Page 18 of The Unwanted Wife

He whispered that endearment against my lips when he kissed me back on my eighteenth birthday. When I asked him why that nickname, he said I reminded him of one. That I was full of joie-de-vivre, always chattering with enthusiasm like a starling. I’ve dreamed of his husky voice saying that to me again. I’ve heard it in my head as I’ve gone about my life. I’ve tried to push it away, tried to bury it deep inside, in a place I’d never access. But here he is, in my apartment, sitting next to me, and calling me by that nickname again… Only, it's for the wrong reasons.

"Don’t call me that," I burst out.

He frowns. "Why not?"

"It makes me remember the time I embarrassed myself. I'm sure you laughed about it over the years. You must have thought of me as stupid and idiotic and?—"

"Beautiful."

"Wh-what?" I stutter.

"I never forgot that kiss, Starling."

"You didn’t?"

He leans in, until the heat from his body surrounds me in a cocoon, and his gaze keeps me captive. And when he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, a thousand electric fuses seem to blow out under my skin.

He must be aware of the reaction of my body, for his lips twist. "It’s what kept me going through those hard days and long nights when I was on tour. It’s what kept me warm when I lay shivering in a ditch in Siberia waiting for enemy soldiers to make an appearance so I could take them out. It’s what gave me hope to keep going when I was sure I was never making it back from the last one."

I stiffen. I’d hoped he’d tell me he was as affected as I was by that kiss when I was eighteen. I’d hoped he’d tell me he thought of me over the years. I’d hoped... He’d confess he, too, wanted me. And now, he’s telling me so, and it’s overwhelming. My fingers tremble. Following his example, I place my cup on the table and fold my hands in my lap.

I’m not sure how to react to his confession of never having forgotten me, so I settle for not acknowledging at all. "That’s the last tour you and Ben were both on?"

He nods slowly. "It was my last mission. I was in charge. The rest of our team were killed.” His features grow carefully blank. It’s the only sign it’s difficult for him to share this. “We made it out by encouraging each other. We’d accomplished what we set out to do, our enemies were dead, but we were both in bad shape. The only reason we survived and made it to the extraction point is because we had each other for company. When he’d lag, I’d tell him he had to survive so he could see you again. And when I slowed, he’d encourage me to keep going by telling me all about you.”

That last tour of Ben’s is the one he doesn’t say much about. The only thing he told me is that he and Nate were both wounded. I put down his lack of communication to the fact he was hurt and needed time to recuperate. Nate must have been more seriously injured because he’s the one who came home. "You… You guys spoke about me?"

"You were the one person, not connected to our lives as Marines, that we had in common. He was happy I’d gotten to meet you. Also, talking about you meant we were focusing on the future. On hope. You ignited a sense of possibility in us. As long as we were speaking about you, we weren’t in that frozen Siberian landscape, we weren’t frostbitten, we weren’t soaked through our bones with sweat and blood. As long as we kept focused on you, we knew we’d make it out.”

"He never told me." I wring my fingers together. "I wish he’d told me. I wish he’d shared more of what he went through. But he's so stubborn.” Oh, he did the minimum number of sessions with a therapist needed for him to pass the checks and convince his superiors he was fit to return to active duty. “He simply ignored what had happened and headed right back on the next mission. I wish he’d taken the time to come to terms with everything. Maybe he wouldn’t have sounded so preoccupied."

"You spoke to him?" Nathan seems taken aback.

"I spoke to him before he left again. He called me later and told me about his girlfriend."

This time Nathan’s gaze widens. "He told you about his girlfriend?"

"Why? Is that supposed to be a secret?"

Nathan slowly shakes his head.

"You know about her?" I ask with interest.

"I haven’t met her, if that’s what you’re asking. But I suspected he was seeing someone."

"He seemed surprised by the speed with which events had moved." I laugh, remembering how dazed he’d sounded on our call. "He also sounded preoccupied, but happy."

Nathan blinks. "He sounded happy?"

He’s back to staring at my mouth, and that now-familiar tremor cascades across my nerve-endings. My thighs clench, and I stop myself from squeezing my legs together.

"Yeah, I think he did. He also seemed reluctant to be on a mission, for the first time since he joined the Marines."

Nathan purses his lips. That ever-present wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens. He seems perturbed by my response.

I tip up my chin. "You don’t seem pleased. Aren’t you happy that my brother seems to have found love?"

He raises his gaze to mine, and whatever he sees in there seems to cause him to relax. He leans back and throws his arm over the couch. His fingertips almost brush my shoulder. I inch away. Not because I don’t want him touching me, but the opposite. If he does, there’s no telling how I’m going to react. I’ll probably like it too much.

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