Marrying Mr. Right

Christina tilted her chin up. His reappearance had her emotions all topsy-turvy, but she couldn’t let him see the power he held over her. She would not bend to his will. “That’s not my concern.”

“Fine, then I won’t sign the papers.”

“Then I’ll just proceed without you. Donald, I can do that, can’t I?”

“Well, it depends—”

“It’s not like we ever lived together, and we certainly didn’t consummate the marriage.”

Donald and Trina spoke in unison. “You didn’t?”

Greg remained silent, leaving it to Christina to explain.

“Circumstances intervened.” No need rehashing the arrest...or the fact that he had rebuffed her after the honeymoon was interrupted. She’d cried many tears over that, not only because he had rejected her when she’d been trying to live up to her marriage vow of sticking by him for better or worse, but also because she’d been forced to consider the possibility that his intent in proposing had not been for marriage itself, but for the wedding night. And once that possibility had been taken away, he no longer wanted her. She tried with limited success to keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke. “In retrospect, it’s clear that our marriage wasn’t meant to be.”

“I still don’t understand how two healthy, normal human beings could pledge themselves to each other, and then not follow through on the best part,” Trina said. “It’s a mystery to me.”

Christina supposed it was fortunate she hadn’t sampled the “best part.” As it was now, Donald’s and her virginity pledge had kept them from being reckless as they headed toward a permanent partnership. In this relationship there was no crazy rushing into marriage, no frantic clinging to each other while yearning for bodily delights. No, this was a much more mature relationship, one that allowed them to exchange chaste kisses without the desperate urge for sexual release. This impending union was nothing at all like the first, and she took that as a good sign. When the time came—after the “I do’s” and when they were ready to start a family—they would proceed calmly and maturely to the marriage bed.

“So I don’t need Greg’s signature in order to proceed, do I?” she prompted.

“No, I don’t think so.” Frowning as he mulled over the particulars, Donald absently rubbed his Adam’s apple. “It may take slightly longer, getting witnesses to say that you’ve lived apart all these years and never slept together, but an annulment should be fairly quick and easy.”

“True,” Greg agreed, “but a divorce can be long and dragged out, especially if it’s contested.”

His deep voice rumbled seductively, and Christina had the feeling he practiced that tone often to get what he wanted. She suspected his success rate was high.

“But we don’t need to go through a divorce since the marriage was never consummated.”

“According to you, it was never consummated, but I might have something different to say about the matter.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Go along with me until the lease is signed,” he said with a smile, his voice deceptively light and coaxing, “and I won’t have to.”

“He’s like that in his business dealings, too,” Trina announced proudly. “He just won’t take no for an answer.”

That was certainly the truth. Christina had never known him to give in easily, especially if he wanted something badly enough. Why, look what measures he’d gone to after he had set his sights on her. Sure, lots of girls at school would have succumbed to his charms—and probably had—but Christina had wanted even then to take her virginity to the altar. After ten years of reflection, she could only guess that marriage had been merely an obstacle to overcome in his quest to bed her.

She turned to look at her fiancé. In light of his easygoing nature and relatively calm reaction to tonight’s turn of events, she guessed he would probably go along with Greg’s request...not that they had much choice. But it was only fair to offer him a say in the matter.

“Donald?”

He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped away from her as if he were already turning her over to Greg. “I suppose if it’s only to have a cup of tea with an old lady, there wouldn’t be any harm in that”

Donald was such a gentleman, and Christina felt lucky to be engaged to him, even if theirs was a rather odd arrangement. So why did she feel disappointed that he didn’t raise at least a little fuss?

“No, I suppose there wouldn’t,” she reluctantly agreed. But something in the back of her mind whispered that where Greg was concerned, there was always the potential for danger.

“Good, then it’s a deal.” Greg stretched out his hand to Christina. After a moment’s hesitation on her part and his joking reassurance that no buzzer lay hidden in his palm, she slipped her fingers into his.

Once again, Greg had managed to get her to bend to his will. Feeling manipulated and used, she clenched her teeth. She may have been railroaded into the deal, but she was determined to get it over with as soon as possible.

He held her hand in his grip for a mere second longer than necessary, gave a firm but meaningful squeeze, then abruptly let go as he turned to Donald and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, pal. I appreciate your understanding.”

“No problem,” Donald said.

Then, to Christina, Greg added, “I’ll pick you up at three-thirty on Sunday for tea at Mrs. Odell’s.” He looked her over, his gaze settling on the grass-stained, faded jeans and overlarge T-shirt. “And wear something nice.” Greg gave her a devilish wink. “Maybe a white sundress.”

Donald was wrong. This definitely would be a problem.

Christina had just stepped out of the bathtub and into a clean top and pair of jeans when the doorbell rang.

“Be right there,” she hollered.

With a prolonged sigh, she pulled a wide-toothed comb through her wet hair. It wasn’t like Donald to show up unannounced after work unless he’d had a bad day. During those times, he would spout off whatever difficulties he’d incurred at his struggling law practice and then spend the rest of the evening unwinding in front of her television.

Well, she’d had a rough day, too, and tonight she just didn’t know if she could summon the encouragement and smiles he would need to put him back in his usual good mood.

It wasn’t so much the physical exhaustion that came with the job of landscape designer, though that certainly played a part in her frustration. Mostly it was her supervisor, Linda, who had the annoying habit of sending her out on jobs that any of the groundskeepers could have handled. The reason? Because “you have a knack for dealing with difficult customers,” Linda had said, expecting her to be so flattered she’d drop the argument. But today she hadn’t dropped it.

Maybe it was because of the run-in she’d had with Greg the night before, or perhaps a hormonal fluctuation, but today she’d eloquently and insistently pointed out that as the landscape designer, that’s what she intended to do hereafter... design. Routine lawn and plant maintenance would have to be left to the staff hired for that job, no matter how difficult the client might be.

Christina didn’t know if her adamant stance would have an effect on her supervisor, but it had certainly taken the other woman by surprise.

She crossed the living room and reached for the doorknob. Regardless of the result, she needed to do some decompressing and unwinding, herself. And she would start with a trip to the Salad Hut for dinner.

“Hi, I was just going to...” The rest of the sentence hung in her throat as she opened the door and saw not Donald, but Greg standing on her porch.

The image before her was closer to the memory she carried of her teenage groom than the man she’d seen a few nights before. The black jeans reminded her of the rebel he’d once been, and the close-fitting, pectoral-hugging pullover shirt reminded her of one reason she’d said yes to his impetuous proposal. The difference was that he was now bigger, older and more in control...not only of himself, but also of those around him. And the fading pink scar on his cheek hinted that he was still willing to do whatever was necessary to retain that control.

“You’re going to the warehouse with me,” he finished for her and then gave her a quick once-over. “You don’t have to change...you look fine.”

Despite their years apart, a compliment from Greg still unnerved her... made her self-conscious, yet eager to please. How was it that he held such power over her? She tried to make herself immune to his charms, which was about as likely as the tide making itself immune to the pull of the moon. Even so, she ought to at least appear invulnerable.

“Excuse me?” she said evenly.

“No need to apologize. It could happen to anyone,” he said with a devilish grin. “Cucumbers for lunch?”

“I didn’t—You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can. Mrs. Odell gave me the key for a final walk-through before we draw up the lease. Since we’re going to meet with her this weekend, I thought we’d be more believable as a married couple if you’d already seen the place and could make a few knowledgeable comments about it.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right...”

“Of course I’m right. Now grab your purse and we’ll be on our way.”

He was doing it again—bursting into her life and trying to turn it upside down with a smile and a snap of his fingers. She’d already blown up at her supervisor today, and she wasn’t about to let herself be manipulated by a husband—a soon to be exhusband—that she hadn’t seen in ten years. No matter how handsome he might be.

“Look, I haven’t even had dinner yet, and I was planning to—”

“Don’t worry about dinner. It’s on me.”

Dinner would indeed be on him if he persisted in being so pushy. But then she considered her options. She had been left with no choice in the matter of meeting with Mrs. Odell and playing the part of Greg’s devoted wife. Perhaps, as he had suggested, touring the warehouse with him would help pave the way to a quicker signing of the lease...and a quicker annulment. Even the mere thought of forever signing him out of her life made her breath catch in her throat. But she had to steel herself and do whatever it took. In the long run, it would be better for both of them.

She turned her attention back to the matter at hand. If they left the car window down, her hair would dry before they reached the restaurant. She left him at the door while she went to retrieve her purse.

“You still like veggies, right?” he asked upon her return. “I hear they have a great Wednesday night special at the Salad Hut.”

Whatever annoyance she’d felt toward him until now was diminished with that one observation. After all these years, he’d remembered her favorite food.

The warehouse sat in a formerly neglected pocket of town. Previously used to store furniture, the building had fallen into disrepair when Mrs. Odell’s husband became ill fourteen years ago. Then, after the furniture company tenants moved out, the structure languished as the elderly woman struggled to recover from her husband’s death. In recent years, however, many of the old homes around the building had been sold and renovated as offices or torn down to make room for restaurants and quaint retail shops.

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