Page 10 of Claiming His Wife
I follow behind getting more nervous with every step. I’m surprised when she leads me through the dining room into one of the private rooms. The impossible to get, have-to-know-someone-who-knows-someone private rooms. I get a sense of the lush room I’ve been led to, but my eyes find Scott and my brain short circuits.
He’s wearing my favorite charcoal gray suit sans tie. His collar is loose, and his hair is askew which tells me he’s been running his fingers through his hair. Something he only does when he’s anxious.Is he as nervous as I am?That thought makes me feel a little more confident. If he’s nervous, then that means he’s taking this seriously.
As if he senses me looking at him, he looks up from the menu he was studying, and I promptly trip on my heel and nearly knock the hostess down. My face is a million shades of red as I apologize to the poor lady. Why couldn’t I be graceful just this once? Scott is up from his chair and in front of me in seconds. Without a word, he guides me to my seat, pulling the chair out for me and tucking me under the table.
He leans down, and I think for a moment he’s going to kiss me, and my eyes fall closed in nervous anticipation. Goosebumps break out on my skin when his hot breath caresses my neck and his voice rumbles in my ear. “You look ravishing, my love. Positively edible.”
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.My body silently pleads. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when Scott rises and moves to take his own seat. He looks at me from across the table hungrily, and it takes a herculean effort to not squirm in my seat. He’s devouring me with his eyes like he’s starving for the very sight of me.
Silence stretches between us, fraught with sexual tension. Less than five minutes in his presence and I’m ready to throw all caution to the wind and hop into bed with him. I scold my inner hussy. I am not sleeping with Scott. No matter how much I want him. I need him to prove himself before I give myself over to him. I just pray I can be strong enough to follow through with that plan.
I breathe a sigh of relief when our waiter approaches. Scott orders a bottle of my favorite white wine and flawlessly orders my meal for me. My heart melts just a little at him knowing exactly what I want. Grilled chicken alfredo with black truffles. I’m somewhat health conscious and tend to watch everything I put into my body carefully. I’m not one of those people with a high metabolism that can eat anything and not gain a pound. Italian food is my one weakness and rich, creamy alfredo sauce is my kryptonite.
“You remembered,” I find myself saying unable to keep the surprise from my tone.
“Despite my actions of the last year, I remember everything about you, Mallory.”
Not knowing what to say to that I make a production of opening my napkin and placing it on my lap. I fiddle with the placement of my fork, adjust my water glass… anything to keep from having to look up at Scott. I straighten my already straight silverware. My breath catches when Scott’s warm hand covers mine, halting my fidgeting.
“Baby, you don’t have to be nervous. It’s just me.”
I can’t hold back my snort of derision. Of course, I’m nervous. I’ve spent months feeling unattractive and unloved. I hate that my self-confidence took such a hard hit from his indifference. I never had a problem with my self-image before. I know I’m not ugly. It took a long time for Scott to convince me that my curves were a blessing, not a curse, but even before I accepted that I’d never be a size five, I still knew I was pretty. Logically, I know I haven’t changed, and yet, I no longer see the pretty woman I used to in the mirror. I find myself picking apart my appearance instead of appreciating what’s there. So instead of feeling confident in my pretty dress with perfectly done hair and makeup, I feel nervous and unsure of myself.
The waiter comes back with our bottle of wine and quickly pours two glasses before scurrying off, leaving Scott and me completely alone. Thankful for a reason to break contact, I pull my hand away from his and take a healthy drink of my wine. The cool crisp liquid is just the right amount of sweet.
“Good?” Scott asks.
“Very, thank you.” I take another sip before setting my glass down. “How’s work?” I ask, deciding that maybe if I initiate small talk, it’ll prevent him from starting the conversation I know he wants to have. I’m not ready to talk about our relationship.
“Busy. We just landed a multimillion-dollar account with Thorton Markets.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say with pride. I can’t help but be proud of his accomplishment. He’s darn good at his job and deserves the success, but knowing he just started a new project makes me wary. He already spends too much time at the office, and with such a big account, I can foresee a lot more hours spent working. How can he possibly find time to work on us when he’ll have such a massive distraction?
“Thank you. Now that we secured the account, I’m letting Chuck take point.”
“What?!” The word falls from my lips loudly and full of incredulity. I slap my hand over my mouth angry at myself for losing control of my speech.
Scott’s lips tip up with a sad smile. “I’ve decided it’s time to delegate. When I told you things would be different, I meant it. I won’t make the same mistake twice. You’re more important than work. I love you, Mallory. I’m not giving up on us. Ever.”
Once again, I have no idea how to respond. He’s saying everything that I want to hear, but can I trust him? I’ve spent so many sleepless nights trying to figure out why my husband became distant and dismissive… I desperately want to know why, but I’m too chicken to ask. Can I move forward without knowing what caused the rift? Can my fragile heart take finding out why he changed? I’m not sure it can.
The silence that follows is awkward. I can tell Scott wants to talk more about us but is wary of pushing me any more than he already has. I’m relieved beyond belief when he asks me about how work is going. Our conversation flows smoothly after that.
I fill him in on Mrs. Anderson’s newest antics. She’s seventy-five if she is a day and can’t stick with any one design for more than six months. I’ve redone her living room, kitchen, the master bedroom, and the three guest bedrooms in her house at least three times each over the last four years. I’m half convinced the reason she keeps changing her mind is to annoy her husband. Talk about relationship goals. They’ve been married for fifty years, and despite the fact that she drives him to the edge of insanity, the love is evident in their every interaction. They have the kind of relationship I always envisioned having with Scott. A lifetime of love and happiness. That seems like an impossibility now, though.
It’s heartbreaking.
“What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Scott asks, interrupting my morose thoughts.
“Oh, just thinking about the Anderson’s. They just celebrated their fiftieth anniversary…”
The frown on Scott’s handsome face shows understanding. He’s grasping my melancholy at the thought that we might not have that. “Mal—”
“So… this was nice,” I quickly say, interrupting whatever he was about to say.
He looks down at our empty dessert plates and realizes that our date is coming to an end. I can see his mind working, and I imagine he’s trying to think of something to stall ending our date. He must not think of anything, because he drops some bills on the table and escorts me out of the restaurant.
Once outside, he takes my arm like he’s done a million times. I lightly squeeze his arm in acknowledgment of the fact that he’s holding me close so he can catch me if I stumble in my heels on the uneven sidewalk. He walks me to my car, lingering wordlessly as if he doesn’t want to leave. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to leave either.