“You…” She looked up at him. “You want me to paint my toenails? Because I’m not sure I—”
“No.” Plucking the bag from her lap, he poured its contents over the coffee table with a clatter. “I don’t want you to paint your toenails.I’llpaint your toenails. Badly.” He paused. “Sorry about that. I’ll try not to injure you in any permanent way, although I make no promises when it comes to those pointy sticks.”
She started laughing helplessly, and then at some point the laughter turned into sobs, and she was in his arms again. Finally.
Six
After she finished cryingand James finished painting her toenails—a kind term for the toddler’s finger-painting project he inflicted on her cute, chubby feet—they cuddled on the couch again and talked. For hours.
“Are your kids okay with us marrying?”
She sounded worried, and he could understand why. He should have reassured her days ago, but they’d been settling into their new routine, and he’d wanted to make her life in this home, as his wife, as easy and relaxing as possible. So he hadn’t mentioned biopsies or families or money or anything stressful.
But maybe she needed to talk about all those things. Maybe they both did.
If so, he was more than willing.
“My boys are fine with it.” The simple truth. “They’ve always liked you, and they want me to be happy, whatever form that might take.”
For all Viv’s struggles, she’d managed to shield their sons from the worst of her alcoholism. She’d sometimes gone years sober, especially when the kids were young. And even during relapses, her heaviest drinking had been reserved for late nights or so-called business trips, at least until the boys had both left for college. So they were as well-adjusted as could be expected, especially after years of family and individual therapy.
They were good kids, and they loved him. They’d supported the marriage.
Elizabeth raised her head from his chest. “But they know the truth, right? They know why you asked me to marry you?”
He smoothed her silky, pale hair back from her forehead. “They know exactly why I married you.”
Another simple truth, although maybe not as simple as Elizabeth believed.
She collapsed back down onto his chest, her soft warmth a welcome weight. “Good.”
“They’re happy for us. But let me be clear about something.” He ducked his head until their noses almost touched. “I neither asked for nor needed their permission. My marriage to you is the business of only two people, and we’re both here on this couch.”
“Okay.” She blinked up at him, and he wanted to kiss her. The need ached in his joints and throbbed with every beat of his heart.
But he held off, because he also wanted to prolong this moment. All of it—the embrace, the conversation—was intimate. As intimate as lovemaking, maybe, for a woman as intensely private and self-contained as Elizabeth.
Her seeming openness was a façade. He knew that now.
“I was wondering…” He sent up a silent prayer that the question wouldn’t offend her. “Why didn’t you ever marry? Before me, I mean?”
The instant rush of pride every time he thought about their marriage was probably foolish, given why she’d agreed to his proposal. But he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, smart, talented, kind, and married tohim. James Magnusson. A man of average height and average income, with an unused degree in American literature and an ever-growing belly.
A man who was pretty sure he loved the woman he’d married.
No, that didn’t quite capture it. He’d loved her for almost thirty years, without question. As a roommate, a friend, and a person he admired. But now he was fallinginlove with her.
So he needed to make sure they stayed married. But he was working on that, day by day. Taking down her walls and learning her, piece by piece.
Her voice was quiet when she answered his question. “My parents got divorced when I was ten, and it was…” She sighed. “It was hard on all of us, especially when Dad moved away. I kind of had to take care of my sisters and brother for a while. And at some point, I promised myself I wouldn’t get married unless I was sure, totally sure, I’d never get divorced, because I didn’t want to experience that sort of rupture ever again.”
“And you were never sure?”
Because she’d had serious boyfriends over the years, some of them clearly in love with her. Guys with sharp clothes and office jobs and vacation homes. Ones who’d sat pressed up against her in restaurant booths and played with her fingers over dessert. And though he’d been married for most of those boyfriends, he couldn’t say he’d enjoyed watching them with her.
“No. I was never sure. So I stayed single.” She gave a laugh that didn’t sound amused. “And now I’m in a marriage with an expiration date. Kind of ironic, huh?”
No. He wasn’t letting that stand. “It doesn’t have an expiration date. Not if you don’t want it to.”
