Page 27 of What Happens This Christmas
“Don’t worry. I’m legally stuck with myunmanageable nightmare.”
“You know what?” Candy cleared her throat and arched her back, her tits pushing toward me. “I trust we have enough photos. It’ll make do.”And the award for kindest soul goes to…Candy Crane. *applause*“Thank you for your time this year,” she said cordially, dismissing the photographer with a flick of her wrist.
The woman nodded slowly as though something wasn’t computing, but began packing up her gear and leaving. I had a feeling if we weren’t getting a divorce, then next year we would need to find ourselves a new photographer.
“Well, had I known this was going to turn out this way, I would have settled for searching for the pebble in my shoe,” I said, leisurely meandering over to the piano and snagging my whiskey.Hello, old friend.“You know what our marriage has in common with a glass of this good stuff?” I held it up, studying the colored liquid with concentration, enough to make it seem like I was waiting for it to show me my future. Unfortunately, things weren’t that simple.
Candy rubbed her forehead, the off-the-shoulder sleeve of her fine as hell dress inching up with the movement. I’d always been a pussy man, loved them, couldn’t get enough of them actually. Not just any pussy would do for me, though. No, I craved my wife’s. Hers was like no other, and I’d tasted it so many times that you’d think I would have had my fill, been sick of it, and wanted to move on. That wasn’t the case by a long-fucking-shot. Although when it came to Candy, I wasn’t just a pussy man. I was a let-me-nip-bite-suck-and-lick-every-inch-of-you man.
The artificial light from the intricate crystal chandelier that hung in the room bounced off her petite, bare shoulder, causing my eyes to gravitate there. My pulse quickened, the blood seeming to pump through my veins at an accelerated rate.
Candy was talking. I knew she was because every now and again I’d hear a murmur, but didn’t catch anything substantial to string the words together to make a coherent statement I could respond to.
“Hello?” Candy nearly shrieked, a decibel louder than her usual as she manically waved her hands in front of my face.
I took a step back, and the back of my knees came in contact with the seat at the piano.
Her face contorted, a grimace teasing her lips. “Are you having a stroke? Maybe an aneurysm? Because if that’s the case, then I haven’t the faintest idea how to help you.”
Gesturing with my glass, I shook my head and sat, exhaling comfortably. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“No, Nick.” She groaned, rolling her eyes and swiveling on her heel as she made a dramatic turn before facing me again. “Contrary to what you might believe, I do not wish you dead or that anything ill falls upon you. I do love you, you know?”
“In your own way,” I grumbled, glancing down at the glass. Love had never been the problem, though.
She squinted. “What?”
It was a good thing she didn’t catch that. I wouldn’t go repeating it. It’d only cause us to enter a never-ending discussion that would make me want to hang myself by my toes. So, maybe that was a stretch, but it seemed less painful than the former.
Arching a brow, she examined me, her eyes traveling across my face. “Are you going to spit out the rest of your thought? What does that silly glass of whiskey have in common with us?”
A roar of laughter escaped me, my voice a low rumble as I explained. “It’s delicious, but it doesn’t last.” I leaned forward, bringing the glass to my lips and swigging the rest back. “Empty.”
She gasped lightly, and had I not been zeroed in on her and every move she was making, I might have missed it. “That’s your opinion.” She spoke softly, and for a second, not even a second, I thought I caught the ghost of tears glittering in her eyes. She sucked in, though, and the only thing left behind was the rapid rising and falling of her chest. Perhaps it did sadden her, or it didn’t, and she had something in her eye, but she was definitely angry.
“You’re pissed,” I noted, my heart hammering in my chest as I wanted so badly to go over there, take her in my arms, and kiss her breathless, senseless. If I had it my way, I’d kiss her so goddamn hard and skillfully that her knees would weaken, and she’d have trouble standing on her own two feet. Candy wasn’t one to need assistance, having come into her own in more ways than one since the girl I’d met who couldn’t manage to hail a taxi. So it would be a nice change from the norm.
She cracked her neck, rolling her head like it wasn’t attached to her body. “I can’t possibly be upset, Nick.”
“No, because anger is an emotion.”
She ground her teeth and narrowed her gaze. “I don’t believe we’re empty, which is a pitiful metaphor anyway.” She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “And what was that supposed to mean? Are you saying I have no emotion?” She was fuming now.
Good.
When I didn’t answer, she released an exasperated sigh. “You can sit here and waste away the rest of the day, but I have a multitude of things to accomplish before sunset.” Making a move to turn on her heel, she nodded, signaling the period of a sentence for her. “I’ll see you this evening over dinner.”
No she doesn’t.I got up, moving swiftly like a cat, and stood in front of her. I wasn’t about to let her leave. She knew it too.Not that she couldn’t sidestep me. I really wasn’t holding her to this spot, to this moment, here with me. But she didn’t move.
Not.
An.
Inch.
Her placid expression did nothing to give her away, but the way she was playing with her fingers, raking them across each other as if to feel how clammy they were, did.
“Show me we’re not empty,” I pushed, daring her to defy her iciness if only but for a moment so that we could remember what we had once been like.
