Page 29 of War

Honestly, a contractual marriage is probably the only kind I’d ever enter. With all the obligations and expectations spelled out ahead of time, leaving no room for getting attached or getting hurt.

Wouldn’t hurt if the woman was as attractive as Ava.

My phone buzzes in my hand, so I unlock it, being sure to keep the light from the screen from flashing Scarlett.

Hall: Seriously, check out this chick!

As I’m reading, a picture of a woman pops up.

I snort at the image. Sure, she’s gorgeous, but this can’t be real, can it? Mail-order brides? God, people are nuts.

Me: Where do you find this shit?

Hall: It came up as an advertisement when I was reading Calliope’s column.

This kid and his damn mythical Calliope. I swear he’s used her name in every conversation we’ve had since he discovered her column this year. It’s a sex column, though he gets all ass-hurt if we refer to it as that, saying it’s a column about life. Yeah, Calliope’s sex life. Not the least bit interested but curious about these apparent contracts, I scan the terms.

Wife agrees that husband is the owner of her body. All orgasms, if any, will be given only with his consent. This includes self-induced pleasure and usage of toys.

Disgust rolls through me. What man in their right mind thinks like this? I can think of nothing hotter than walking in and finding a woman using a toy. Why the hell would a guy want to restrict that? Andowner of her body? This was obviously written by a man with a small dick. I don’t need to agree to some ridiculous contract to have my wife begging for me to touch her.

My wife.My stomach knots at those words. Where the fuck did that come from?

I scrub a hand down my face. Fucking Hall and his contract are getting to me.

Irritated, I focus on my phone again, ready to text him and let him know what an idiot he is. Before I can close out of the contract, another line catches my attention.

Wife will only speak when spoken to.

I’m still blinking in shock when giggles float in on the air and my curiosity is suddenly shifted. After pressing a kiss to Scarlett’s head, I ninja myself out of her hold without waking her—and hopefully without straining my back even more than I already have—and fall to the fucking floor.

Silently laughing, I roll my head back and stare up at the ceiling.What the hell am I doing with my life? Sometimes, I don’t recognize the man I am now. But when another giggle rings out, my heart thumps against my chest, and a warmth I never felt until a year ago flows through me. Anxious to see the smile that goes along with that sound, I stand and sneak out of Scarlett’s room, then head across the hall.

Josie is dressed in Christmas pajamas and snuggled under a pink comforter one shade brighter than her pink walls. Lyrics from Taylor Swift, Lake Paige, and Melina Rodriguez are stenciled on the walls, along with purple birds I drew freehand to match the1989Album. Ava, who is stretched out on top of the covers with her back to me, is giving Josie her full attention. She’s always giving Josie her full attention.

“Melina and Lake sang together?” Josie’s face is lit up like she can’t believe it.

“Yup. It was a really magical night. There were Christmas carolers decked out in these old-fashioned dresses, and there was even a reindeer hanging out in front of the fire station with three kittens on its back.”

Josie giggles. “Now I know you’re making this up.”

Sucking in an exaggerated breath, Ava props herself up on an elbow. “You believe that Lake and Melina sang for a Christmas event in a tiny town, but you don’t believe there was a reindeer? I left my phone downstairs, but I’ll show you pictures the next time I see you.”

Josie snuggles against her, giggling, and Ava rests her head on the pillow again, threading her fingers through the little girl’s strawberry locks.

“Were there a lot of kids?”

Ava hums. “Yup.”

“Sounds magical.” The longing in her tone makes my heart crack. “Bet there were a lot of families too.”

I hold my breath, waiting for what she’ll say next. Ava stiffens, as if she, too, is concerned about the way this conversation might turn.

“Do you think my mom is okay?”

Eyes closed, I take a deep breath, assuming Ava may need my help to navigate a response.

Before I can announce myself, she responds with an answer more perfect than any I would have come up with. “I hope so.”

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