Anna Adams - The Bride Ran Away

“For good?” He looked around. The kitchen was nice, but the rest of the small, stagnant house, with its close-set walls, contained only so much oxygen. “You’re asking me to surround myself with people who think I’ve ruined your life.”

“I’m forcing you to become part of my family.”

She stared at his hands, and he realized he was rubbing his finger, the one that had never set properly after his father had broken it during an argument. Ian had thrown up his hand to defend himself, and instead ended up with a lifelong memory of an idiotic argument and his father’s demand for submission.

Just like then, he had no choice now.

“They’ll be your family, too.” Surprising him, she covered his hand, including his broken finger. “Give them a chance and time.”

He pulled away and shoved both hands into his pockets. “What do you really want?”

“You can take me at face value.” Clearly puzzled, she opened a cabinet and took down a tall glass and a mug. “I told you I want to live here, partly because of your work. I want to come home, anyway, but if we’re staying together, it makes sense to be where my family can help with the baby. My job is demanding, too.”

“You obviously made the decision before you thought about staying with me. This is an ultimatum.”

“I am moving home. I—need…” She closed her mouth, making a seam of her lips as if she had to gather strength to utter the word. “Help. And that won’t change if you and I are married.”

Anger grabbed him by the throat. Only his father had ever dictated to him. He tried to say no—to suggest their child wouldn’t be the first to divide time between divorced parents.

But his own confusing childhood stood in his way. How could he consider shuttling his son or daughter between houses without trying to create a family home?

Sophie was right about the Calverts. They’d help her when he had to work. And her grandmother was growing older. A new physician at the baby farm made sense. Sophie at the baby farm made sense. Worst of all, if he refused, he’d be doing it to prove his manhood. To himself.

He’d lost all his options the day Sophie’s pregnancy test came up positive. Now he had to live with the consequences—and maybe make something good out of them. Maybe make a real family and a real home for his child.

“When do you want to move?” He stripped his tone to the bare words—no emotion. That was safer.

“As soon as I transfer my practice to another doctor. While I’m arranging that, you can pack up in Chicago—or put things in storage in case we don’t make it. Whatever you want to do.”

Her expression was innocent even as she suggested their marriage remained a trial relationship. He left the bait where she’d cast it. Time would prove him honest.

“We’ll pack you up first,” he said. “I don’t want you doing all that work on your own.”

“I know what I’m capable of physically.” She took two sliding steps down the counter, movements she was obviously repeating from the past. She lifted the lid on a round, plastic container and stared, struck dumb, at a rich chocolate cake. “That looks—” her throat worked as she swallowed “—good.”

He wanted badly to laugh, and he envied that cake her besotted admiration. She pushed it away with the tips of her fingers. He crossed to the counter and pulled it back. “Take some.” When Sophie gave in to temptation, she gave all and then some. She was irresistible.

“I wish I could say no, but I’ll eat my fair share.” Flashing a pained smile, she took down two plates and served cake on both. But she denied herself even a bite of the moist chocolate while she poured a glass of milk and a cup of coffee.

He watched, seduced. It was all part of the dance. She wanted the cake. It was in reach, but she controlled her appetites. He lifted his mug, determined to remind her of other days and other delicacies. “No more champagne?”

Her blush looked like sunburn. They’d sipped champagne from the hollows of each other’s bodies. “No more,” she said, her voice liquid. “Until we learn how to talk to each other with our mouths.”

He stared at hers, remembering the silky touch of those full lips, the delicious taste of her. “I like the way you use words already.”

She picked up his mug and her glass, leaving a splash of milk that betrayed her trembling hand. He tore a paper towel from a fat roll and wiped up the spill behind her.

“You’re the one who said we did everything backward.” She set both drinks on the table. “This time we’ll learn about each other. We can’t go on having sex until we suddenly wake up and can’t stand being in the same room.”

He frowned, understanding she wasn’t just declaring a moratorium on champagne. “Being more conventional won’t keep us from making more mistakes, and I didn’t say I hated the—”

“Sex? I want more than just sex, Ian.” She pulled back a hard wooden chair and sat, staking territory. “If you can’t live with waiting until we’re both sure we want to be married, we’d better both call lawyers.”

Anger rolled over him again, but it was about time he learned to control his emotions around Sophie. “Go softly. I know you think I tricked you into this marriage, but playing house won’t help us. I want a wife for myself and a mother for my son.”

“Or daughter,” she said. “And I have to know we can be more than lovers.”

“I tried to hide cold feet because I was afraid I’m the worst thing that could happen to you.” Maybe she’d heard all the evidence she needed, but her low opinion of him still hurt. “You meant more to me than the time we spent in bed, but at least it was a connection.”

She glared at him. “I don’t trust the way we felt.”

It was useless to argue. “How long do you see us living as housemates?”

“I’m trying to be your wife.” She lifted her chin. “Because you cared enough to quit your job. And… I didn’t…” She stopped, her gaze wavering with doubt, but then she seemed to gather strength. “I didn’t think about our baby when I left you.” She breathed as hard as if she’d run a couple of marathons. “My mom never seemed to realize I was as important as her dates, and I always thought if I had children, I’d put them first.”

“You aren’t your mother. You aren’t anyone but you.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better. I don’t need comfort. I only want to hear the promises you can keep.”

She sounded as if he’d lied to her all along, instead of making one nearly catastrophic slip. “Why’d you agree to marry me in the first place? Don’t you respect me at all?”

“This isn’t a matter of respect.” She finally speared a bite of cake, but her lust for chocolate had lost its effect on him. “You say you want to be with me, but you could meet someone you really care for. I want to know where I stand with you at all times.”

His wife had funny ideas about marriage. “Why would I marry you and keep my options open for another woman?”

She stared until all he could see was the open, earnest expression that had rendered him stupid in her grandfather’s apple orchard last fall. “I don’t seem to make sense anymore.” She opened her mouth. The fork and the piece of cake slid between her moist red lips.

Ian gripped the sides of his chair, his muscles shaking with his effort at control. He wanted to pull her onto this table and touch her until she turned back into the woman he’d known.

At last she swallowed her bite. “I told you what I need. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“I’m not crazy about rules, but I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I argue.”

“You’re afraid you’ll lose the baby.”