Page 57 of The Fake Husband Play
Chapter
Fifteen
GRAMMERCY
The convent’sgarden is hushed, the air thick with the scent of lilies and a hint of autumn, right around the corner. Iron lanterns flicker along the path, but they only seem to make the shadows beneath the ivy-covered walls even deeper.
It would be so easy to pull Elly into one and pick up where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted.
Christ, that kiss…
I can still taste her fire on my lips, and I’m never going to forget the look in her eyes when she pulled me down to her mouth. I’d bet my lucky skates that wasn’t just a show for a bunch of drunk frat boys.
But until I know for sure, until we talk this through, I have to keep my hands to myself.
Not easy, though.
Not even close.
All I want right now is another taste of my gorgeous, brave, smoking hot wife.
“Is this the way to the speakeasy?” Elly whispers as we wind past a weather-worn statue of Saint Cecilia, herhands folded over a stone violin toward the far corner of the garden, where an old crypt door is tucked beneath an archway, barely visible beneath the overgrown ivy. “Or has this fake marriage all been an elaborate plan to lure me to your cult’s secret garden and offer me as a virgin sacrifice?”
I glance over with a crooked smile. “Would’ve been one hell of a plan. But I’m not that smart,chère.”
“Sure, you are,” she says, her eyes flashing into mine, making me hope she’s still thinking about that kiss, too. “Smart and charming and exactly the kind of bait a cult would use to lure unsuspecting women into their lair. But as much as I hate to foil your plan,” she offers in a husky whisper as I stop beside the crypt, “I’m not a virgin.”
I bite my lip, doing my best not to think about Elly doing non-virginal things or how much I want to be the one doing them with her. “Is that right?”
She nods slowly, holding my gaze. “It is.”
“Now that you mention it, the fact that you have a little girl probably should have tipped me off,” I say, playing along.
She hums beneath her breath. “It really should have. Maybe you’re not that smart, after all.”
“But I’m still cute,” I say with a wink, the sound of her laughter making my entire body feel lighter.
“You are,” she agrees, leaning closer. “But you’re also keeping me in suspense. We’re going underground, aren’t we? It’s a secret underground club in secret catacombs beneath the convent, isn’t it?”
“Close, but this is New Orleans,” I remind her, reaching for a rusted iron ring embedded in the side of the crypt. I tug, and with a groan of ancient hinges, anarrow door swings inward to reveal a second, much more modern door. I punch in my code, and it opens with an efficient click onto a stone passageway lit by gas lamps set into the wall. “If you want a lair, you build itup. The other stuff floods too much.”
“Oh my God, Grammercy, this is so cool,” she murmurs, stepping past me with an awed grin that makes me so glad she’s the woman I finally decided to share this with. I knew Elly would get it. She loves this spooky, spunky, one-of-a-kind city as much as I do. She spins back to me, giddy with excitement. “Come on. I’m dying to see what’s next.”
She reaches for my hand, and I wrap my fingers tight around hers, holding on as I close the door behind us.
“The only thing that could make this cooler is if we were dressed in 1920s clothes,” she whispers.
“I like what you have on,” I say in the understatement of the year. “The back of that dress…”
She glances my way, a teasing note in her voice as she asks, “You mean the lack of back on this dress?”
“Yeah. That,” I say as the tunnel curves to the left, seamlessly flowing into a hidden stairwell that climbs sharply upward. “I like.”
“I’ll remember that,” she murmurs as the walls close in. We make our way up steps worn smooth from generations of feet, where there isn’t room to walk side-by-side, but I’m not complaining about the chance to guide her ahead with a hand at the small of her back, right where the silky fabric of her dress becomes even silkier skin.
The feel of her bare skin beneath my fingers burns through me, making me thicker all over again.
As we rise, the sounds drift down—first the low humof voices, then horns, and the gentle brush of snare drums. Elly glances back, wonder glowing on her face. “How do you know about this place? Is it because you’re famous? I’ve always been pretty sure being famous would be complicated and overrated, but maybe it’s not.”
