Page 69 of Attached At Heart
“No, that’s not?—”
“Wait, do you even know what you’re doing?” she pressed, worry threading through her voice as her grip intensified again.
“I know what I’m doing,” I groaned.
But apparently, I wasn’t very convincing.
“I should have asked you before we decided on the Vespa if you actually knew how to drive one of these things. Maybe we should switch to the bikes. Just bring our backpacks to put the food in.”
“I know how to drive a motorcycle, so I’m pretty sure driving this isn’t going to be too difficult in comparison,” I argued.
To prove that I was confident and ready to go, I turned the key in the ignition and powered up the engine. It was, of course, a lot more subdued than the sound of a motorcycle revving to life, but subtle vibrations still coursed through my body. A gentle thrum heightened my already piqued senses.
I felt Delaney shift on the seat behind me. “You know how to drive a motorcycle?”
“Yeah, Noah has one,” I said over my shoulder.
“Of course he does,” Delaney sighed as though that explained everything.
“I don’t know what that means,” I said bitterly, knocking the kickstand up on the side of the scooter. “But I’m going to choose to ignore it.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure.”
“Other than that he seems like the type to have a motorcycle. You know, with the tattoos and everything.”
“You into those, Lane?”
“No,” she said simply. “Not really. I mean, I’m notnotinto them. Like they don’t bother me. Like ifyouwere to get some—” She snapped her mouth shut again before ending with, “They’re okay, I guess.”
I nodded as slight amusement pierced through the haze of jealousy that had momentarily swooped over me.
“Let’s get going before they run out of food at the grocery store,” Delaney urged, and I realized I’d never been so excited to go shopping for food before.
“Okay,” I agreed, feeling lighter than I had in years. “Let’s do that.”
“So how do I compare to Paolo?”
Delaney and I had made it back to the house about an hour before sunset. The Dutch village closest to us was quaint and whimsical. Breezy, in a literal sense. The gusts of wind off the North Sea were intense but refreshing.
We’d spent the morning stuffing our faces with pannekoeken, which was an even more delicious version of a pancake, and the afternoon shop-hopping. Delaney found an ornament of Delft Blue ballerina slippers that I insisted we get because suddenly, all I could think about was putting up a Christmas tree with her. I’d never really decorated for the holidays before, but I wanted to this year. With Delaney. I wanted to put things under it for her to open. More presents than she ever needed. She’d complain, and I’d do it anyway. Fuck, I wanted that. I wanted to spoil my wife.
“Considering Paolo was a fraud in the end, I’d say you’re definitely coming out ahead,” Delaney replied, yanking me out of my delusional thoughts. “Although you’re your own brand of fraud.”
I frowned. “And how am I a fraud?”
Delaney wiggled her left hand at me, her wedding ring sparkling, glinting off the setting sun. We’d whipped up some pasta—it was a carb day, apparently—and had dinner on the back patio. I’d just polished off the last of my food in time for her to deliver a gut punch, making me fight to keep it all down.
“As my faux husband.”
I leaned back into the plastic chair, folding my arms across my chest.
God, how I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought about that title.Faux husband. Especially considering howrealthat ring she was showing off was.
I raised a brow at her. “Whatever you say, Delaney London,” I said under my breath.
She heard me. Her cheeks pinkened. “You know what I meant.”
