After a few beats, I’ve swallowed the unwavering lump in my throat. Acting perplexed, I ask, “Hmm? What?”
“That’s what I askedye, lass.” Holding the stemless glass of wine, he has the nerve to look compassionate about my feelings. Leith’s steadfast gaze reads, “Ye can tell me anything.”
“Mommy,” Mia jumps in her seat. “More macaroni!”
Like a kangaroo, I’m out of my chair as Leith reprimands our daughter. “My weewean,witare ye supposed to say, eh?”
“Pleaseee!”
Beneath my husband’s piercing gaze, I grab Mia’s purple plastic plate. Half the contents are on the colorful placemat. At the stainless-steel range, every thought fades from my mind except for one thing—he lied to me. My husband fucking lied to my face. Mia’s in the background, a worthy cheerleader, begging for more cheesy goodness. I pluck up the wooden spoon and scoop more of the gooey mac onto her plate.
Leith gets up. His beautiful gaze searches over me. My mouth pulls in pensively. His attractive face becomes stony, challenging even as his patience ebbs. “I said,wit, Chevelle? What else is on yer mind? Tell me.”
“Nothing.” My strength evaporates. I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts that I continue heaping more macaroni onto Mia’s plate.
“Ya do.” He removes the wooden spoon from my hand. His thumb is at my jaw, assessing me with a gentle, possessive touch.
Though I lack the nerve to say a word, my glower speaks volumes. Sure, Leith’s told innocent white lies, like how I looked absolutely gorgeous at nine months pregnant. At the time, I’d been donning a two-piece swimsuit Justice swore I had to buy—swollen ankles and all. Or like the time he wasdyingto watch the rom-com I had asked him to watch with me on his short weekend home. And how he’d chop his own finger off if he fell asleep and snored during the said movie. The bastard owes me a few fingers.
But a big lie?
Never.
I’m a fraud. I’ll argue with Leith until all the air expires from my lungs, and death is impending. But when it really counts, I cave.
With our own personal soundtrack in the background—an impatient Mia—Leith and I stare at each other.
Chewing my lip, I huff. “Well, I thought we were gonna start searching for houses in the springtime, Leith. Then summer hit. Now, California is pretty much summer half the year, but dammit, summer’s almost over.”
I sigh. “Mia’s staring at us.” Maybe soon, I’ll wonder why I gave him the out he needed, why I didn’t demand an answer. Or why my mom pushed my father from the world’s greatest love to wanting to kill her, then himself, and shit on little old me.
“Chevelle.”
I can hardly look into his captivating eyes. They are too damn truthful. They say all the words that we fear.
As I start past him, Leith’s firm grip wraps around my bicep. He removes the plate from my hand and plants it onto the counter. Leith’s hands drop onto my shoulders, knead, and then work their way toward the nape of my neck. My body stirs awake, desire burning through me.
Leith drops a kiss on my forehead, his mouth moving ever so slowly around my temple, cheekbone, and over to my ear. His breath tickles my ear, mouth peppering my earlobe with kisses, teeth forking through the meat of my earlobe before he speaks. “We’re using the down payment money for Mia’s Place, not the new house. How does that sound, hen?”
I study my husband, waiting on bated breath for his gaze to flit to the side a fraction of a second. After a few beats, my shoulders fall because of this instinct. I. Was. Waiting. For. My. Husband. To. Lie. To. Me.
In desperation, Leith sighs. “Ye never let me surprise ya, hen.”
Elation floods through me, contentment so strong that it sweeps me up, just about carrying me away. I jump into his embrace, arms and thighs flying around his lean, strong muscles. “You’re serious!”
His hands run along my ribs like a talented virtuoso. Intensity emanates from Leith’s eyes, and he smiles. “Ye’re happy?”
“I’ve never been so happy, baby.” My mouth collides with Leith’s, exhilaration whirling around us. For now, his words are a balm to my soul.
Chapter 20
Leith
Before his ticker failed him,my great grandad dropped wee morsels of wisdom: Dinna just marry a lass because her pussy is lined in fairy dust. He’d been sloshed on whiskey and hadn’t noticed my wee ears burn red from all of his choice words. But there were other sentiments of his that I found were worth pure gold.
Marry the one who makes ye laugh sofeckin’ hard ye snort. Someone ye can tell yer dark secrets to. Love ain’t easy, nae, but laddie, it’s worth it. And if ye’re not gon listen to all I’m saying, listen to this. Make sure she’s bonny when she cries too. Ye’re a MacKenzie; our lassies are always crying. We’re anumptylot. Trouble follows us, or we follow trouble. Trust me, pick the bonny one.
My great grand also demanded that I not, under any circumstances, marry afeckin’Brit. He threatened to pull his pants down and take ajobbyat the altar while we said, “I do.”