing it into my palm. “Tomorrow I’ll work on getting the deed changed to your name only. Consider it my wedding present to you.”

I was completely overwhelmed. “Andy, I appreciate the gesture, but it’s really not necessary. Put it in both our names if you want, but you don’t have to do this.” I thought of our contract, staring at the key in my hand. “Aren’t we supposed to share everything?”

“Everything but this,” he said, dropping the key into the top pocket of my robe. He buttoned a flap over it. “It’s yours.”

I pressed my hand to it. “I don’t know what to say.”

He lifted my chin. “Say thank you, and say you . . .” He kissed me.

He didn’t have to finish; the words were on the tip of my tongue.
“Je t’aime,”
I whispered as he gathered me into his arms.
“Je t’aime de tout mon cœur.”
I kissed his neck, his breast.
“J’ai envie de passer le reste de ma vie avec toi.”

Andy groaned, cradling my face in his hands. “Did you learn that for me?” He kissed me again. “Do you know what that does to me?
Je pourrais mourir.
”

I didn’t understand, but I filed it away for later, as I always did with Andy, in a spare chamber of my heart. So I told him I loved him, and although I didn’t hear it back, I couldn’t think about it now, not with the water lapping around us, my fingers in his hair, my body lost in sensation. All I could think of was Andy carrying me to the sand, Andy opening my robe and his jeans, Andy driving deep inside me.