The Desire In My Marriage

Chapter six

THE ICE-CREAM PROMISE

ELENA

Adrian had been home for three freaking days, and some days I forgot how to breathe with him around. By now, I had mastered the sound of his footsteps. They were heavy, short, and quick.

That was the first problem. The second was that I was sitting in the living room on a Saturday morning with a book open on my lap, pretending to read, while listening for them.

"Adrian! You promised!" Vivienne's voice rang down the hallway.

"I know I did," he laughed softly. "Give me two minutes to find my keys."

"You said this weekend," Clara added.

"And it's Saturday. I'm a man of my word," he said.

I looked down and realized I'd been holding my book upside down, so I turned it right side up. Naturally, they were going out without me. I told myself I didn't care, but God, I cared a little. Maybe more than a little.

"Elena?" Adrian stood in the doorway with his car keys hanging from one finger.

"Yes?" I said, much too quickly.

"Are you coming?"

I opened my mouth, but Clara appeared behind him, and her smile died. "We didn't invite her."

"I did," Adrian said calmly.

Vivienne folded her arms. "It's supposed to be us."

"It's supposed to be family," he replied. "Elena is family."

The word landed strangely. Clara and Vivienne glared at me as though I had stolen something.

"It's fine," I said, closing my book. "I don't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding," he said. "Come on, Elena. It's only ice cream."

I knew I should have said no.

Instead, I stood up before my brain could catch up. "Okay. Just ice cream."

Vivienne muttered under her breath. Clara rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't get stuck. I giggled when they looked away.

The drive was loud from the back seat. Vivienne sat in front with Adrian while Clara and I sat on opposite ends of the back. Vivienne talked nonstop about school while Adrian listened and teased her.

I watched his hands on the wheel, then forced myself to look out of the window.

When we arrived, I was stunned. The shop was small and bright, with pink chairs and a long glass counter.

"What do you want?" Adrian asked quietly while the twins argued.

"Oh, I'm fine," I said quickly.

"That wasn't the question," he said.

I hesitated, then blurted, "Vanilla."

He raised an eyebrow. "Vanilla?"

"What's wrong with vanilla?" I asked, playing innocent.

"Nothing. It's just very safe," he said.

"I like safe," I said.

Something flickered across his face. "I can tell."

Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You sure you don't want to be a little dangerous today, Elena?"

My face went hot. "I'm sure vanilla is dangerous enough."

He laughed, and God, that laugh. "Okay. One very dangerous vanilla coming up."

He ordered for all of us. Clara and Vivienne took their cones to a table by the window and left two seats at the far end, making it obvious I wasn't welcome.

Adrian and I sat at the empty table in the corner, our shoulders almost touching.

"They're really committed to this," he said.

"They hate me," I replied. "It's very consistent."

"They don't hate you," he said.

"Adrian," I said, giving him a look that said please be serious.

"Okay. They dislike you with great enthusiasm," he admitted with a small smile.

I laughed before I could stop myself. It burst out, soft and surprised. It was the first time I had laughed since I moved into that house, and I covered my mouth.

Adrian smiled as though he was satisfied. "There it is."

"There what is?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"The laugh. You don't use it much," he said, lowering his voice.

"I haven't had much reason to," I said, giving him a fake smile and looking away.

His expression softened. "How are you finding it? Really."

I looked down at my ice cream. I could have given him the polite answer I gave Victor every night, the one that said I was fine.

"Big," I admitted. "Too quiet. Like everyone already knows how to act in that house except me."

"Nobody knows the rules," Adrian said. "They just act like they do."

"Is that how you survived?" I asked, raising my brow.

"I've been surviving this family since I was twelve," he said, leaning back. "My parents died, and Uncle Victor took me in. The girls were babies then. Loud babies." He chuckled as if trying to hide the pain.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know."

"It was a long time ago," he said, shrugging, but his eyes didn't match the shrug. "It's why I'm so protective of them."

I understood then why he watched the twins when he thought nobody was looking.

"What about your family?" he asked.

"My parents are good people. They've just had a few hard years."

"And you're here because of it," he said, like he had known all along.

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody," he said, lifting a hand. "Nobody marries into this house in days unless something big is pushing them."

I stared at him. I couldn't tell whether he was being kind, or whether I ought to be afraid of how easily he saw through me.

"Don't worry," he said gently. "I won't ask any more questions."

"Thank you."

"For now."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. For a few minutes, we were just two ordinary people eating ice cream on a Saturday afternoon. No contract, no uncle, no sharp looks.

"You've got some," he said.

"Some what?" I asked.

"Right there." Before I understood what he meant, his thumb brushed the corner of my mouth and wiped away vanilla.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

His thumb was warm. His eyes had gone very dark and for one long second, the whole shop, the music and the clatter of spoons, simply stopped existing.

Then he pulled his hand back as though he had touched a stove.

Across the shop, Vivienne was watching us over her cone. She wasn't smiling now. She looked like someone doing a very difficult sum. I looked away first.

When we left, Adrian held my coat open at the door, the way men do in films, and I slid my arms into it without meeting his eyes. His fingers brushed my shoulders for half a second longer than required.

The ride home was quiet. Vivienne stared out the window, thoughtful, and Clara scrolled through her phone. Adrian drove with both hands on the wheel and said nothing, which was somehow louder than everything he had said in the shop.

I sat in the back with my hands in my pockets and my heart doing something it had no business doing.

That was when my fingers touched something small and smooth.

I drew it out. It was the little pink spoon from the shop, wrapped in a napkin. There was handwriting on it, quick and slanted.

"Next time, try something dangerous."

For a moment, I stopped breathing.

In the driver's seat, Adrian's eyes lifted to the mirror and met mine. He didn't smile and he didn't look away.

I closed my fist around the napkin.

I should have thrown it out the window. I should have thrown it in the first bin we passed. I was a married woman, and he was my husband's nephew, and there was nothing about a pink spoon that deserved to be kept.

When I got home, I climbed the stairs, opened the drawer of my dressing table, and put it beside my wedding ring.

Then I closed the drawer quietly, as if it might wake up.