Page 45 of Inconvenient Marriage
I should be honest with my wife. I laugh. “A little bit.”
Annaliese tosses the helmet at me. Laughing even harder, I catch it as she huffs before moving toward the overlook. I can tell from her body language the moment she’s gotten to the edge of the cliff, peering down at the waterfall below us. She inches closes, hands lifting to her face as she cups her chin, and I grin.
I knew she would love it here as much as I do.
While she’s distracted by the view, I quickly fiddle with my bike. Practiced fingers loosening one of the connections. It’s nothing dangerous, just enough to buy me some time alone with my wife.
Once that’s done, I remove the saddlebags from the back of the bike, throwing them over my shoulder. I leave mine andAnnaliese’s helmets where I placed them on the dirt before joining her by the cliff.
While she stares down at the waterfall, the white rapids, the clean brook, the boulders… while she’s lost in the view, I lay out the plastic blanket, the snacks, and the bottles of water I brought for our picnic. Only then do I walk over to her.
She glances up at me, tears glistening in her big brown eyes. “Sebastien… it’s beautiful.”
I don’t even look at the waterfall. Instead, I look down at her, daring to rub my thumb along the height of her cheek, capturing a stray tear as it falls. “Yes. You are.”
She blinks before ducking her head, suddenly shy. That’s fine. If my wife needs to hear me tell her she’s beautiful a hundred times before she believes it, then I’ll tell her a hundred-and-one times.
I drop my hand to her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
Happy to take the excuse to break up the sudden sexual tension, she hurries over to the picnic. I see the look of pleasure that flashes across her face as she plop down, mentally patting myself on the back. Fucking finally, I got something right.
We eat together, sharing the sandwiches, the chips, the apples that I sliced up myself. We bullshit, talking about everything and anything—except for our marriage, that is—and I find myself even more pleased that I thought ahead to mess with the bike. If I could, I’d keep Annaliese up here with me forever.
She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems thrilled by the view, but even more impressed that I didn’t just throw down a chunk of money to buy my bike and ride it off the lot.
“You actually really built that?” Annaliese looks at the bike again, then at me. When I nod, she screws up her face in clear confusion. “I don’t get it. You’re obviously good with tools. So… why don’t you do it as, like, a job? I can tell you enjoy it, too.”
She’s right on both counts. I’m great with tools, and I’m never more at peace with myself than when I have grease under my nails and a big piece of machinery in front of me as I bring it to life.
But as much as I wanted to leave the reality of the Order behind by bringing Annaliese out here, even I have to admit that that’s impossible.
“Because in Harmony Heights,” I say lightly, “having the Reynolds name means you don’t get to dream small. So what if I’ve always wanted to own and operate a garage of my own? Not when your name is Sebastien Reynolds. Then you get shoved into politics, law, the Order, or something equally pretentious… or you do what I did and just didnothing.”
She nods quietly. “I understand.”
I’m sure she does.
Worse that puts a damper on the rest of the afternoon. Both of us quiet, lost in thought instead of appreciating the outdoors, we finish eating. I can tell when Annaliese starts to get antsy, ready to head back, and I prepare myself for her reaction when she finds out that… yeah. That’s not happening just yet.
Still, I go through the motions. Cleaning up the picnic, I stuff our garbage and the blanket back in the saddlebags before snapping them back into place. I hand Annaliese her helmet, then put mine on. I climb onto the bike. Annaliese climbs behind me.
I start the engine.
Nothing happens.
I try again.
Annaliese lifts her visor. “Um… Sebastien? Why isn’t your bike turning on?”
Looking over my shoulder at her, I shrug with as much innocence as I can muster. “Not sure, love. Looks like Betsy’s not getting the spark she needs to go.”
I don’t think I know how to do innocence, and Annaliese obviously agrees. As though she can tell I’m full of shit, she narrows her eyes. “You built it.”
“I did,” I agree. “I said I built it, piece by piece. I didn’t say I wasgoodat doing it.”
“Oh, you?—”
She stares at me.
