Page 62 of The Marriage Narrative
“Except my entire medical history,” he deadpanned.
“Will youpleaselet that go?”
“Never.” He hid his eyes again. Always as dramatic as he was stubborn. She secretly loved that about him.
“It’s not just you, you know. I have birthmarks and scars and other things the police will ask you about if I ever go missing, they find my corpse, and it still has identifiable fleshy bits.”
“Counterpoint,” he said, dropping his arm and slowly turning his doleful pout in her direction. “You could also just stay alive. Forever.”
“My point is I want you to know about them. We could sit here and tell each other everything or”—she glanced at the hallway leading to their rooms inside the bungalow—“we can sleep together. Two obstacles, one bridge.”
They spent a few more minutes finalizing their storyline alterations before Zinnia trekked back to the front door alone. Mabel was still there waiting, not a camera pod in sight. “Hello,” she greeted through the cracked door. “Would you like to come in? We would love to have you.”
Mabel silently, ominously, stood up and followed her inside. Jordan led the pitching session—apparently, they’d already had a few of these—and negotiated through the adjustments they wanted. It was her job to share their ideas with the network and editors.
On her way out, Mabel turned back and said, “This is the lasttime I will tolerate you two hiding. Do it again and you’re on your own. Get in the spirit or get the fuck out of my segment.”
“Captain, my captain.” Zinnia saluted her. “Love the bangs, by the way. They really complement your eyes.”
She stared at Zinnia, ever long, ever cranky. “Save the flirting for the cameras, okay?”
Jordan had been wrong about everything returning to normal. Dinner ended up being a split affair because the twins were still fighting. Lulie went with their parents in the dining room, while Zinnia and Jordan got custody of Wylie at the kitchen table.
He didn’t say a single word to either of them the entire time.
That night inthe bungalow, Zinnia sat on Jordan’s bed while waiting for him to come out of his bathroom.
Their rooms were unsurprisingly identical in layout and furnishings. A queen-sized bed with a dark wood headboard, gray blankets and sheets, an abundance of pillows, a small armchair in the corner, a desk and chair near the window.
His room did have photos of his family on the walls, while hers didn’t. Vacations, school events, holidays—all from his childhood.
“Did you hang all these pictures up?” she called out.
“Some of them.” He appeared in the doorway.
Zinnia’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t really spent that much time thinking about his body, apart from the tattoo. If she had, maybe she wouldn’t have been so gobsmacked to discover that her husband looked like a damn marble statue—perfection uncovered by talented hands. Solid muscle reinforced by pliant curves. A breathtaking balance of hard and soft lines. Dark gray sweatpants riding low on his hips.
“Nowonderyou dress like a priest all the time.”
His skin still had a red tint from the shower, but she didn’t miss the flush overtaking his ears as he looked down at himself. “I usually sleep naked. I figured that wouldn’t be okay.”
She strangely felt a lot warmer than she did a few seconds ago. Must be the steam from the shower flowing into the bedroom. “Boxers are fine. You can do that.”
“Really?”
“It’s your room. You should be comfortable.Completelychanging what you normally do defeats the point of practicing.” She fumbled with her hem before smoothly pulling her nightgown off. Thank Jesus she had the foresight to put on a matching bralette set. She lived awalk through the door and free the tittieskind of life. “See? No different than wearing a bathing suit.”
Zinnia knew what desire looked like well enough to draw it with her eyes closed. Her heart jerked violently thinking she’d caught that distinctly hungry look on Jordan’s face, but no. She must’ve imagined it.
“All right.” He took off his pants.
Her eyes widened. “Can I say something extremely inappropriate?”
“Sure,” he said, while folding his sweats.
“Your thighs were made for slutty summer shorts. Wehaveto get you some. Ooh, andrompers.”
“I’ll wear them for you. I’m not going outside like that.”
