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One afternoon, we're relaxing in the sitting room when Emery brings up a subject neither of us has broached before. Emery has stretched out on the sofa while I'm "kicking back," as she would say, in a chair by the windows while I enjoy the view.
"I think you've worked a total of three hours in the past four days," my wife says. "What happened to all that vital, important work that used to keep you busy sixteen hours a day?"
My lips pucker as I consider her statement. Then they twitch upward briefly before I let them spread into a broad smile. "Fuck work."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but that's not really an answer."
"You were right. I hid in my office to avoid spending time with you, to avoid loving you. It didn't work, and I'm done with that. I'll help people who need it, the ones who can't afford a solicitor, but otherwise, I'm retired."
She gapes at me. "Retired at almost-forty? Are you sure you're ready to join the ranks of the idle rich?"
"I have no intention of being idle. We can do whatever you want. Anything. Say it, and I'll make it happen."
"Anything?"
"Yes. You wanted a new career, a new mission in life. I'll support you in whatever way you need."
"Well, I was thinking—"
I hold up a hand. "Not yet. No decisions for two weeks."
My wife accepts my command, but I know she's only humoring me. Maybe I am acting like an overprotective eejit. I can live with that.
The next day, the MacTaggart clan descends on our home. When Lachlan had rung me yesterday to ask permission for a visit, I asked Emery if she was ready to be overrun by an army of Scots and the American Wives Club. Aye, those barmy women have officially adopted that name for their group that seems to revolve around interfering in everyone else's lives. Emery feels better every day, so we agreed she could handle a brief visit.
My family doesn't stay too long, but seeing them makes Emery happy. It makes me happy too. I've been sequestered at Dùndubhan with my wife for a week, and though I could spend the rest of my life with only Emery, I enjoy seeing my family. They all seem surprised when they see me, probably because I smile and joke with them and dote on my wife.
Neither my family nor Emery's cares about Graham Oliver's expose, despite the details it included about our marriage contract and the prenuptial agreement. They also don't care that I'd talked Emery into a marriage of convenience. Everyone else apparently realized we love each other before Emery and I recognized the truth. And my family wasn't surprised at all that I'd been reluctant to commit to a normal relationship, since they know my first three marriages ended badly. The Grangers don't care about any of that either. During a phone conversation, Penny and Ted both assure us that after meeting me, they'd trusted me to take care of their daughter.
I don't worry about why they feel that way. Emery has taught me that logic holds little sway over the human heart.
My wife has changed me in other ways too. We watch superhero films together, though I doubt I'll ever share her enthusiasm for them. I start to appreciate them more when Emery compares me to the men in the movies.
She squeezes my biceps and says, "Mm, yours are much firmer and sexier."
On another occasion, she slides her hand up my inner thigh and announces, "Your legs are so much more toned and powerful, perfect for driving a woman half-crazy in bed."
After that, I volunteer to watch as many of those films as she wants.
The deadline I'd set for Emery lands on my birthday, though I haven't mentioned that fact to her. Now she should be recovered enough to make rational decisions, unaffected by her surgery. I don't want to make this day about me, but my wife has other ideas.
In the evening, we're relaxing on the sitting room sofa. Emery sits in the corner with her legs bent under her, while I'm beside her with an arm on the sofa's back and my legs outstretched. I also have my feet on the coffee table, something I would never have done before Emery.
She rubs her cheek against my arm. "I have a surprise for you."
I turn sideways to lay an arm around her. "What sort of surprise?"
"One sec." Without disturbing my arm, she sneaks a hand behind her to pull out an object she'd hidden between the cushion and the sofa's arm. She offers the gift-wrapped package to me. "Happy birthday, Rory baby."
I glance at the package, then look at her. "You haven't called me that since before—since everyone found out about our arrangement."
She tips her head to the side. "Haven't I?"
"No. Is it a good sign?"
"Guess so." She thrusts the gift at me. "Open it."
I accept the package, tapping my fingers on it. "How did you know it's my birthday?"
