raised his head, arm still tight around her waist, and she dimly registered the hush of a half-dozen stunned wedding guests. All people who knew the situation. Who knew this wasn’t a real marriage, blindingly sweet kiss notwithstanding.
No doubt they were wondering what exactly they’d just witnessed.
Funny. So was she.
Five
After the small, post-wedding gathering of family and friends at James’s house ended, Elizabeth headed directly for the master bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it wasn’t huge, but it was impeccably maintained and impressively outfitted.
“Is it okay if I take a bath?” she called out, already halfway up the stairs.
He appeared at the lowest step a moment later, shaking his head. “Of course it’s okay. This is your house too, Elizabeth. Take a million baths.”
She didn’t need a million. She just needed one, right this second.
She needed water so hot it would melt away her foolishness. She needed bubbles, reminders of how fleeting beauty could be. She needed a wet, warm washcloth over her eyes, simply because this was her damn wedding day. She deserved some pampering.
But most of all, she needed a few minutes alone to remember the circumstances of her wedding.
She hadn’t married for love.
He hadn’t either.
They’d agreed to wed for one reason and one reason only: so she could share his excellent healthcare benefits, get a biopsy the first of next month, and afford any necessary treatments thereafter. It didn’t matter how sweetly and thoroughly he’d kissed her in front of the judge, or how firmly he’d held her hand as they chatted with his amiable sons, or how often he’d told her she looked lovely in her cream dress.
None of that changed anything.
An hour spent naked, wet, and on her back should get her head straight.
Although, now that she’d thought about it in those terms, maybe not.
Still, she filled the gorgeous soaking tub with steaming water and poured her foaming bath salts. Then she stripped, wiggled her toes against the warm tiles underfoot—James had seriously undersold the benefits of a husband in construction—and grabbed two fresh towels and a washcloth from the quartz-topped vanity.
Was that…was that a heated towel rack off to the side? Really?
Shit, she was never leaving this bathroom again. And since James had offered her the master suite, explaining that he found it too big for a man alone and had been living in the guest room since he’d moved in, she supposed she didn’t really have to leave.
Marriage rocked.
A quick ponytail later, she slid beneath the bubbles with a sigh and positioned a rolled-up towel under her neck. After wetting the washcloth, she draped it over her eyes and waited for clarity.
And waited. And waited.
Instead, she remembered how she’d taken James aside at their gathering and told him she’d pull her weight. She’d make sure he didn’t regret his decision. She’d never take advantage of him or burden him more than she already had.
He listened patiently, although he didn’t appear overly concerned.
But when she told him he could divorce her whenever he wanted, for whatever reason he wanted, he rolled his eyes, then leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Stop worrying,” he told her.
Then somehow, old-school Madonna began playing on his stereo system, which he’d mysteriously wired throughout the house. Another construction-husband perk, no doubt.
He swung her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers while pre-English-accent Madge—Elizabeth’s favorite version, which James clearly knew—sang about how crazy she was for her lover. How her heart raced at his nearness. How their bodies merged in the dark.
Elizabeth clung to James, unable to do anything else. And when the music faded, when the small crowd applauded and he loosened his hold, she’d cried again, and he’d tenderly wiped away those tears too.
She’d stared up at him through blurry eyes, speechless.
It was their wedding song. He’d given her a wedding song.
So how exactly was she supposed to keep her feet planted on solid earth? How was she supposed to stop herself from floating away like one of those bubbles, only to pop in a cold splatter at the first touch of reality?
This. This was why she’d never asked him for anything. Why she’d never let herself rely on him. Sure, she hadn’t wanted to burden a man who already struggled under the weight of an addiction-ravaged marriage, two wonderful but needy kids, and the expenses attendant with all three. Sure, she was accustomed to dealing with her problems on her own.
But more than that, she’d known. If she ever let him