Page 54 of Enemies to French Kisses
“I’m teasing. At least I thought I was. The guy has aGrand Salon?”
“He’s got a lot of things I’ve never seen before. You know the expression, talk the ears off a brass monkey?”
“Don’t tell me.”
“Don’t worry, Horatio the brass monkey has all his ears.” I pat Horatio’s head, only feel slightly weird about having given him a name. “Though I think even he has been confused by the conversations that have invaded his space since I got here.”
“Before you go, Laura…” I don’t like it when Brian uses this tone with me. It’s the one where he sounds all grown up and he talks to me like I’m the child in need of direction. It’s against the natural order where big sister is always right. “I’m glad you’ve found this distraction, but the whole thing smells funny. I’ve seen dudes get their heads whacked in. It doesn’t suddenly make them think they tied the knot.”
“He hit it really hard. My fault, remember that? I’m responsible for everything that’s happened here. I’m just relieved he woke up. Can you imagine the guilt that would follow me around my whole life if he doesn’t get back to his normal self? The least I can do is play along with a cognitive misfire. Maybe it’s because my face was burned into his mind just before he took the tumble.”
“If your face was on his mind, it was for other reasons. Laura, he thinks you’re hiswife. If he’s as horrible to you as you’ve made out, then he wouldn’t pull that out of nowhere. The guy had you on his mind long before that moment—”
I pull the phone close and cup the microphone. There is definitely movement in the next room. “As his colleague. His archnemesis. His make-her-life-as-wretched-as-wretched-be, um, person.” Even as I list all of these names off, those days feel farther and father away. Hewasthat bad… wasn’t he? All those things I shouted at him… misogynistic, selfish, self-absorbed… I can’t begin to think about how that reem of accusations brought us to this situation today, and the weight that sits on my chest because of those words.
Brian sighs. “I think you’re coming at this from the wrong angle—”
“Laura?” Marc’s voice is delicate, tentative as he opens the bedroom door.
“Coming!” I cup the phone again. “Gotta go. Love you. Do the smart thing with the girl.”
I barely hear him say “Be careful, sis,” as I set the phone beside Horatio and rush into the living room. Brian’s right—Grand Salon suits it much better.
“Am I interrupting?” half-dressed Marc asks with his muscled chest creating way too much of a distraction for an early morning conversation.
“No, I was just finishing up with Brian.” Look at the sofa. Look at the ceiling. Look at the window. Justdon’t look at his body.
Darn. I looked.
“Brian. I see…”
But the look on his face tells me he didn’t see at all.
He plays with the string holding up his pajama pants, undoing the knot, and I say a prayer that they stay firmly in place.
They do. Phew.
“Brian is your—” his face is expectant and his breathing is shallow. Sometimes I forget how much we don’t know about each other for a couple of married folks.
“My brother.”
“Your brother!” He laughs and shakes his head. “Of course, your brother, Brian. Not your lover, Brian.”
“Whoa, no. Definitely no lover named Brian. For starters, we don’t really call them ‘lovers’ in America. Secondly, it would be weird to have a lover named after my brother.” That makes him laugh again. I’m beginning to really enjoy that laugh.
“I am reassured.” He walks to stand in front of me, and I’m face to pec muscle, so close I could touch my nose against his chest if I wanted.
I don’t want, I don’t.
But I kind of do.
But I won’t.
He takes a deep breath and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. His lips part as if he’s deciding whether or not to speak. “Imagining you anywhere else, with anyone else, just might drive me mad.”
He could burn me with that stare—in the good way. Heat rolls of his skin, his lips just inches from mine and I remember that kiss…that kiss… His hand caresses my cheek, my shoulder, my bare arm. The air is full of electricity and there are sparks between us like I haven’t seen since Mom’s muffler fell.
This doesn’t feel fake, not in the least. But what has changed? I wouldn’t have thought that a fall—albeit down a really long stretch of concrete steps—could create so much chemistry. Brian’s words sneak back in.
