The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 26

Something has changed.

Ares is acting differently. He’s still as attentive as ever, but there’s a hint of tenderness when he gazes at me, like I’m his most prized treasure.

But why? I haven’t changed. I’m still the same weird me—an eccentric heiress who can’t eat food without having somebody taste it first, and who has a higher number of fingers than friends in her contacts.

I’m not okay with anybody seeing the scar on my back, either, including my husband, so I’m always careful when we’re intimate. Sometimes a mix of wistfulness and disappointment crosses his face when I shift to hide it. Obviously, he wishes I wouldn’t be so obsessed about hiding it, but that isn’t going to happen. I always want to appear pretty before him, especially when we’re only going to be together for several months.

Also, I don’t have anything keeping me busy all day, like Ares told me he wants in a wife. Ethan and his team are doing most of the digging through my financial and legal affairs.

When I tell Ares about my idleness, he sets up a beautiful art studio in a sunny room with a fantastic view of the garden. It has three easels, all with differently sized canvases, an angled desk for sketching and a couple of comfy seats. A mahogany chest with four drawers holds all sorts of supplies, from paints to palettes to various brushes. It’s even better than the tiny studio Doris made in the house in Nesovia.

He must’ve put a lot of effort and thought into creating this space for me so quickly. I hug him tightly. His arms go around me, providing a comfort and warmth I never want to leave. Why does he make himself so irresistible when we both know our accidental marriage is just temporary?

He gestures at a canvas that’s taller than me and wide enough to cover a vast expanse of the wall. “Didn’t realize one of them would be that big,” he says sheepishly, his cheeks and ears turning pink.

He’s absolutely adorable, and the vulnerability in his gaze melts my heart. Who would’ve thought a big, bad lawyer could be so sweet? “It’s perfect. Just imagine what I can paint here.”

“True. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Don’t. It’s probably going to suck,” I say against his chest, recalling what the experts Doris hired said about my talent while studying my artwork, ostensibly to figure out my “mental state” but most likely to find a way to label me mentally unfit so she could toss me into an asylum.

“So?” He runs his fingers through my hair. “You said it was something you did with your mother, and it sounds like you liked it. Do what makes you happy.”

“What if I tell you I want to use your computer to watch things on YouTube?”

He looks puzzled. “What if you do?” Then he shows me how to log into an extra laptop he has in his office. “Yours. You can come anytime and use it.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that I might snoop around?” Doris would’ve never allowed me in her office without supervision. She was always paranoid I might discover something I shouldn’t have, probably because there was a lot to discover.

He shrugs. “Client materials are kept locked when not in use. Not because I don’t trust you, but because that’s the protocol at the firm. As for the rest…” He shrugs. “Snoop away.”

And he means it. I spend a few hours in the studio doodling in the brand-new sketchbooks—nothing’s inspired me to actually pick up a brush and sit in front of a canvas. Then I browse the web to read about science or history. Sometimes art or music.

It’s exhilarating to be able to learn whatever I want, whenever I want. Doris always restricted how long I could be on the internet and what kind of things I could read about.

Doris, you suck so bad. And my husband is amazing.

YouTube has videos on cooking Thai food! How cool! Maybe I don’t have to travel to Thailand to learn how to make pad Thai after all. I study one by a Thai-Canadian named Pai and order the ingredients to be delivered. I’ll try it tonight.

I text Ares about my plan.

–My Knight: Thai? If you’re in the mood, I know a couple great restaurants.

–Me: I’ve always wanted to learn. I’m probably not that terrible. Otherwise, there’s always takeout or delivery. Pepperoni pizza never fails.

–My Knight: I’m sure it’ll be fine. But don’t you need a wok?

–Me: I do? How do you know?

Does my husband cook Thai? Is there anything he can’t do? I was going to use one of the many frying pans in the kitchen.

–My Knight: Because Akiko makes a mean stir-fry. I’ll text and ask her to send you one of her woks. They’re already seasoned.

–Me: You’re the best.

I send the text, then look at it. It sounds so…affectionate. More personal than just a polite “thank you.” Something about it bugs me—I should be more careful not to appear clingy or cringey.

That evening I time it just right so my first ever pad Thai is ready to be served as Ares walks in. I think it tastes all right, tangy and sweet with some salt to balance everything out. Still, my palms grow clammy with nerves. I’ve never had Thai food before—just heard about it. It’s possible that what I created tastes okay, but isn’t all that authentic. What if he doesn’t like it?

My husband sniffs the air as he enters the kitchen with some vivid purple orchids and a brown bag that’s moist with whatever’s sweating inside. “Wow. Smells like Thailand.”

“Really?” I look up at him, all hopeful and relieved.

“Uh-huh.” He hands me the bouquet. I murmur my thanks, bury my face in the flowers and inhale the heady fragrance. “We just need some young coconuts.” He grins and pulls out two huge green coconuts from the bag and sets them on the table. Then he plucks the biggest blossom from the bouquet and tucks it behind my ear. His fingertips brush the sensitive skin of my earlobe, making my whole body tingle with awareness. “There. A pretty flower for my pretty wife.”

I flush. No matter how many times he calls me pretty, I can’t seem to get used to it. The word always makes my heart flutter, like I’m a teenager experiencing her first crush. Everyone says your first crush fades soon enough, but the sensation only seems to grow stronger. What if it never fades?

Stop getting ahead of yourself. Time to serve the meal and see what Ares says.

I plate the pad Thai—nowhere near as fancy as Akiko’s style, of course. But I think it’s okay. I then sprinkle crushed peanuts around the noodles—yum—and arrange a trio of fat shrimp so they look fancy sitting on top.

We look at the green coconuts. “How are we supposed to eat those?” I ask, certain Ares will know.

“You have to cut off the top.” He studies the round objects seriously. “I’ve never had to do it myself, though. The vendors always did it for me in Thailand.”

“You’ve been there?”

“A few times. It’s beautiful—soft sand and warm, gentle waves.” He gives me a smile. “If you want, we can go.”

“I do,” I say eagerly, until I remember he turned down the vacation I proposed on our way back from Vegas to celebrate our future divorce. But maybe he’s changed his mind. Or maybe he means we can stay friends and travel together at some point. I decide not to dig too deep in case it ruins the mood.

He takes the coconuts to the kitchen, then undoes his shirt cuffs and rolls up the sleeves. Thick, well-muscled forearms flex as he moves to take off a Patek Philippe watch. With casual elegance, he pulls out a huge butcher knife from the dark wooden block. The blade is spotless and so shiny, I don’t think anyone’s ever used it.

“We don’t have to have the coconut,” I say tentatively from the other side of the counter. I don’t want him to get hurt. That knife isn’t just big—it looks very sharp.

He shoots me a look full of confidence. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

I merely smile, then watch as he brings it down once. Then again. And again. And again. The sound of the blade hitting the fruit is like a small tree getting chopped down. His brow furrowed in concentration, he shapes one side of the coconut, then sits it upright. A hard, horizontal strike, and the knife sticks into the hard shell.

I want to ask if the coconut is impossible to crack, but keep my mouth shut to avoid upsetting his ego. When I met Lucie for coffee last week, she said male pride is more fragile than a hothouse flower.

Her friend Yuna was there as well. “And not just any flower, but the kind that dies the second it doesn’t get the sun and water it feels entitled to.”

Incipient triumph gleams in Ares’s eyes. He wiggles the blade, still stuck in the shell. The tendons in his forearms stand out, the muscles flexing. His tongue swipes quickly over his lips.

Damn. Why is it so hot in here? The stove’s off, and the A/C’s working.

I pull the hair off the back of my neck and start fanning myself. Ares notices, and a sexy, arrogant smile tugs at his gorgeous mouth.

The top of the coconut finally cracks open. He laughs softly, then hands me the whole thing. Our fingers brush, and my toes curl. What he’s doing should be illegal.

“Careful. It’s heavy.” His voice strokes me like the softest velvet, delivering electric shivers.

Then he starts on the second one, working much faster than before. The strength, control and ease with which he handles himself is an aphrodisiac. Who would’ve thought watching your husband crack a coconut could be so erotic?

I squirm, shifting my weight left and right. It doesn’t do a thing to relieve the aching pressure building between my legs. The only one who can help is Ares. If we didn’t have pad Thai growing colder with every passing minute, I might be tempted to kiss him and let things run their natural course. Or if I didn’t think he was hungry after a long day at work…

Stop acting like a nympho. We can always have sex after dinner.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to master my out-of-control libido, then carry my large, hard coconut to the table. Ares brings his, along with long straws for both of us. He smiles. “Bon appetit.”

I toast by lifting my coconut and taking a sip. He digs into the pad Thai, and I wait for his verdict with a raw-nerve anticipation I’ve never felt before. What if it’s awful? Although I thought pizza would be fine if I screwed up, I realize I want the first meal I’ve ever made to be delicious—and meet with his approval.

Is that normal…or clingy behavior? I debate for a moment. He’s been so good to me that I don’t want to do anything to disappoint or cause him distress of any kind. Relationships are so much harder than I expected, even if they’re temporary. I wish I had more experience, because then I’d know exactly what to do and not overanalyze.

Actually… I only overanalyze with Ares, like his opinion is critically important to me. Does that mean I care about him? And…more than I should, given what he said he wanted from me?

The possibility weighs down on the light, fluttery sensations in my belly that started when my husband walked in. Something heavy and painful settles in their place instead. Mulling, I move the noodles around on my plate.

“Lareina.” Ares’s soft voice stops me. “Are you all right?”