Page 33 of Wedded to a Wayne

“Twelve?” Langston asks beside me, his hand curling into mine, as if offering comfort. “You lost your leg when you were my age?”

I hadn’t realized he’d joined the conversation. I swallow a resigned sigh.

“I was eleven when I lost it. Royal and Joey didn’t meet me until I was twelve.”

They’re staring now. Waiting. I can feel it.

It’s human nature. They can’t help but wonder. Can’t not think about it. Not once it’s out there. I make the story as quick and emotionless as possible. “It was a car accident. I was in the very back, where I couldn’t buckle in.” I look down at Langston and wink. “Which is why I’m really strict about seatbelts, so thank you in advance for not being stubborn about it.”

“I won’t be stubborn.”

I squeeze his hand affectionately before letting it go. “I know you won’t.”

The mood is different now. It’s a shame, because it felt like things were going so well. At least the food I brought was a hit. “I think I’m going to pop out for some fresh air. Excuse me for a minute?”

I don’t wait, turning toward the door and grabbing my jacket off the hook before stepping onto the chilly porch.

It’s snowing again. Just a little, but I’ve been told there’s more where that came from.

I’ve lived on the West Coast all my life, so snow is rare unless you’re in the mountains. But it happens here every year.

I adore it.

I step away from the overhang and put my hood up, ambling slowly toward the garage. There’s an apartment above it that Emerson said he lived in for a while, but I can’t rationalize taking stairs that steep in this weather just to imagine him inside.

God, I hate being awkward, but I don’t like talking about the “How I lost my leg” incident either. It was so many years ago, I never think about it unless someone asks me what happened. At least I try not to, because there’s no point in dwelling on things you can’t change.

I can’t imagine driving through a storm without making sure Lang and Barry were secure and okay.

Your brothers were okay.

Niraj was in a car seat with Arush buckled in beside him, watching a video and ignoring his irritating sister. I was smaller and we didn’t have that far to go, so I got put in the rear hatch with the spare tire, jumper cables and some luggage in case one of us needed a quick change. My mother always prepared for a mess.

I made it fun. I hung from the cargo netting, made a castle fort and used my sock as a puppet to make dirty faces at Arush behind his back. I was fine. I didn’t want to watch that stupid show anyway.

They said it happened fast. A truck swerved and spun out behind us, shearing the tail end of the car away like it was made of butter, along with a large chunk of my leg. Too much, as it turned out. Thankfully, I don’t remember any of it after my mother screamed. Not until I woke up after the surgery.

Which is not the kind of conversation you want to have at Thanksgiving. I feel like I’ve failed my first holiday test as a married woman.

I was really looking forward to tonight. They called it the pre-Christmas prep dinner instead of Thanksgiving. After we cleaned up, the Waynes would be voting on group photography themes, drawing names for Secret Santa gifts, and deciding how to convince the mostly male Finn family to go caroling. Cassandra really wanted to make that happen.

It was exciting to be part of the crazy for once, instead of watching it play out on a television show or listening to gossip via FaceTime.

I roll my eyes and tuck my cold hands into my pockets. This is what happens when I’m disconnected from my best friend for more than a week. I get all emo.

Joey, and now Emerson, were the only people who accept me, embrace me exactly as I am. They’re the ones who challenge instead of pity me. I’ve never felt less than in their eyes.

Emerson.

After the last four days with him, I barely recognize myself. I feel so disorganized and out of step. I’m thankful for the great team I’ve put in place in the new office, because it’s been impossible for me to concentrate on anything but the next time I can be alone with my husband.

My only comfort is that I’m not alone in my new obsession. Emerson is always impatient for me. Tireless. Inventive. And the things he says to me, does to me…

I had no idea that kind of intimacy existed. Even when we’re not behind closed doors, I feel him watching and waiting. Dinners have become one long marathon of foreplay and sensual torture.

I feel sexy.

I’m cute. When I have the right clothes on and my hair is in place, I’ve been called adorable, and most people under the age of ten believe I’m a princess. I even have a tiara collection. But when Emerson looks at me, I’m pure temptation. The only woman he desires.

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