The Kiss Plot by Nicole French

Four

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

The three of us froze. Skylar slid off Brandon’s lap and stood up. Brandon brushed off his pants and also rose, looking rather like a cat licking itself after it had just been caught falling off a counter or something equally ungraceful.

I cleared my throat, but stubbornly remained seated. “I—we’re looking for you.”

Eric strode in. I only had a few seconds to take in the fact that he looked delicious in gray joggers, a black hoodie, and Yankees cap covering his cloudy eyes. It was a far cry from his normally tailored appearance, more like one of thousands of college students in Boston and less like the tycoon-in-training he was. His hair had even grown out a bit in the past ten days and was sticking out slightly from under his hat. If I hadn’t been so stunned to see him, I might have jumped him.

Lucky for me, he got rid of that sentiment immediately.

“Looking for me in Boston? What in the actual fuck, Jane? This is my apartment.”

“Well, technically, it’s both of yours. Common law property and all that,” Skylar put in.

Eric whirled around to her and Brandon, who both took uncomfortable steps toward each other. Brandon set the Latin dictionary back on the bookshelf and looked at anything but Eric.

“My own fucking partner and my best man,” Eric sneered. “Dabbling in a little breaking and entering, huh?”

“Oh, get off your squad car, Officer Krupke,” I snapped back. “This isn’t West Side Story. I’m your wife, not a finger-snapping gang member. Skylar’s right. Legally, this is my apartment too.”

Eric’s eyes flamed. “No, it’s not. I never signed the license.”

I opened my mouth, but no comeback emerged. The statement was like an arrow through the chest. It was true, of course, but I didn’t think he would go there. And more than that, I was surprised by how much it hurt.

“We, um…look, Eric, we’re just glad you’re all right,” Skylar mumbled as she reached for Brandon.

He wrapped a big arm around her shoulder, looking now like he wanted to punch Eric in the face. Hell, I wouldn’t have argued. I kind of wanted to punch him myself.

“Hey, man, you disappeared for ten days,” Brandon said. “And Jane’s been worried fuckin’ sick about you, not to mention Skylar and I haven’t been too happy either. So now that you’ve decided to reappear, let’s just take a deep breath, because I don’t think you have the right to be mad at either of them. Not after what you’ve put Jane through.”

Huh. Most of the time Brandon just seemed amused and mildly annoyed with me, like he was putting up with me for Skylar’s sake. Turned out the big lug actually cared.

“Jane, do you need us to stay?” His face practically begged me not to say yes.

I shook my head. “No. Eric and I have some things to discuss on our own.”

“We don’t,” Eric said.

“We do,” I corrected him sweetly.

“Are you going to be all right?” Skylar asked me, though Brandon was already tugging her toward the door.

I swallowed and nodded. “Sure. Thanks, you guys.”

Skylar gazed lovingly at her husband—I was pretty sure he was going to get lucky while they waited in the car. Eric and I just watched them awkwardly until the door closed.

Then I turned to find another devil staring at me.

“What’s that?”

I followed Eric’s gaze to the coin in my hand. “I found it in the key bowl.”

“And you thought it was fine to take it?” His voice was sharp, almost fearful.

I frowned. “Well, I definitely want to now. Where the hell have you been?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Before I could stop him, Eric swooped down and plucked the coin out of my hand, then started down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“None of my business?” I sprang up. “We’re married.”

“No, we’re not!” he called from the bedroom.

I found him in the closet, pushing aside rows of suits. If I had even made it this far before being arrested with guilt, I would have found the large black safe gleaming behind folds of wool and gabardine.

“Yes, we are,” I said as Eric crouched down. “I asked the minister. He said we are. He pronounced it!”

“Well, the state of New York says we’re not,” Eric replied as he spun the combination lock. “And that’s the entity I’m interested in.” He opened the safe and retrieved several documents, which included a bunch of old books, several of which looked identical to the journal I’d found.

“Why do you keep a copy of The Aeneid in a safe?” I wondered as he stuffed the books into a duffel bag. One of the black journals toppled to the ground, and I snatched it before Eric could.

“Give that back.”

“No.” I scampered into the bedroom, paging through the book. More poetry. Lots and lots of poetry.

“That’s private,” he said as he charged after me. “Give it back.”

“No!” I scampered onto the bed, not caring if I rumpled the perfect white sheets. Oh, this one was interesting…something about bloodred lips love bound. I paused, struck by the words.

“Stop going through my stuff, Jane,” Eric snapped beside the bed.

I danced from foot to foot as I scanned a few more poems. “I’m sorry. Except not really, because when your husband disappears for ten fucking days, you kind of don’t give a shit about rifling through his things. Not if it’s going to give you some clues.”

“You knew where I was, and so did Skylar. I called her office this morning.”

The office. The fucking office. There was a small part of me that hoped the information had been off. That Eric had still planned to find me himself to tell me he was all right. To talk and fight and argue and…maybe even make up?

After ten days of alternately raging and moping, one small truth had emerged: I was still angry at him…but I also still loved him. And the fact that he didn’t even seem to want to be married anymore really, really hurt.

“I didn’t know you wrote so much poetry,” I said, pushing the thoughts away and deciding on another tactic. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s just immature crap.”

“It doesn’t read like that.”

“Well, it is.”

I turned another page, but then decided against my instincts and closed the book. Tentatively, I held it out to him.

“I am sorry,” I said. “For snooping. You’re right. If you want to share things with me, you can. And if you don’t, I should respect that.”

The hardness on Eric’s face lessened a little, and once again, I contemplated wrestling him to the bed and forcing him to look me in the eye until that facade dropped completely. I could break him. It was something of a specialty of mine.

Eric stared at the small black book for a few seconds, then took it and dropped it into the trash can next to the bureau. I cringed, like the sound of the book smacking the bottom of the chrome container physically hurt.

“It’s just childish fucking ramblings,” he said and returned to the closet to pack.

I sank to the bed, unsure of what to do. But before I could come up with anything, Eric spoke first.

“You want to tell me what the hell you were looking for, aside from my shitty poetry?”

His tone was sharper than ever as he reemerged from the closet with five suits and a garment bag over his shoulder. I didn’t blame him. It was the fourth time he’d asked me that since catching the three of us elbows-deep in his things. I still didn’t have a good answer.

I got up from the bed and stared out the window to the tourists bustling around Hanover Street. It wasn’t exactly high season in Boston—the first snow would happen any day now. But the North End, with its myriad Italian restaurants and proximity to the Freedom Trail, was always an attraction.

“Do you know your neighborhood stinks?” I asked. “We’re seven stories up, but it’s still like living in the middle of a garlic bulb. How did you do this for five years?”

I was baiting him. Goading him. I wanted him to charge across the room and cage me with those wiry arms. I wanted him to grip my chin and force me to look into those bottomless gray eyes. I wanted him to call me “pretty girl” and sweep away the mess of the last week along with everything atop his bureau so he could show me exactly how much I belonged to him, fight it though I might.

But Eric didn’t reply. And the mess stayed where it was. Caitlyn Calvert, John Carson—it was like they were in the room with us.

“Jane.”

I turned. Eric was zipping his suits into a garment bag.

“Stop,” he said. “It’s not going to work.”

Yeah, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Can you really blame me?” I asked. “I had to find out something. I had to know where you were. Who my…who my father is. That is, if you’re not going to tell me anything.”

Eric looked up, but instead of answering the obvious question, he just asked another. “And did you find anything out?”

The gold coin—a much shinier version of the one I found in the bowl—glinted over his t-shirt. Hmm, so he hadn’t taken it off. I stared at it for a moment, then turned away. “I guess there’s a silver lining. I can fuck who I want now, can’t I?”

Was that a growl I heard behind me?

I decided to go with it. “He’s cute.” I pointed at a middle-aged man taking out the garbage. His beer belly was about the size of a basketball, but Eric couldn’t know that from across the room. “Oh, he’s hot too.” This time I was eyeing the garbage can. I looked back at Eric, up and down like I was comparing two specimens. “Probably bigger than you too, if you know what I mean.”

A muscle in Eric’s neck twitched, but he didn’t move. “Stop.”

I bit my lip. He closed his eyes.

“I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not legally married then, huh, Petri dish? Maybe if I go to Marleigh’s, Viv can hook me up with one of the guys there. Maybe the one I was flirting with the night I accepted your proposal.”

“Stop.”

“I bet his dick is huge. Like horse-huge. It’s always the shy ones who are packing, you know.”

“Goddammit!”

With sudden fury, Eric yanked off his baseball cap and hurled it against the wall with enough force that his hair flopped over his reddened, heaving face. He pushed it away, revealing the remnants of a big bruise over one eye.

“Jesus, what is that?” I stepped closer to examine.

Eric retrieved his hat and clapped it on his head. “Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. That looks you were smacked with a two-by-four. Seriously, Eric, what happened?”

But instead of answering any of my questions, Eric just grabbed his bags and walked toward the door. “I have to go.”

“Go?” I balked. “You just got here!”

“I came to get a few things and go back to New York for the funeral,” he said, then walked down the hallway without waiting for me to answer. “It’s tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.

I scampered after him. “Yes, I know it’s tomorrow. Your lawyer called Skylar, remember? Goddammit, Eric, just stop!”

“Look.”

He swung around. I stopped short, and had to brace myself against his chest so I wouldn’t plow into it.

Eric stared at my hands, flat over his broad pectorals. Even through the sweatshirt, I could feel the energy vibrating through his muscles. It was all too easy to imagine myself ripping the fabric apart just to run my fingernails up and down those washboard abs.

My fingers curled into the cotton, pulling slightly. Eric sucked in a tight breath. I bit my lip hard enough to sting.

“It’s over,” he stated in carefully enunciated words. “I think we both know that. I’m angry. And you’re angry too, Jane. Let’s just leave it.”

Muddled images of red underwear and Caitlyn Calvert’s snooty, surgically enhanced face flashed through my mind. Fuck, yes, I was mad. I was also worried. And confused. And attracted. And, and, and…

“Yes…no…well, yes, of course I’m mad, but—”

“You screamed at me in front of five hundred people, Jane,” Eric interrupted again. “Is it really that surprising I walked out?”

“I did not scream at you!” I shouted. “Let’s be totally clear here. I yelled at you and you yelled at me in a nicely barricaded chapel, all right? Just before we both said our vows in front of half of fucking New York City!”

“Vows?” he said nastily. “You mean the ones you fucking ground through your teeth right after flipping out about a one-night stand I had five years ago?”

“With Caitlyn Calvert!” I sucked in a deep breath. “You know, that two-faced bitch who kept trying to sink her French-manicured claws into you every chance she got for the last six months? You didn’t think to say, oh, hey, remember that tacky thong you found in my bed five years back? Yeah, it belonged to that thirsty bitch.”

“Exactly!” Eric exploded all over again. “Five fucking years ago! Right after you broke my heart anyway, Jane! Jesus fucking Christ, sometimes I think all you care about is your right to be angry at me. So, please tell me some more about how much those vows meant to you. It’ll be a good story.”

“You said my name,” I said. “You made the promises, just like I did. That did mean something, even if I did want to slap your stupid face. So we fought. We always fight. That’s what we do!”

“Well, I don’t want to do it anymore. Not as your husband. Not as anything.” He started walking away again.

“Eric, you have to deal with this!” I cried.

“I don’t care!” He whirled around with a face like thunder. “I. Don’t. Care. I’m done being embarrassed by you, Jane.”

I stepped back like I’d been slapped. And really, it felt that way. He knew. He knew how hard I’d worked to fit in with his stupid, upper crust family. How much I’d changed myself for them just to avoid exactly that—his social embarrassment.

I prepared another sharp retort, ready to tell him he was an utter jackass. But something in his eyes flickered. Something was wrong.

“You don’t really think that,” I said. “You’re lying.”

Eric’s eyes flashed, and he looked away too quickly. “I’m not.”

“You are,” I said. “You’re a terrible liar, Eric. You always have been. You keep things close to your chest, have plenty of secrets, but you’ve never point-blank lied to me because you really can’t. What is it? What are you keeping? I can help, I know I can.”

His wide, full mouth opened slightly like he was going to answer the question. The mask dropped, and an equally muddled combination of emotions passed across his face. Anger, fear, passion, irritation, fondness, sorrow. Love. I saw them all and knew they were reflected on mine.

But then the mask resumed, more opaque than ever. Eric swallowed, adjusted his cap, then looked straight at me. His expression didn’t falter.

“Let me make this crystal clear. My grandmother, the one responsible for this sham of a relationship, is dead. It’s done. Tomorrow we have to go to her funeral. The wake. The reading of the will. And after that, you and I are finished. I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to know you, Jane. At all.”

I shook my head, reeling. What was happening? Who was this guy, this genuinely heartless bastard? Eric had always been reticent, a bit stoic. Even cold sometimes. But heartless? I’d never really seen that. Even if I’d said it.

“But, but…the contract,” I mumbled, losing my ability to articulate properly. “Your inheritance…I thought we…you’ll lose everything.”

Eric heaved his garment bag over his shoulder. His gaze met mine like a sledgehammer. “To be perfectly honest,” he said, “I’d rather be single and poor than have a whore for a wife.”

My hand met his cheek with a crack. I didn’t even know I had done it until my palm burned, fire sprinting up my arm with the power. Eric took a few steps back, clutching his face with one hand. But to my surprise, he didn’t shout. He didn’t protest at all.

“Good for you,” he said quietly instead as he touched the reddened skin.

And I could have sworn that in that second, the mask cracked once more. Just a little. The harsh determination on his stolid Nordic features wavered, like a tiny bit of remorse was squeezing through his pores.

But before I could prod it, suss it out completely, he swept around me and left.