Page 75 of Single Malt Drama
Marco
Most people saythe keys to a healthy marriage are communication, maintaining a balance between personal and couple interests, and forgiveness. While I agreed one-hundred percent, I’d add sex, both the quality and quantity, somewhere near the top of the list. Marital bliss in the bayou consisted of all of the above and then some.
I glanced up from the sales contract for yet another Marchionni-owned business and grinned. Not because I found anything particularly amusing in selling off bits and pieces of my family’s holding. Quite the contrary—I freaking hated it.
What put the shit-eating grin on my face? My bride sitting in the center of a tsunami of fabric while wearing abso-freaking-lutely nothing.
Nico had used the messy bun on the top of her head as a pencil holder and currently held three straight pins between her lips. She had a smudge on her right cheek and a determined look on her face.
Hands down, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I was the lucky SOB who had married her.
She took the pins from her mouth, attached two pieces of fabric together, and smiled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” I set my laptop on the end table, dropped to the floor, and crawled toward her.
“Like this.” She flashed me a goofy grin as she cleared a path in the pieces of sheet she’d cut up for the pattern. “You should be focusing on work.”
“I’d rather focus on you…” Still on all fours, I nuzzled into her neck.
And my phone rang.
She placed her hands on my shoulders and eased me back. “Saved by the bell.”
“Holy smokes. You got an idiom right.” Laughing, I went for her chest.
“Very funny, wise man.” Once again, she pushed me away. “You should answer that.”
“Wise guy. It’s wise guy or smart-ass.” Without taking my eyes off her, I reached behind me for the cell. “Marchionni.”
“Marco, it’s Tara Cole. Is this a bad time?”
My body screamed, “Yes!” but I said, “Nope. What’s up? Are you still in Palermo?”
Nico tilted her head and arched a brow.
Tara sucked in a breath. “Yes. I um… I just got back from the meeting with the… With the, you know.”
I couldn’t decide if she was confused or reluctant or some combination of the two. “That had to be nerve-wracking, Tara. How did it go?”
My wife frowned at the mention of the other woman’s name.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I told them what I knew and answered their questions, but they just sat there staring at me stone-faced.” She sighed. “Gabe said I did well, but you know Gabe. He’s too nice to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
Gabe nice? Since when? “I’m sure you did great.”
She sighed again, louder than before. “That’s not why I’m calling. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Okay?”
“Remember when we were together?” Her voice thinned.
“Uh huh.” My brain skidded to a halt. While it’d never happened to me personally, I imagined every I’m pregnant or I have an STD conversation started with some variation of, “Remember when we had sex?”
“This is an awful thing to say over the phone…”
I had no idea how much of the conversation Nico could hear, but judging by her expression, she’d heard more than I would have liked. I stood and put some distance between myself and her scissors and straight pins.
Tara groaned on the other end of the call. “I’m not good at this.”