Brenda Harlen - A Wife for One Year

He looked at her now—at the pale blond hair that fell in gentle waves to her shoulders with a fringe of bangs above deep blue eyes. At the delicate shape of her face, the flawless complexion, and lips that were temptingly shaped and softer than he could have imagined. If he’d let himself imagine, which he definitely and absolutely had not until the minister had told him to kiss her. She was at least eight inches shorter than his six feet four inches, with a slender but undeniably feminine physique. And although she looked slight, he knew that she was strong and stubborn, genuine and loyal.

If he could choose to fall in love with anyone, he would choose Kenna. Instead, they’d chosen to follow the path of friendship, and falling in love now would force a detour from that path and ruin everything.

When the waiter came to their table, Daniel ordered the peppercorn steak with shrimp skewers, truffle mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. Kenna selected the pan-fried sole with crispy fingerling potatoes and roasted cauliflower.

They chatted about inconsequential topics while they waited for their food, and while Kenna responded appropriately, she seemed more than a little distracted, and he couldn’t help wondering if she already regretted her decision.

“If you’re disappointed that Elvis didn’t perform the ceremony, we can probably catch him on stage somewhere,” he told her.

She smiled. “I’m not disappointed, and I thought the ceremony was lovely.”

“Just not what you’d envisioned for your wedding day?” he guessed.

“Truthfully, I’d given up thinking that I’d ever get married.”

“Why?” he asked, as the waiter approached with their meals.

“Too many frogs, not enough princes,” she said, after the server had gone again.

“What about that guy you were dating from school? The gym teacher? You never did tell me why you broke up with him.”

“While this marriage is a first for me, I’m pretty sure most husbands don’t bring up the topic of their wives’ ex-boyfriends on their wedding night.”

“But we’ve already established that this isn’t like most marriages,” he said, unwilling to let her dodge the topic. “So what happened?”

She picked up her fork and poked at her fish. “Do you really want to talk about my failed relationships?”

He was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question, but he found that he did. He’d been so grateful when she’d agreed to marry him that he hadn’t let himself question the fact that she was a beautiful, intelligent twenty-six-year-old woman who not only didn’t have a steady boyfriend but very rarely went out on dates.

“I’m just realizing that you’re probably as much of a commitment-phobe as I am,” he told her.

“I don’t know that any husband has ever spoken such romantic words to his wife.”

The dryness of her tone made him smile as he cut into his steak. “I thought you were unhappy about being with me because you were thinking about him.”

“Harrison and I broke up three months ago,” she told him.

“But you thought he was the one.” He popped a piece of sirloin into his mouth, chewed.

Kenna shook her head. “Not really. I wanted him to be the one, and then I realized that he wasn’t.”

“So you weren’t thinking about him?”

“No,” she said. “I was thinking—hoping that this marriage won’t jeopardize a decade of friendship.”

“It won’t,” he promised.

Yes, they were legally married, but that was just a piece of paper. And her new status as his wife aside, the woman sitting across from him was still the same woman he’d known for more than ten years, his best friend and most trusted confidante. There was no need for their altered marital status—or one little kiss—to change their relationship.

But they did have to do something about their living arrangements. “I’ll ask Nate if I can borrow his truck when we get back.”

She picked up her wine. “Why do you need his truck?”

“To move your stuff.”

She set down the glass without drinking. “I’m not moving into your place.”

He popped a shrimp into his mouth and wondered why she sounded genuinely startled by the idea. “My condo’s bigger than your apartment,” he said logically. “And I have two bedrooms.”

“I know, but...” Her protest trailed off.

“But?” he prompted.

She just shook her head. “Obviously I didn’t give the details of this arrangement enough thought,” she admitted.

“What did you think—that we’d continue to live as we have been?”

“Of course not,” she denied, but the color that filled her cheeks confirmed to him that was exactly what she’d thought.

“I agreed to separate bedrooms, not separate addresses,” he said.

“But you don’t have a bed in your second bedroom,” she pointed out.

“We’ll move my desk out and your bed in. If anyone asks why, we’ll explain that we wanted to have a guest room for your sister when she comes to visit.”

She considered this and finally, reluctantly, nodded. “But what if she really does want to come for a sleepover?”

“How often does she stay at your place?”

“Hardly ever,” she admitted, stabbing a piece of cauliflower with her fork.

“Then we’ll worry about that if and when it happens.”

She nodded, although not entirely happily, as she nibbled on the tender-crisp vegetable. “Your condo is almost a half-hour drive from South Ridge High School,” she pointed out. “I can be at work from my apartment in less than ten minutes.”

“So you’ll have to get up a little earlier in the morning,” he acknowledged.

“I’m more concerned about how long my car will last with the extra miles I’ll be putting on it every day.”

“We’ll get you a new one.”

She frowned. “You’re not buying me a new car.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes. “What kind of an answer is that?”

“A valid one,” she said stubbornly.

“Are you forgetting that I’m rich now?”

“I didn’t marry you for your money.”

“Actually, you did.”

She flushed. “Okay, I did. But only for a small part of it and only for Becca.”

“Because she needs the surgery,” he acknowledged. “Just like she needed new shoes when you took that fifty bucks off me back in high school.”

The color in her cheeks deepened. “She’s a kid from a single-parent family in the wrong part of town—I just want her to have a chance.”

“And she does,” he told her. “Because she has you in her corner.”

“And you,” Kenna said. “You were the one who found Dr. Rakem.”

“I just made some inquiries.” He opened the folder the waiter had left on the table, added a tip and signed the tab.

“And then checked his references and arranged the consult.”

He just shrugged, because it really hadn’t been the big deal she was making it out to be.

“I don’t know how to express how truly grateful I am,” Kenna said softly.

“Getting naked might work,” he said, because the mood had become entirely too serious and he wanted to see her smile.

Her lips did curve, even as she shook her head.

Then her gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about our wedding night...”

His brows rose along with his interest.

“...and I decided it might be fun to strip—I mean, see the Strip.”

And that quickly, his hopes were dashed.

“You want to play tourist, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

He pushed his chair away from the table and offered his hand. “Then let’s do it, Mrs. Garrett.”

* * *

Seeing Las Vegas through Kenna’s eyes was like seeing it for the first time all over again. She gaped at everything, from showgirls in glamorous costumes to working girls in almost nonexistent costumes; she paused to admire landmarks of famous hotels and the wares of unknown street artists; she sighed over a diamond bangle in the window display of Cartier but bought a rope-and-bead bracelet from a young boy’s folding table.