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There’s a beat of silence. “It was that bad, huh?”
“What?”
“Traveling with Scarlett. I knew it would be a disaster. You couldn’t even come back together.”
The insinuation chafes. For who knows what reason, I feel the need to defend her. “It wasn’t a disaster. She’s here with me.”
“Sheis?” Asher sounds shocked.
“We never went on a honeymoon. It’s just for a couple more days.”
“So you’re finally getting some? Must be good if you’re risking Arthur’s wrath.”
My molars grind. I’m not sure when, but my marriage to Scarlett became something I don’t want to discuss with anyone. More than just her, I’m protective ofus. I’ve avoided committed relationships like the plague. Even if I’d developed feelings for Hannah Garner or any of the other women I’ve been with, I still would have married Scarlett. At the time, I couldn’t envision putting someone else through watching me marry someone else. Now, I can’t picture putting Scarlett through seeing a woman leave my bedroom. Cheating, because that’s what it would feel like.
The moments between us that felt like they mattered have been fleeting. The kiss before our wedding. Carrying her upstairs when I found her on the couch. Dancing at the Rutherford gala. The Fourth of July. Climbing the Eiffel Tower and exploring Versailles.
They’re like us. Messy and scorching and confusing and thrilling and consuming.
We’ve only been married for a little over a month. And yet, I can’t imagine my life without her in it. It would be like living with bad vision for years, getting glasses, and then losing them for good. Living with sharp clarity and then returning to dull blurs, knowing what you were missing out on. Scarlett makes me see things differently. Clearly. I can’t explain it to anyone, and I don’t want to. I’m different around her, and I’d like to think she’s different around me too.
Asher clearly doesn’t know what to make of my elongated silence. I’m not the passive aggressive type. I say what I mean. I told him my marriage to Scarlett wouldn’t change a thing, and I believed it. He believed it.
I was wrong.
“Did you call to discuss anything besides my sex life?” I ask.
“I heard you punched Camden Crane on the Fourth. Sebastian showed up at the office this week. Feel like discussing that?”
“No.”
Asher sighs. “You went to the Hamptons, man.”
“They’re my in-laws. It would have been rude to skip it.”
“She’s not worth it, Crew.”
I clench my cup.
“I know you’re a decent guy, and so does she. She’s using it. Playing you. Everyone says she’s an ice queen. Even if the sex is good, cut your losses. Just—”
“Stop. Talking.”
“Crew…”
“She’s not an ice queen. You should trustmeon that, not the guys bitter she never gave them the time of day.”
“If you say so.” Asher’s voice is skeptical.
“If you don’t believe me, ask Camden Crane what he was saying right before I punched him,” I suggest. “If you want to discuss anything related towork, email me. I’ll answer once I’ve thawed out.” Then I hang up.
I can’t look away from her. Candles dance between us, casting a soft glow over Scarlett. Across her sharp cheekbones and long lashes. Her red lips and blue dress.
She was quiet when I returned from the café. Agreeable when I suggested going out to dinner. We’re at my favorite restaurant. The railing to my left is built into the cliff itself. A glance to the side, and all you can see is the churning sea. We’re suspended on solid ground.
“So everything is all set? Withrouge?” I ask.
“Yes. The website will go live tomorrow as soon as it’s announced.”
