Page 54 of Falling for You Again

I don’t think. In fact, I think I stopped thinking the day we met. I lean forward and kiss him. I want to kiss away the unkind things I suspect his parents said to him this week. I want to kiss away the troubling thoughts occupying his mind, whatever it is that’s keeping him awake.

My name is a sigh on his lips as his hands cup my face. Then they’re in my hair, holding me against his mouth. He deepens our kiss,groaning into my mouth as I move over him, straddling his hips. I skim my lips over his chin and along his jawline, kissing the soft area below his ear. I kiss down his neck and across his chest, lavishing my attention on every contour of his torso. Every rise and fall of his chest as his breathing becomes erratic and our hands frenzied. He undresses me with impatience, pulling my shirt over my head and nudging down the lounge pants I fell asleep in. He shoves off his own sleep pants and guides me over him as I grip him and sink down onto him.

We groan, and then we move, our eyes never leaving the other. Our lovemaking is slow, every touch and every breath a tumble as I recognize the falling sensation I experienced when we wrote our list on the plane, and felt again when he slipped a dented silver ring on my finger, and yet again when he twirled me across the dance floor several weeks ago, and once again when we rocked out on our wedding night in his living room, and once more last week when we’d lost track of time and ourselves in the bookstore ... And finally tonight, when he’d praised my ideas. All these times had been me falling for him, again and again and again.

Afterward, we lie on our sides, his front to my back, his arm protectively over my waist, his hand between my breasts, and his mouth by my ear.

“Stay,” he whispers.

And I do.

Chapter 18

Up the Ante

Another two weeks go by without word from the Savant House. If Uncle Bear wasn’t grumbling about them dragging their feet or that his contact there wasn’t returning his calls, I’d be worried Aaron’s and my plan isn’t working. Aaron isn’t surprised by the delay, and when I bring up my concerns, he reminds me that some decisions in the corporate world take time. Aside from marrying Aaron and living together without my family knowing, it’s been life and business as usual. I’m not complaining.

I get up each morning and join Aaron for breakfast downstairs, like we did our first morning together since we had met up again, or we go for coffee at Perkatory, which has become a highlight of my day. He walks me to the T station, and I go to work at the shop. While Uncle Bear and Dad are winding down and closing out orders, I’m still taking on work. I had Isadora’s table ready for delivery last week when she had called and asked for a delay until she returns from Italy. Her brother had passed away. So I started on a new walnut coffee table. Between that and the two bedside tables I’m finishing up, I’ve kept busy. All three pieces are new designs, both functional and transitional in style, that I plan to copyright under my name. Just in case I don’t get ownership of Artisant Designs.

A bank approved my loan for a disappointing amount. Aaron offered again to loan me money when I shared the news and my frustration, but I can’t accept. I don’t want to owe him anything more than I already do. But also, wouldn’t a loan from him extend our relationship beyond three years? Wouldn’t it symbolize a deeper connection between us? Could it loosely mean we’re in business together? He’s beyond generous to even offer, but I can’t get past thinking that accepting a loan from him is almost the same as working with him. And should we work together, I don’t think I could handle the feelings I’m developing for him. What happens when we disagree or bicker, or he starts to resent me when I lavish more attention on my work than him? Or when I start to resent him when he spends more time on our business than with me? I’ll leave him like I left Paul. Or we’ll be miserable like my parents.

As much as I want to look on the bright side of this potential situation, I can’t. History and family and personal habits have proved what’s inevitable. I’ll never successfully balance working with Aaron at Artisant Designs and a relationship with him. I’m destined to never have it all. So why get my hopes up? I was kidding myself to think it was possible. And that little voice inside my head? I tuned her out.

All this introspection could explain why I’ve avoided facing something else: where I’ve been sleeping every night, in his bed.

I keep telling myself tonight will be the last night, but then I think about my bedroom and how my clothes have slowly made their way into his closet and drawers, much like how my affection for him has sneaked through the back door of my heart. Or how Blueberry automatically goes to Aaron’s room each night, which Aaron now refers to asourroom, as if that’s where we’re supposed to be. And really, is it so bad that I want to be there? It won’t be forever.

Goodness, I’m such a jumble of contradictory thoughts and emotions.

I’m thinking about all of this on my way to the shop this morning, so deep in my head that I walk straight into the man standing in front of Artisant Design’s entrance.

“Sorry, didn’t see you,” I apologize, reaching around him for the door. He’s a short man with a barrel chest and large shoes. Dressed in a dark suit and tie with a starched white shirt, he looks like a bald Agent Smith fromThe Matrix.

He doesn’t move out of the way, watching me through his nearly opaque sunglasses. “Mrs. Borland?”

My stomach lurches at the name. “Who’s asking?” I didn’t legally change my name, but I nervously glance through the glass door at Mom seated at her desk, wondering if he went inside looking for me. Does my family now know I’m married?

“Kaye Borland. She’d like a word with you.” He extends an arm at the idling black Escalade I just now notice. Aaron’s mom wants to speak with me? I figured Aaron and I would eventually get around to visiting her at the Savant House or at a restaurant over lunch. It can’t mean anything good that she’s come to me. Not only that, she came specifically when she knew Aaron wouldn’t be with me.

“And you are?” I hope he doesn’t expect me to willingly get into the car. I have a morbid vision of him dumping me in the Charles River.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “She’s waiting in the car and only needs a few minutes of your time.” He opens the rear passenger door. “If you don’t mind.” He tilts his head, gesturing for me to get in.

“All right,” I say, noticing Kaye in the back seat. As curious as I’m wary, I settle onto the black leather seat beside Aaron’s mom, whose floral-and-citrus perfume greets me before she does. Dressed in a monochromatic dove-gray pantsuit and silk blouse, her arrow-straight silver hair is styled in a blunt shoulder bob that mimics her daughter’s. Kaye is an older, well-aged version of Charlie, her long legs folded in the foot space on her side of the car. Her hands, the only part of her that hints she’s older than her cultivated appearance, rest on the tablet on her lap. Thick-framed Chanel sunglasses hide half her face, which looks like it has benefited from extensive and expensive work. She’s as put together as a military general who’s red-carpet ready, exactly the way I suspect she runs her multimillion-dollar corporation. Highly polished, disciplined,precise, and in control. There’s an air about her that speaks of her business acumen and savviness. She presents as someone accustomed to being respected before it’s earned, obeyed when ordered, and listened to when she speaks. I notice her mouth. Her lips are painted a subtle pink, and they aren’t smiling. I also realize I’ve been staring.

“Hello, Mrs. Borland,” I say with a jolt when Kaye’s driver shuts the door on us.

“I don’t know you,” she starts, “and I don’t care to know you.”

“Okay ... Then why did you ask to see me?”

“I read the prenup you signed. It’s inadequate.”

Aaron and I signed a prenuptial agreement his attorney had drafted, the same attorney we used for our first divorce. Our agreement is fairly standard, stating our assets remain our own and anything acquired while in the marriage would remain ours alone. He would keep his town house and any other property he invested in. Artisant Designs would go to me in its entirety, assuming I get the shop.

The agreement is solid, and I trust Aaron. I don’t trust Kaye, and I guess the feeling is mutual. I also don’t owe her an explanation. But I find her lack of confidence in her son off-putting. There’s an edge to her that makes me uncomfortable ... and very protective of myhusband.

“I believe your son capable of adequately protecting his and his family’s interests.”

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