Judith Mcwilliams - Made-To-Order Wife

“Manners aren’t a question of right and wrong,” Jessie said. “Think of them as the grease that lubricates the friction of living in close proximity with other people. As far as I’m concerned, having a man open doors for me is a plus. However, some women feel that a man doing something for them that they can do for themselves is patronizing. It will turn them off. If you want to marry a woman who thinks like that, then you need to practice letting women open their own doors.”

Max stared off in the middle distance for a long moment and said, “Opening doors for women is just habit. I grew up in the South, and manners there tend to be a bit more traditional. But I have no real opinion either way.”

“Good,” Jessie said. “Once you focus in on a woman you intend to court, you can simply follow her lead.”

“Yes,” Max said as he tried to imagine what his final choice would look like. But the only image that formed in his mind was of Jessie. Proximity, he told himself.

“What would you like to eat?” Max asked.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she said.

“Well, think faster. The waitress will be here in a minute.”

“Waitperson. Political correctness is very important with the social crowd you’ll be moving in. Or, at least, lip service to it is.”

Max eyed the waitress serving the couple at a table about ten feet from them. “My imagination isn’t equal to the task of thinking of someone like her in sexless terms,” he said.

Jessie turned to follow his gaze and found herself staring at a tall blonde wearing slim black pants that highlighted her long, slender legs and a white blouse that fitted snuggly over her well-developed breasts.

As Jessie watched, the woman turned slightly and aimed a dazzling white smile at the man at the next table. Not only was the woman built like a Playboy centerfold, but she was gorgeous, too.

“I see the problem.” Jessie tried to get a handle on her own feeling of inferiority in the face of such blatant feminine perfection.

“Is that what you envision your future wife looking like?” Jessie asked.

Max took a second look at the waitress, his eyes lingering on the sexy pout of her collagen-enhanced lips. He tried to imagine her holding a wiggling toddler in her arms and failed utterly. She’d probably be too afraid the kid would mess up her hair. Even worse, she’d undoubtedly object to spoiling her figure by having a baby in the first place.

“Not particularly,” he said. “Besides, beautiful women tend to be very high maintenance. Over the long haul that would get real old real fast. And marriage is for the long haul.”

“You wouldn’t know it to look at the divorce statistics these days. Half of all marriages fail.”

Max studied the somber shadows in her eyes, wondering what had put them there. Could she have been married herself and gone through a messy divorce?

“Look at the bright side. That means that half of all marriages are a success,” he said.

Jessie grinned at him, and Max had the oddest feeling that he’d just stepped out of the shadows into brilliant sunlight.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re one of those people who see the glass half full instead of half empty?”

“No, I’m one of those people who immediately starts negotiating for water rights so I don’t have to worry.”

Jessie’s grin dissolved into a chuckle. “Practicality is so much more appealing.”

“Not to everyone,” he muttered, remembering his last girlfriend’s numerous complaints about his lack of romantic gestures. “Some women infinitely prefer the romantic approach.”

“But what’s romantic varies depending on whom you’re talking to. Personally, I think a man who can provide the necessities of life is very romantic, but then, I’m willing to admit that I have a practical bent of mind. You just need to find a woman who thinks like you do.”

“You don’t believe in opposites attracting?” Max asked.

Pain speared through her as she remembered her mother’s many lovers. “Take it from one who has been there, it’s much too risky. Offbeat habits that seem endearing at the beginning can become major stumbling blocks later on.”

“I’ll have the Dijon chicken with a tossed salad, house dressing on the side, and a glass of white wine,” Jessie said, changing the subject as the waitress approached their table.

Surreptitiously Jessie studied the waitress’s perfect features, searching for a flaw. She couldn’t find one. If anything the woman looked better up close than she did from a distance.

Jessie tensed as the woman addressed Max by name.

“I’m so honored to meet you, Mr. Sheridan.” The woman gave him an adoring look that made Jessie want to gag. “I’ve seen your picture in the paper many times, but I never thought I’d get to meet you in person.” She gave a throaty laugh that Jessie would have been willing to bet she practiced three times a day in front of a mirror.

Jessie ignored such blatant behavior in favor of watching how Max responded to the woman. To her surprise he didn’t react. At least, not outwardly. He simply nodded as if to acknowledge her words, and proceeded to order.

Undaunted by his reserved manner, the waitress continued to flirt with him. Almost as if she couldn’t believe that he wasn’t captivated by her looks.

When she finally left, Jessie said, “Well done.”

He shot her a sharp glance and said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean how you resisted the impulse to respond to her blatant come-on while with another woman, even if that woman is simply a business colleague.”

Max’s smile held a cynical edge that chilled Jessie. “It wasn’t hard. She wasn’t flirting with me. She was flirting with my money.”

Jessie frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“She knew my name,” he said flatly. “In my position you learn to recognize the obvious hangers-on. It saves a lot of trouble in the long run.”

“I guess. So how do you tell if someone likes you for yourself?”

“I don’t. That’s why I need you to listen in on my prospective wife’s conversations for me. Hopefully, your input will give me a better idea of what a woman really thinks about me.”

The bleak expression that suddenly darkened his eyes to navy tore at her heart. For a second he had looked so alone. So terribly alone. As if he didn’t have a friend in the world. Which was ridiculous, she told herself. Max was a fascinating man. He probably had lots of friends, and despite what he obviously believed, she didn’t have the slightest doubt that he’d attract women in droves even if he didn’t have a dime to his name. He’d simply attract a different type of woman. Women who, in her opinion, were probably worth a whole lot more than the fortune hunters after him now.

She leaned back in the seat as the young man who’d been tending bar brought them their drinks, gave them a harried smile and hurried back to the bar.

Jessie sipped the excellent white wine and then asked, “What about religion?”

Max eyed her narrowly. “You can’t be a religious fanatic, because you’re drinking alcohol.”

“My religious beliefs are irrelevant. Yours aren’t. Do you have any religious requirements in a wife?”

Max thought about it for a moment and then said, “No specific requirements, but children need the stability of going to church on Sunday.”

“No, children need the stability to being taken to church on Sunday,” Jessie corrected him. “What’s more, if you’re going to join a church, you’d better be prepared to live up to the teaching of whatever denomination you choose, because nothing will mess kids up quicker than being exposed to hypocrisy.”

Max blinked at her acerbic tone. “That caveat sounds very personal. What happened? Did your parents let you down?”