Page 50 of Merging Wright

She has more than me in that manner.

I’m an outsider here. There’s a ghost shadowing me. I’m no more than Claire in Outlander, slipping through a time warp. I’ve entered into Wrightwood’s lives, not the other way around.

When Willow stands, I follow and ask Mach if he’d like to join us.

His mouth falls open but then shuts. He shakes his head. “I’ll let you ladies have your fun,” he says, confirming what I already know. I’ll never be part of him or this place.

+ + +

“Hey.” A light brush across my forehead has me waking up once again on the couch. I’m hugging a notebook to my chest.

Mach finishes stroking along my hairline and pushing my hair behind an ear before pulling his hand away.

I’m wearing glasses, and I quickly sit up while righting them. “Hey. Hi. So, I wanted to tell you some ideas I have for the park and a thought about the old bank building. I think the town needs—”

“We should talk.” His deep tenor drops. He’s sitting on the coffee table in a similar manner to Myles the other night. His arms rest on his thighs while his fingers dangle between his spread legs and he glances down at them. I fight the pull to look between those legs, knowing what is behind the zipper of his jeans. I’d been dreaming when he woke me.

We were getting married again. I was in that princess dress with feathers. Mach wore a vest and pants in champagne colors. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and the brightness of his tats was on display as we stood inside a gazebo by the river. Our hands were being wrapped together when the breeze tickled my forehead.

Unfortunately, it was only Mach’s fingertips.

“We are talking.” I open my mouth to continue with my ideas, but Mach interrupts me again.

“Not about the town. About us.” He glances upward, his brows pinching in frustration. Or is it consternation? He’s puzzled and upset.

I lower the notebook from my chest to rest on my lap, concentrating on the cover while I smooth my hands over it. Taking a deep breath, melancholy ripples up my spine. “There is no us, Mach.”

A heavy pause falls between us, but I can’t take the silence. Still avoiding looking at him, I say, “I have an idea about the bait and tackle space—”

“Jane.”

“Mr. Wright.” I swallow around the title, fighting against the urgency in his voice. We simply need to return to business. Get back on track as we were before. Before we became Mr. and Mrs. Wright. A heavy lump forms in my throat while I trace a finger over my notebook. Like a lovesick teenager, I’m drawing a heart.

“Dammit. You won’t even look at me,” he snaps.

The force of his tone brings my head upright. It’s too painful to look at him, knowing what we’ve done. How he touched me. How he kissed me. And how very real the fakeness of our marriage is. Quickly, I avert my gaze.

“You spoke of disrespect the other night, so quit disrespecting me by sleeping on this fucking couch every night.” Mach’s tone turns sharper, and he scrubs a hand down his face.

Disrespecting him? How is sleeping on this couch a sign of disrespect? “Where should I be?” Distractedly, I continue to draw on the notebook cover.

“In our bed.”

My head snaps upright. I dig my teeth into my lower lip as my eyes latch onto his.

“And now you’re doing that thing where you bite your lip when you disagree with me.”

I sigh. We don’t publicly display affection, but Mach introduces me as his wife, placing a hand on my lower back when he does. He stands close to me when we speak to people in the community. However, the other night we were quite the opposite, and I don’t think we’re fooling anyone into thinking we’re a happy couple in love.

“We don’t need to practice in here what we do out there. When it’s only us, we don’t need to prove anything to one another. You don’t owe me anything other than a partnership when our truce is over.”

“Truce.” His voice is too quiet as he purses his lips and turns his head, staring off toward the front hallway. “Is the partnership all that’s important to you?”

No. “I’ve worked hard to prove who I am despite what you might have heard from Ripley.” Hard work is all the more reason not to accept a partnership under the conditions of a carrot dangled on a string before me. Over and over again, I’ve proven my worth and this charade isn’t the way I want a title like partner.

Mach turns back to me. “Jane, I didn’t mean what I said.”

My eyes widen. “Now, you’re doing that thing. Where you hold your eyes still . . .” While you lie to me.