The Honeymoon

Hey-ohhh!  

I know we've already moved past Grey & Maggie's honeymoon with THE DINNER (a whole series of vignettes- easy enough to find since they are all labled THE DINNER.  check em out sometime!), but here's a little taste of when they first arrive.  if you haven't checked out their drive up to the resort, I think you should.  His perspective and hers are together in a double entry.  god I love saying that.  ok.

well.

Enjoy!

**************

Grey inserted the little plastic card and withdrew it with none of the fuss that usually accompanies such a transaction.  He pushed down on the smooth nickel handle and opened the door inward to reveal a room like Maggie had never seen.

She stood, rooted to her spot just outside the threshold, and couldn’t hope to keep her face the neutral mask she so desperately wanted to present.  She didn’t want him to know how stunned and overwhelmed the sight of such luxury made her, but she couldn’t help it.  He’d grown up with a silver spoon, this was probably old hat to him, completely unspectacular.  He held the door open for her and waited patiently for her to recover her senses.  When, after a moment she had failed to do little besides stare, he finally spoke.

“Would you like me to carry you over the threshold Mrs. Delaney?”

Something unnerving skittered down the length of her spine at the sound of his voice and she blushed, like she did everytime when he referred to her like that.  She wondered if he’d tire of the snide little jest, or if she’d ever get used to being Mrs. Delaney.

Maggie snapped her jaw closed firmly and lifted her chin a fraction before taking a full breath and breezing into the immense and incredible suite.  The sun was setting and now she understood just why Mrs. Delaney, her new mother-in-law, had been so adamant that they arrive in time to catch this marvelous time of day.  A warm, brilliant amber-pink glow pierced and suffused the suite with a brilliance and an ambiance that was stunning, vital and, well, there was no other word for it: it was undeniably romantic.  Maggie sincerely hoped that the orangey glow from the expansive span of French windows would be effective in hiding the full-body blush that had swept over her at the sight of the enormous bed sprinkled in rose petals and complete with a tray containing a bottle of champagne in a silver champagne bucket, two upturned champagne glasses, a crystal goblet full of strawberries and a single perfect rosebud in a tall, slim vase.

She heard the door click closed behind her, but didn’t turn.  She wanted to remember this room exactly how it stood in that moment; perfect and lovely and bathed in a soft, sweet glow.  She knew it was all an illusion, that the spell couldn’t last and they’d be two people co-habiting a honeymoon suite with no plans at all for a honeymoon.  But she wanted to savor this moment of make-believe that Grey’s mother had gifted them with, just wanted to take a mental picture and lock it away before a week of bickering and cold stares and guilt and blame tore the romantic reverie apart.

There was a marble fireplace and a built-in dark wood unit that likely housed a television, there was a lovely kitchenette with a pair of stools at a breakfast bar.  By the expanse of French windows there was an exquisite round dining table with four finely upholstered chairs.  There was an entire living room.  Not too far from the enormous bed there was also a sleek, built-in hot tub.  Right out in the open. In a romantic recessed alcove, like a hedonistic twist on an apse.  Maggie blushed again.

She moved slowly in and through the space admiring the undeniably luxurious details of everything.  The color palette was soft and modern, coffee and espresso and black and cream with nickel details on knobs and trim and with deep crimson accents in pillows and in area rugs and of course in the embarrassing display of rose petals.

They had access to a sizeable balcony, complete with sun chairs and an outdoor loveseat, but Maggie knew it would be too cold to do much more than go out and peek at the view before coming back in to get toasty.  She imagined June brides would take full advantage of such a balcony on their honeymoons.

As she ran a tentative finger along the rich damask window treatments she heard the metallic ding and crush of the ice in the champagne bucket and startled. She looked over her shoulder to where Grey was examining the wine and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt.  He hadn’t worn a tie.  She’d never seen him wear one.  The jacket he’d been wearing was already shed and she spied it curved over the back of a very dramatic looking upholstered chaise in the region of that daring hot tub.

“We’re accumulating quite a selection.”  He remarked before plopping the bottle back into its icy seat and sighing.  He scanned the room almost disinterestedly and finally found her eyes.

She stared at him, in the dying light of their wedding day, and wished she didn’t find him so attractive.  His hair was perfect, despite the hours-long drive.  His stubble was growing in much darker than it had been this morning and sense memory told her exactly what it would feel like under her fingertips, beneath her lips, on the sensitive skin around her nipples, and lower too.  She bit her lower lip and reprimanded herself for wishing, even for a moment, that this could be a real honeymoon.

Because she hated him.  He was arrogant and selfish and self-centered and cruel and he’d broken her heart and worse.  She didn’t love him anymore.  She loathed him.

But she couldn’t convince her body to this way of thinking.  Whenever she was around him her body responded as if they’d never broken up.  It responded to the scent of him, to the rich timbre of his voice, and most especially to those dangerous pale-green eyes.  She sighed and willed the swarm of butterflies in her abdomen to be still.  He wasn’t hers anymore and she wasn’t his.  Not really.

“What’s the note say?”  She asked, her voice surprisingly thick and dusky.  She cleared her throat and hoped he hadn’t detected anything incriminating about her tone or her posture or in the depth of her stare.

She couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw his gaze flick up and down her body before he turned his attention to the little note accompanying the champagne and strawberries.  Her breathing was shallow.  Even if he hadn’t looked her over the way he always used to, the way that made her nipples stand on end and a forbidden pulse jump below her navel, even if he hadn’t just done it, her body insisted on reacting as though he had, and Maggie stole an appreciative up-and-down of him while he reached for the note and scanned the message.

He was gorgeous.  She almost resented how good looking he was.  She wished he wasn’t aware of how devastatingly handsome he was.  He’d used his good looks as a tool against her, and against dozens, maybe more than a hundred girls, and she wished that fact could help sure-up her resolve to hate the very sight of him.

“Congratulations Newlyweds—relax, indulge, and enjoy.  Much Love, XO, XO, Mum & Dad.”  Grey sounded apathetic and maybe a little snide as he read it.  He tossed the card back to the tray carelessly.

He grabbed a few strawberries from the crystal goblet and waltzed toward the bathroom.

She blushed.  Holy Mother.  It occurred to her that he might need to use the bathroom, while she was there in the hotel room.  Maybe she would leave, go for a walk, visit the gift shop or something and give him his privacy.  She took a breath and tried to calm herself down, tried to be rational about it.  They were going to be living together after this; was she supposed to leave the house every time he needed to use the restroom?  At that moment the idea didn’t feel so farfetched.

She’d never lived with anyone besides her family.  Her Papa and her little sister.  She’d never lived with a near stranger, nor shared a hotel room with one.

“Do you prefer to shower in the evening or the morning?”  He called, his voice bouncing off the tiled walls and floor of what sounded like a fairly cavernous bathroom.

Her tongue felt sluggish.  “The night.”  She called weakly.  “If that’s alright?”

Her father had always been a morning shower guy so Essie and Maggie had made it a habit to shower at night.

He emerged from the bathroom and peered at the hot tub.  “Fine.”  He said.  “I could use a soak after that drive.”  He said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking pensive.  His eyes flicked up to hers, and he caught her staring.  “I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”  He said in a challenging voice.

“I can find somewhere to go.”  She replied quickly and he rolled his eyes.

“I was just kidding.”  He said irritably and bit into an over-large strawberry.

She hadn’t thought to bring her swimsuit either.  It was January, after all.  And she’d been in something like a mad panic at the thought of being cooped up with Grey somewhere for a week.  For a ‘honeymoon’.  Ay Dios.

“You hungry?”  He asked, strolling toward the mini kitchen and opening an empty refrigerator.

She couldn’t help admiring the way he walked into a space and seemed to own it.  Make it his.  She was still walking as if on eggshells, but he was behaving as if all this was built and appointed solely for his pleasure.  Maybe that attitude was a result of being enormously wealthy.

She felt a little like she ought to be working for him, and she scolded herself for even thinking such a thing.  She was his wife.  Legally she was every bit his equal.  She needed to get used to it, embrace it and come to terms with it for the sake of her child.  What good would it do the baby to grow up feeling as though its’ mother was inferior to its’ rich, handsome, powerful father?  She needed to call on all her inner strength and stand up to him and hold her own.

“I am.”  She answered.  All the nausea of the morning and afternoon had passed and she was quite famished.  “Thanks for the milkshake.”  She added.  It had been just the perfect thing. 

“Don’t mention it.”  He said, his brow drawing together in a brooding expression as he meandered over to an impressive, luxurious desk.

She was thanking him for more than the milkshake, but she didn’t have the courage to say so.  She hoped he could sense it.

He pulled open a handsome leather-bound volume and scanned a few pages.  “Pretty comprehensive menu, are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

Maggie felt very shy all of a sudden.  And aware that she was alone with him.  In a hotel.  She could kick herself.  What had she thought this would be?  Of course she was alone with him in a hotel.  That’s how this sort of thing worked.

With a deep breath and a firm admonishment to herself not to behave so ridiculously, she strode over to join him at the desk and tilted her head to read the menu with him.

She felt him look at her but she kept her eyes on the menu.  Of course, as long as she felt him staring at her she was unable to actually read the menu.  She gathered that there were salads and soups, and that’s about all she was able to glean, though she thought she did an admirable job of appearing to peruse the menu while he studied her.

No doubt he was trying to get used to her just as she was struggling to acclimate herself to him.  They were stuck together.  Not only for the next seven days, but for the next seven years—unless he broke the contract and the marriage dissolved early.  It would cost him a shocking, devastating amount should that happen.  She hadn’t done it for the money though.  She swallowed, thinking about her reasoning.

She’d wanted to ensure that he participated in raising the child.  That he was there, present, involved.  She wanted her child raised in as stable a home environment as she could manage.  And the only way to get him to commit to that was to threaten extreme monetary and property loss if he broke the contract.

As for the other stipulations.  She felt the hair on the back of her arms lift and her neck tingled.  She didn’t want to be made a public fool of.  She didn’t honestly expect Grey to be faithful to her, abide by vows he neither felt nor believed in, but at least now he’d likely be discreet about his philandering and trysts.  And maybe even think twice about them.

“Nothing looks good?”  He asked, and she realized he was reacting to the gloomy face she had put on at the thought of Grey with other women.  It shouldn’t bother her.  She didn’t love him.  She didn’t expect anything to happen between them any more, he was done with her, and she wasn’t so cruel that she’d deny him seeking physical and maybe even emotional release outside of their marriage of convenience.

She forced her face into a bland expression.  “Actually so much of it looks delicious, I’m having trouble deciding.”  She lied.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her.  She thought he could tell.  Tell that she was lying.  But he held his tongue and glanced back at the menu.  “Shall I order for both of us?”

She bit her lip.  It was the same thing he’d always ask when he took her out to eat.  He was very skillful at it.  Never once had he ordered something she didn’t thoroughly enjoy.  Something twitched and ached in her chest at the memories. 

“Thank you.”  She said and moved away from the desk before he could read any deeper into her.  He was too good at that, or maybe she was too easy to read.  Either way it left her feeling vulnerable and silly and very like a foolish little girl.  Especially because he was so unfathomable to her.

How could a man so effectively fake love and romance?  What kind of person is capable of that?  She shivered and wandered off toward the bathroom, curious about the accommodations. 

She flicked on the light and gaped.  It was grand.  All soft sandy beige and white, it was soothing and felt very like Maggie would imagine a spa might feel.  She’d never been to one, but this looked like the exotic spas she’d seen on commercials and on the home and garden channel.  The tub was enormous, most definitely built for two.  And there was a separate shower, with multiple shower heads, and this too was built for a couple.  There was room enough for an upholsterd bench, and there was an abundance of clean, fluffy white towels, and so many complimentary toiletries!

She heard his voice rumbling low and commanding and knew he must be placing their room service order.  She couldn’t make out the words, but she thought she’d rather be surprised anyhow. 

Looking in the mirror she sighed.  She looked tired, and tense, and her garment was wrinkled from the long ride.  She gazed at her figure in the red dress she’d borrowed.  While she felt bloated and uncomfortable and poured-into the dress, she was rather pleasantly surprised to see that she didn’t look as awful as she felt in it.  It certainly showed her breasts to advantage.  No wonder her father had scowled at the sight of her.  And despite feeling like her late first-trimester belly was obvious, in this dress she looked trim and slim and it certainly flattered. 

She thought about the very skinny, very pert teenage girl at the smoothie place and scowled.  Was that Grey’s type?  If that girl was over fifteen she certainly hadn’t looked it.  And she’d looked so, so, cheap and inappropriate.  Was that the sort of girl he wanted?

“Should be up in about a half-hour to forty-five.”  He said, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.  “Do you need me to run and get something from the gift shop to tide you over?”

She already felt fat.  She glowered at him.  “I’ll try not to eat the furniture before the food gets here.” She snapped.

He blinked.  “I didn’t—“  He stopped.  “All you’ve had today is a milkshake.”

She took a slow, deep breath, held it, and then let it out just as slowly.  “I’m sorry.”  It was a struggle to say it, but she forced herself to do it. 

His lips twitched into a hint of a smile.  “I could use a candy bar.”  He said decisively.  “I’m gunna run down and get some things.”

He’d hesitated in the doorway for a moment more before disappearing out into the main body of the suite.  “Be right back.” He called.  She closed her eyes and held onto the sink until she’d heard the door to the room open and click closed again.

Then, when she was sure he’d gone, she let herself sink to the stone tiled floor of that beautiful bathroom, and she burst into tears.

Croissants and Catholics

Hey! So I will probably have a scene or two on Maggie & Grey's 'honeymoon', but I haven't yet finished them but I HAVE managed to finish this one so here ya go!

In case you missed it check out the couple of scenes where they're driving up to the resort here it's a double entry (heeeheeeheee), one from his perspective and one from hers. 

You can also check out the first time he asked her out or see her falling in love\lust with this steamy little morsel, or go to MEET-CUTE for how they met and a whole shit ton of links to other Maggie & Grey stuff.

And, Welcome Home Danielle! I heart you so hard-core! Thanks for being a new mom and still taking the time to check n with the blog. You are amazing.

*************

“May I borrow your car tomorrow morning?”

Grey looked up from the paper he was hardly reading.  He stared at Maggie.  “Skipping town?”

Her mouth quirked just a smidge.  “I need to go somewhere.”

He closed the paper and folded it along its crease.  “I can drive you.”  He answered.

She swallowed and looked out the enormous windows at their pretty stunning view.  “It will be early—I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

He pulled his coffee cup toward himself and lifted it to his lips to test the temperature.  It was still pretty damn hot, but whatever, he wanted some fucking coffee.  He took a small sip and, deciding he wouldn’t quite scald himself, took another.  He toyed with the idea of putting some whiskey in it.  “What’s open so early on a Sunday?”  He puzzled with his brows drawn together.  He couldn’t quite decide on the whiskey.

She fiddled with her necklace and kept her eyes out on the vista.  She’d hardly touched her breakfast.  “I want to attend mass.”  She replied quietly.

Oh.  Grey resisted the impulse to roll his eyes.  “Isn’t there a chapel here at the resort somewhere?”  He asked, putting down the mug and reaching for another chocolate almond croissant.  He wasn’t much of a breakfast person normally, preferring to have only juice or a protein shake before going for his daily run, but he was on vacation.  He’d go to the fitness center much later in the day.  And the croissants were phenomenal.  She hadn’t answered so he glanced up, tearing a piece of flaky, buttery pastry from the whole.

She looked, well, he wasn’t sure, but she looked a little disappointed, a little guilty maybe?  “That isn’t the same.”  She told him quietly, in a tone that made him wash over with pin-pricks of embarrassment.  He shrugged and then pushed his shoulders down and reclined in his chair.  She was acting as though he’d made some bigoted slur for Christ’s sake.  How the fuck should he know?  He figured a Christian denomination was a Christian denomination.  It wasn’t as if he were suggesting she attend temple or go to a fucking mosque for fuck’s sake. 

“Ok.”  He replied and popped some croissant into his mouth.  They’d been getting along.  For the past few days.  It hadn’t been awful to be in her presence, and, he’d decided that when they were in eachother’s company he would try to keep things as even-keel as possible, at least until they were back in Cedar Falls, back on their home turf and had room to go their separate ways.  He’d agreed with himself upon an unspoken truce, and so, he kept some of his more uncharitable opinions and snide remarks to himself whenever possible.  If she wanted to go to church, let her go to fucking church.  It was really none of his fucking business. 

She looked surprised.  “Ok?”

“Yeah.  Ok.”  He said and took another bite, this time getting some of the dark chocolate center.  Fuck these were good.  Definitely not a breakfast food one should indulge in on a normal basis.  Actually, if Grey thought about it, these little fuckers shouldn’t even be categorized as a breakfast food; who the fuck had decided that these delicious desserts could masquerade as any part of the three squares?  “D’you know how to drive stick?”  He asked after he’d swallowed.

Her eyes got wide and then she looked severely disappointed.  “No.”  He watched her reach for her decaf tea.  “I guess...”  She sighed and sipped.  “If you could lend me just a little money I could take a cab.”  She said, unable to meet his eyes.

He felt an uncomfortable squirming in his gut.  He didn’t like it at all when she brought up money.  And more than that he detested being asked for it in that way—like he was her father holding the pursestrings on her allowance or something, or like he was some wealthy lord to bestow his generosity on the peasants.  “Maggie you aren’t taking a fucking cab to church.  I can drive you.”

She took a sharp breath in and seemed to hold it.  “I don’t want to bother you.”  She repeated, staring into her tea cup.

He rolled his eyes and finished his croissant, dusting the flaky crumbs from his fingers and reaching again for the virgin black coffee.  It was going to taste like ass after that French confection.  “It’s not a problem.”  He said gruffly.

“I’d walk, but the nearest Catholic Church is farther than I think I ought to walk…” ‘in her condition’ went unsaid.

“Christ.”  Grey snapped.  “You’d rather walk miles than be in the car with me?”

Her head popped up and her eyes looked alarmed.  “No, no, that’s not what I meant!”  She hurried, looking anxious.

For some reason her reaction made him feel worse.  “Then let me drive you to church.”  He said and practically forced himself to put the coffee mug to his lips to prevent any of his fiery opinions to spill forth.  Truce, he reminded himself, shut the fuck up.

“Thank You.”  She said, and it sounded like a great effort.  Grey smiled into his coffee mug.  Maybe she’d promised to hold her tongue too.  Maybe they had both vowed to make peace for the time being. 

“How early are we talking?” He asked, squinting a little.  Why did religious folks have to make everything such an ordeal?  He seemed to remember a theology course he’d taken, remembered something about discomfort and sacrifice and subjugation, but after two almondy, chocolate filled croissants he couldn’t un-fuzzy the logic behind making yourself miserable to get into heaven and he yawned.

“There is an eight o’clock mass.”  She said.  “There is another at eleven if you’d prefer.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “And is there a matinee?”

She smiled.  “The early masses tend to be over quicker.” 

Hmm.  So the little saint wanted to attend but didn’t want to linger.  “Why’s that?  Isn’t it the same show?”

She tilted her head and gave him a half-amused, half-warning expression to which he responded with a mild smile.  “At the early mass, the seven or eight AM mass, there’s usually less singing.  Fewer people.”  She shrugged.  “Even the sermons seem, um, condensed.”  She said carefully.  “It is much more bare-bones, like at a daily service.”

He crinkled his brows and rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes.  “Sounds like the priest just wants to get back to bed.”

To his surprise he heard her laugh.  The sound of it made him smile.  He reached again for his now nearly-empty coffee.

“That’s not entirely unlikely. Sundays are a long day for him.”  She bit her lip around a playful smile.

She was a very pretty girl, Grey thought, looking at the way the morning sunlight caught on the curves of her dark brown curls, the way her large chocolate eyes sparkled and danced when she was playful.  He forced his eyes to look elsewhere.  One side-effect of the truce that Grey did not care for was it seemed to confuse his body into thinking it was alright to find her attractive again.  It was not alright. 

Grey reprimanded himself several times a day and reminded himself that he wasn’t ever interested in exes.  Not in that way.  Occasionally, very occasionally, he’d had a casual fuck with an ex, but just to scratch an itch, just because it was easier than playing the game with someone new.  But screwing an ex was not all that fun, not especially satisfying, and more often than not he’d rather just wait for the new piece to give it up to him, or go pick up some easy thing at a bar.

So it was frustrating that he had to keep reminding himself of this fact while he was around Maggie.  He’d been there, he’d already had that, there was nothing new to learn or do with her.  Not really.  Not especially.  So why the fuck did his body insist on reacting to her as if they’d never fucked?

Sometimes the way the light would caress the soft caramel color of her skin made him almost ache to reach over and touch her.  Every now and then she’d lean over to reach for something and the heavy curve of her ample breasts would catch his eye and make him a little breathless with the need to take her nipples into his mouth.  He almost could not resist watching her gorgeous round ass whenever she walked away from him—a fact that made him very grateful that she didn’t have eyes in the back of her head.  And those lips?  It wasn’t fair at all that she had a pair of the most beautiful, enticing, perfect lips he’d ever seen.  Fuck.  And when she nibbled on the lower one like she tended to do when she was embarrassed or playful or even absently when she was worried or confused?  Seeing her do that produced such a visceral impulse inside him that he found it increasingly difficult to hold himself back from taking her face in his hands and devouring her mouth with his.

Because, of course, he despised her.  Well.  Ok.  He despised what she was doing to him.  What she’d done.  Trapped him like this.  Fucked-him-over. 

So why the fuck had he consistently gone hard when she’d come out of the shower in her towel every night?  It didn’t make any sense at all and he needed to get a grip. 

“Um.”  He could kick himself in the balls for letting his thoughts wander so freely.  He was getting semi-erect now just thinking about her in any state of undress.  What the mother-fuck was his problem?  “So, how long are we talking?”  He asked, running a finger absently along the soft edge of the folded newspaper.

“For an early mass?”  She thought for a moment.  “I’d guess forty-five minutes.”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the table.  “Sounds doable.”  He said.

He heard her replace the tea-cup in its saucer.  “What do you think you’ll do?”

“Do?”  he asked, still trying to think of anything else besides her petite form writhing under his.  He never thought about his exes like this.  It was unnerving.  It must be because he was being forced to be in her company like this.  He’d never had to interact too much with his exes.  He made sure of that.  He made smart choices about the girls he fucked for just such a reason.  It made life unpleasant for him to have some weepy bitch sitting next to him in sociology class, or some venomous cunt hurling insults at him at the gym.

“While I’m at mass.”  She clarified.

He looked up.  “I thought I’d go with you.”

Her eyes widened.  “You’re not serious.”

His brows rose.  “Is that… is that against the rules?”  He’d never been to a Catholic mass but it was a free country, right?  And they did always seem to be recruiting, trying to lure new congregants—it must be allowed.

“Well, no, not really but—“  She looked faintly exasperated.  “Why?”

“Why not?”  What the fuck else was he going to do on a Sunday morning in a resort community?  Nothing would be open for business and he didn’t fancy loitering about in an eerily quiet town park while he waited for her to finish up her devotional. 

“You aren’t Catholic.”  She explained.

He shrugged.

They stared at one another.  He felt like he was challenging her somehow, though he hadn’t intended to do so.

“Will you be respectful?”  She asked, her tone somewhere between timid and commanding.

He smirked but nodded.  “I’m not a complete asshole Maggie.”

She raised one dubious eyebrow and he burst out with a laugh.  “I’ll behave.”  He promised, raising his right hand as if in an oath.

She pursed her lips and didn’t reply, only reached for a plain croissant.  He was relieved to see her at least making an effort to eat.  They fell into a silence while she munched and he toyed with the idea of yet another breakfast pastry.

“You plan on raising the, uh, your child, Catholic?”  He asked, the idea occurring suddenly.

She swallowed the bit she’d been chewing and stared at him.  Something like fear flashed across those big brown eyes and it took her a long moment to make any response at all.  Then, very slowly, she nodded.

He let that hang between them for a long moment.  Then, “Even if I object?” He asked, keeping his tone conversational, theoretical.

She looked wary now, as if he’d pulled a gun and was asking for her wallet and valuables.  “Yes.”  She said, her voice a little rough.  She cleared her throat and waited for him.

“Baptism and first communion and the whole works?”  He asked mildly.

Again she gave him a slow nod.  “Yes.”

“And if I disagree?”  He felt his lips twitch but he kept his face a perfectly bland mask.

She never took her eyes from his.  “This isn’t a subject for debate.”  She said quietly.

Oh really?  “Non-negotiable?”  he asked almost sweetly.

“Yes.”  She was nervous.  Constricted.

“You’re putting your foot down?”  He asked lightly, pleasantly.

“Yes.”  It sounded like a plea of guilty in a court of law: resigned and heavy.

“Would you divorce me over it?”

Her nostrils flared and she blinked but she kept right on meeting his stare.  Her front teeth captured her full lower lip and he forced himself not to notice too much.  This was important.

“Yes.”  She whispered, a pained expression contorting her face.

He smiled.  “Wow.”  He marveled.  “Showing me all your cards.”  He joked lightly.  “Not a wise strategy, Maggie.”

Her eyes finally fell, her lashes fluttering.  He got the uncomfortable feeling that she might cry.

“This isn’t a game.”  She said in a low, thin monotone.

He was quiet while he pondered.  Irreconcilable differences.  It was a good story.  They could tell people they’d married in a mad passion but came to realize that they were fundamentally incompatible due to disparate religious views. 

“Why?”  He asked suddenly.  He wasn’t sure he cared, either way, but he needed to understand why a woman who had played such an incredible game of hardball with him, who had needed so desperately for him to marry her and pretend to all the world that they were a couple, why she would throw it all away after working so hard and so carefully to secure her future and his fortune.

“Why?”

“Why is it so damned important that the kid be Catholic?”  he asked.  “You’d risk everything for a religion?”

She washed over pale.  “Un-baptized babies go to hell.”  She said with an earnest vulnerability that shook him to the core. 

Grey let out a low whistle.  Holy Fuck.  That was some rough fucking guilt-trip dogma.  Her God sent babies to hell?  Christ.  He searched her eyes.  She believed this.  She knew it to be the awful truth and he understood that no amount of reason or rational thought would dissuade her from this macabre superstition.  Knew that even if she could understand the notion to be absurd logically, emotionally she’d always be afraid that it might just be the truth.

“Well we can’t have that, can we?”  He asked softly, unable to entirely stifle his facetiousness. 

Her brows drew together.  “Don’t you dare mock me—“  She said and he saw tears spring to her eyes, though they seemed too righteous to spill.

He spread his hands as if in surrender.  “I’m not.”  He insisted.  “I won’t.”

Her chest was heaving and she was forcing inhalations and exhalations through her nose.  God, he liked her when she got all fired up.  It almost made him want to needle her further, but not on this subject.  He was dimly aware that his parents had raised him better than that.

“As long as we’re laying our cards on the table—“  She said in a heated tone “I might as well explain to you that if you marry me in a catholic ceremony you forfeit your right to protest the baptism of the child.”  She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly.  “You’ll have to promise that any children will be raised catholic.”  She explained.  “So if you plan on pressing your advantage you’d better do it soon.  Because when we get back to Cedar Falls my father will have Father Ruiz standing by.”

She glared at him and he felt his mouth open in faint appreciation of her—well –her balls.

“Thanks for the tip.”  He said with a half-smile.  He watched her fume for a moment and felt plagued with guilt.  Her father.  Christ. The man was intimidating.  Like a fierce little bull or something.  Grey knew it was ridiculous to be intimidated by a man several feet shorter than himself and many sizes rounder, but nevertheless, something about Hector Ramirez made Grey think twice about his instinct to seize on this info and run to a lawyer.

Grey thought about what the man had said to him, at the Riverside Bistro, when Maggie’d gone to the ladies room and his mother had gone to make a phone call and his father had wandered up to the bar or somewhere, leaving just Grey and his new father-in-law.  Grey could still feel the depth of his alarm at having been left alone with the man, left with no choice but to fend for himself.  Grey’d never felt anything as remotely nerve-wracking and uncomfortable in his life as Mr. Ramirez staring him down, sizing him up, and looking more displeased and distrustful by the second.

“I know why she’s done this.”  He said bluntly and Grey had only blinked.  “But I don’t know why you have.”

The man was sharp.  And keen.  And Grey knew he was the type of fellow who could smell bull-shit from a mile away.  He kept his mouth shut, deciding to respect the man by not making excuses or trying to lie.

“But whatever your reasons—“  Warned Hector, a steely glint in his heavy-lidded eyes, “You’ve made that girl your wife—“  The import and impact of the word as Hector annunciated it rocked Grey right in the solar plexus.  As if it were more than a legal complication.  More than a silly title they’d slapped on to bandage a terrible mistake.  When Hector said the word it gave Grey pause.  “And now you’d better treat her like one.”  The man glared at Grey for another heart-stopping moment before tossing back the remainder of his tequila drink.

“Yes sir.”  Grey had said.

Then the man fixed his eye on his new son-in-law and Grey had been sure his balls might never descend again.  “You hurt her, you treat her wrong, you step one toe outta line and you will answer to me.  Do you understand?”  Grey knew he’d betrayed his alarm in his face, but he’d nodded his understanding just as his mother had sailed back over to the table and begun gushing about how lovely the man’s daughter was, how thrilled she was to be family with the Ramirez’ now and some other pleasant, bubbly, bullshit.  Grey had promptly downed the rest of his weak Bloody Mary and ordered another—which his mother cancelled because he needed to drive.

Grey pulled himself out of his momentary fog when Maggie pushed her chair back from the little breakfast table and stood.  “Not feeling well?”  He asked, almost reflexively.

She glowered at him.  “What are you going to do?”  She demanded.

Oh.  Right.  The divorce.  He was tempted.  Sorely tempted.  But he looked at her, glanced at that silver medal at her collarbone and sighed.  “I fold.”  He said, a small smile playing around his lips.  “I’ll stand before your priest next week.  I won’t have the soul of an innocent on my conscience.”  He said jokingly.

But she only looked more furious.  “How many?”  She demanded hotly.

He was at a loss.  “I’m sorry?”

“No, you aren’t.  How many?”  She repeated heatedly.

“Maggie, I—“  He was lost.  He’d given in, he’d agreed to the catholic ceremony, he’d said he’d throw away the golden chance to wriggle out of this marriage largely unscathed.

“How many abortions have you paid for?”  Her face was reddening and her hands, while clenched in fists, were shaking.

His eyes narrowed and he felt his stomach sour.  “That’s none of your business.”  He told her in a low, menacing voice.

“How many?”  She repeated, her voice rising.

He didn’t want to fucking talk about this with her.  He began to re-think his decision.

“Grey!”  She snapped, one hot tear escaping and making a quick path down her cheek.  “How.  Many.”

“One fewer than I’d like.”  He growled savagely and she gasped.  He winced.  It felt distinctly as though he’d slapped her, though he hadn’t moved from his place at the breakfast table.  He watched her make a trembling sign of the cross and back away from him, her lips moving silently and her eyes welling with tears.  She turned and moved quickly toward the bathroom and he sighed. 

So much for the truce.

Headed Upstate (Maggie & Grey)

Hey Guys!

Hope you've been enjoying the Maggie & Grey stuff.  Today we're jumping back to the present-ish with their drive upstate for a 'honeymoon'.  There are two parts for this so please read them in order if you want them to make the most sense.  I thought about splitting them over two days, but NAH!  I like them as a pair of vignettes and want them to be together in the blogosphere.

Remember, if you like these two please check out their backstory-- go to the Meet-Cute entry from a couple days ago and the blog entry will have a pretty comprehensive list of linkage for you to follow if you want to navigate the backlogs.  Which... yeah, I'll be honest, I hope you choose to do because, well, because I think you will enjoy.  Alright? I said it.  Read my stuff.  lol.

Anyway-- two people, picked to live in a house... or on a honeymoon first and then a house... 

Enjoy!

****************

She sat in the passenger seat of his BMW feeling numb and overwhelmed and tired and faintly queasy.  They were driving upstate.  To a resort.  For a honeymoon.

Both Grey and Maggie had protested, tried to get out of it, but his parents had insisted.  “It’s already paid for!  I’ve made all the arrangements!  Let us do this for you, let this be a wedding gift!”  His mother had gushed with such joy, such enthusiasm that both of them had crumbled.  Grey had finally smiled and kissed her on the cheek and thanked her.  Shook his father’s hand and solemnly thanked him too.

Then she’d had to say goodbye to her father, without a moment alone to speak with him privately, because Mrs. Delaney insisted they hit the road right then in order to arrive in time to see the spectacular sunset view from their honeymoon suite.  Maggie didn’t want anything to do with that honeymoon suite but she’d smiled and feigned blushing enthusiasm.  Grey remained fairly stoic in the face of all the romantic innuendo and she thought he kept sparing sideways glances at her father.

“I’ll be back soon Papa.”  She told him as she hugged him goodbye.  “Just a week.  I’m so sorry, I know you’ll have to cover my shifts—“

“Goodbye Magdalena.”  He’d cut her off gently.  “Try to enjoy yourself.”  He said.  “The restaurant and the wine store and school and your family will be here in a week.”  He joked lightly. 

He was smiling but he seemed very, very saddened.  It made her chest ache to know that she’d done this to him.  “Oh, Papa—“  She gasped, “Essie! I won’t have a chance to see her before I go--”

He cupped her cheek in his rough palm affectionately.  “I will tell your sister when she gets home from school.  You can call her tonight.”

Maggie had nodded, in acquiescence, but she felt terribly guilty.  She knew he didn’t support this marriage, not until it was performed before a priest, and now he was being somewhat strong-armed--by the delicate arms of Velvet Delaney—into letting his daughter go off for a week with a young man who may have been her husband by law, but not in the eyes of the church.  “I will talk to Father Ruiz as soon as I’m back.”  She promised in an urgent whisper.

“I will speak to him this afternoon.”  Her father replied darkly.  “Buena suerta, Hija.”  He said gruffly.  “Sea feliz y sea segura.”  He looked grimly toward Grey, who was accepting another adoring kiss on his cheek from his mother.  “I hope you know what you’re up against.”  He added, and Maggie couldn’t be sure if he intended the comment for herself or for Grey.

“Goodbye!”  Grey’s mother had called after them as they rushed through the rain to the car.  “And we’ll take care of everything while you’re gone!”  And she’d waved that perfectly manicured little hand and squeezed her husband’s suit sleeve and looked for all the world like she might float away on bubbles of joy.

The mood inside the BMW was quite the opposite.  They’d been to the wine shoppe so she could ask for time off, they’d been to her home so she could pack a bag and they’d been to his apartment so he could do the same.  All of which had been done with stiff civility and barely concealed detestation. 

Maggie figured Grey had been polite and respectful for such a long period of time that he was about due for some time to brood.  To her enormous relief he’d been a gentleman to her father, and even been cordial to his Uncle Nolan at the wine store.  She hated Grey, but she couldn’t have been more grateful for how he’d handled himself today.  She wanted to thank him, felt guilty that she had not yet done so, but everytime she peeked over at his profile as he drove them upstate she lost her nerve to speak.  He looked so dark and brooding and violent.

The first time she spoke to him after leaving the Cedar Falls city limits was about two hours into the drive, and that was only because of an unavoidable imperative.

“Can we stop?”  She’d finally said, after sitting in near agony for the better part of a half-hour.

He seemed almost startled by her voice, as if he’d succeeded in forgetting she was in the car with him.  “Why?”

She bit her lip and breathed out slowly.  “I need to use the bathroom.”  She admitted, feeling a furious blush bloom all over her body.  She couldn’t care, she had to go.

He didn’t say anything for a minute.  “There’s an exit in two miles.”

She thanked him.  The silence in the car seemed heavier, now that it had been breached, and the pressure to say something else nagged and pushed at her.

“Your mother is very sweet.”  She said, deciding to give into the urge to chat and also try to take her mid off her bladder.

Grey looked at her for a moment and then returned his eyes to the road.  “She is.”  He agreed.

Maggie breathed.  “Your father is too.”  She added.  “He was so kind to me today.”

“Let’s not do this.”  Grey said coldly.

“I—“  Maggie didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s not play this ‘getting to know you’ game.”  He elaborated.  Maggie thought he pushed the car a little faster and held her breath as he switched highway lanes without bothering to use his directional or even really spare a glance around him.

“I was just trying to make conversation.”  She said honestly.

“How terribly polite of you.”  He mocked.  “Tell me then, as long as we’re making conversation, did you really intend to have me arrested on rape charges, or were you bluffing?”

Her mouth fell open.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—“  He said, looking at her with an expression of mock-sincerity “Is that one of those awkward conversation starters?  I’m hopeless when it comes to these social graces.”  The edge on his tone went right through her.

“I wasn’t bluffing.”  She answered him plainly.

He sniffed derisively.  “And the other girls?”

“What difference does it make now?”  She shot back.

The car veered toward the exit ramp and she clutched at the door to keep from leaning too far toward him.  She said a small prayer to St. Christopher and then to St. Jude, deciding that if St. Christopher wasn’t a real saint anymore then she’d need back-up.  Grey was a very dangerous sort of driver normally, and she was discovering that when he was in a temper he was ten times more frightening to be in a car with.

He pulled into a gas station, screeched to a stop and threw the car into park.  She was almost afraid to get out of the car—she had a fluttering feeling in her belly that he might drive away and leave her there.  With trembling hands she gathered her purse and stepped out without another word to him.  She had a little money in her purse and she had her phone.  She would be alright if he left her there.  She could call someone to pick her up.  It wouldn’t be the end of the world.  She tried to assure herself of her independence as she located the ladies room and knocked. 

Finding it blessedly unoccupied she bent the standard-issue handle down and pushed inward.  The hum of the fluorescent light above her head was louder than the store’s radio and the effect of the flickering lighting was distinctly corpse-green.  She pushed the little button to lock the door behind her and sized-up the toilet.  It didn’t look too terribly filthy.  It certainly didn’t look clean, either though.

When she’d finished she was surprised for the second time that day that Grey had waited for her.  She found him idly spinning the sunglasses rack, a look a mild disgust on his face. 

“Thank you.”  She told him stiffly as she joined him where he stood. 

“Do you need anything?”  He asked casually, as if the last words they’d spoken before her restroom break hadn’t been about rape and blackmail.

“Maybe a bottle of water?”  She said, aware that such a purchase would mean the inevitability of having to make another stop sometime before the resort. 

“Nothing to eat?” 

She felt her stomach revolt at the mention of food.  “I couldn’t eat a thing.”  She said.  “Everything makes me want to throw up.”

He nodded tersely.  “Any specific brand?”  He asked in a lazy voice as he strolled to the large glass refrigerator doors along the wall of the convenience store.

Any specific brand of… water?  “No.”  She decided to keep her opinion on the absurdity of that question to herself and watched him with one eyebrow raised as he chose the most expensive brand of bottled water from the cool bowels of the refrigerator.  He grabbed two of them and headed for the register.

“Want a magazine or something?”

She thought a magazine might be nice but shook her head.  She wondered what aspect of his personality made him behave like this.  Like a perfect gentleman.  Considerate.  Generous.  She wondered if it had something to do with being in a public venue.  But then, he hadn’t needed to get out of the car at all.  But he had.  He’d come into the little store to wait for her and offer her treats and she shook her head in confusion.

He paid for a pack of gum and the waters, handed her one and then walked to the door, which he held open for her.  She felt a tugging in her breast and she attacked it with a savage force.  ‘So he held a door for you’.  He was well bred, she told herself brutally, he would always hold doors for her, for any woman, because he’d been raised right, ‘not because he cares about you at all’.  It was habit, nothing more.

When they reached the car he opened that door too and she chided herself for being pleased with the gesture.  ‘Get a hold of yourself Maggie’, she warned, As she thanked him and sat. 

After unwrapping some gum he turned on the radio, searched for a station and offered her a piece, to which she had a peculiar aversion at present, and pulled out of the gas station toward the highway.  They didn’t speak again for another hour and a half, and to her surprise it was Grey who broke the silence.

“Do you need me to find a rest stop?”  He asked.

Gratitude swelled in her heart despite her best efforts to remain neutral.  “Thank you, yes.”  She had been prepared to wait, to hold it a while longer, but given the opportunity she would absolutely love to stop.

“Are you hungry yet?”

The mention of food didn’t immediately turn her stomach so she entertained the notion.  “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”  He asked, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s hard to be sure.”  She said, feeling a bit silly.

“You didn’t eat much at brunch.”  He observed, and she was surprised he’d noticed that.

“And I threw that up in the ladies’ room.”  She confessed.  She felt guilty about that, it had been an expensive meal.

“You should eat.”  He said sternly.

“I think I’d like a smoothie.”  She said after a minute.  It was hard to think of any liquids at the moment though, because she had to pee pretty badly.

“It’s the middle of the winter.”  He was almost laughing.  She sighed.  She didn’t want to be difficult.

“Maybe there’s a juice place?”  She suggested half-heartedly.

“I’ll look for one at the next exit.” He answered.

“Thank you.”  She said, not really believing that he could be so considerate to someone who had effectively ruined his life.

They fell back into a silence.  She didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t seem to want to talk much anyhow.  Her mind wandered and the questions she’d been trying hard to bury all afternoon resurfaced once more.  What in heaven would they do all week?  Because they certainly weren’t going to honeymoon in the traditional sense.  She swallowed and blushed a little at the thought. 

She reprimanded herself for thinking about him that way.  It would only hurt more.  Because she had loved him.  With all her heart.  Had fallen head over heels in love.  And he had been a complete bastard. The worst.

 She needed to loathe him.  She hated that she was still attracted to him.  Hated that she wondered if he still felt attracted to her at all. 

Because what was the point in wondering those things?  In thinking about them?  If he didn’t care for her before, then forcing him into a marriage wasn’t going to magically stir up affection in the man.  He likely loathed her and resented her and she knew she’d better get used to that right away.  Get used to a cold, passionless marriage with a man who could barely stand her.

She recited the Hail Mary in her head and tried to decide if she’d done the right thing.  She’d had no choice.  It had been the only way.  She’d made mistakes, big mistakes with this man, swept up in the heat of passion, and this, as underhanded as it was, was the only way out.  She sighed and resigned herself to an unhappy existence if it meant her child would be well provided for and that her father  would not disown her.

It hurt too much to think of her father, of his disappointment, of his broken heart that morning over brunch.  A broken heart would mend in time, especially when she delivered him a grandchild.  She smiled a bittersweet little smile as she imagined what a wonderful grandfather he would make.

She thought Mr. and Mrs. Delaney seemed like they would be good grandparents too.  Her child would be blessed and loved… perhaps not by its father, but by everyone else.  She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“The next exit has a smoothie place.”  He said, shifting the car over to the far right lane, a small triumphant smile on his face. 

He glanced at her then and she smiled gratefully.  His smile faded to a shadow.  Reluctantly, it seemed, he dragged his eyes off her face and back to the road. 

What in heaven were they going to do with themselves all week?

*********************

He was peckish but didn’t want to eat if she was feeling nauseated.  When she’d suggested smoothies he’d leapt at the idea.  It concerned him that she’d thrown up both her breakfast and brunch.  How the hell did pregnant women get any nourishment if they were vomiting up everything all the time?  He didn’t want to have to explain why his new bride had been hospitalized on their honeymoon for fuck’s sake.

Their honeymoon.  Grey wanted to groan out loud but managed to suppress the urge.  What in hell would they do all week?  He’d toyed with the idea of dropping Maggie off and letting her have a week of vacation on her own, but he knew his mother well enough to know she’d check up on them.  She’d expect to see on their bill that they’d eaten at the restaurant and visited the spa and ordered lots of poolside drinks and room service, lots and lots of room service for two.  And with the way Maggie could barely manage to even eat like a bird he figured he’d better stick around and do his part and order the appropriate amounts of food and drink and other things that would help their mini vacation pass, on paper, as a romantic getaway.

His mother had winked and told him that the Manager of the resort was an old friend of hers and also the Daytime Concierge, so he shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything his heart—or Maggie’s heart—desired.  So he was trapped.  He needed to go, and stay, and be there, and pretend to be having a great little honeymoon.  For his mother’s sake.

He felt a powerful surge of rancor toward Maggie that seemed to make his bones vibrate.  He could use a drink. 

He saw the sign for the next exit and quickly glanced over the advertized eateries. 

“The next exit has a smoothie place.” He felt triumphant.  He hadn’t been confident that they’d be able to locate one and the sight of the pink and yellow sign served as a balm for his stormy mood.  Maybe he was hungrier than he thought.

He glanced at her and she gave him a sweet smile.  His brain seemed to slow down, jam-up.  How could such a life-sucking bitch be so fucking adorable?  He dragged his eyes from her earnest little smile and made himself focus on driving.

What the fuck were they going to do with themselves all week?

He checked the gas gauge.  He’d filled up at the last stop and he still had just over half a tank so he decided to head right for the smoothie place.  “The bathroom’s probably nicer here.”  He commented as they pulled up to the brightly colored little building. 

She laughed.  “It would almost have to be.”  She said playfully.

He got out and went around to open her door for her but she was already stepping out.  He offered her his hand, a gesture which gave her pause.  “I’m not that pregnant yet.”  She said with a small laugh.  “I can manage.”

He pulled his hand back awkwardly.  He hadn’t been doing it because of her condition, he realized, he’d been doing it because it was the right thing to do.  Because his father never failed to do it for his mother.  He shoved his hand into his pocket and silently cursed himself and his Dad with equal venom. 

“Thanks though.”  She said as she closed the car door.  She looked like she regretted saying anything.

“No problem” he covered smoothly.  “Do you know what you want?  I can order while you’re in the rest room.”

“Um.”  She looked thoughtful as they walked to the door.  Automatically he moved ahead and pulled it open for her.  They looked at eachother for a minute and she laughed.  “Thanks.”  She said and crossed into the smoothie shop.  Fuck.  He liked the sound of her laugh.  He didn’t want to like it at all.  “No, I can’t decide.” She said, a little antsy as she stared at the overwhelming menu that hung over the smoothie bar.

“Go ahead,” He said, nodding toward the sign for the restrooms “You won’t be able to think about it with a full bladder.”

She flashed him a genuine smile and scooted toward the bathrooms.  He watched her disappear behind a bright pink door before turning his attention to the menu above the counter. He stood there, running his eyes over the cutesy names of blended drinks and sincerely wished they might add vodka or rum to his. 

“D’you know what you want?”  Piped a high, sweet voice from behind the counter.  Grey’s eyes fell from the description of a “Funkee Munkee” and he saw the teenaged girl to whom the voice belonged.  She was smirking at him and her eyes were rapacious.  He swallowed.  His pulse quickened.  And he smiled a very charming smile.

“What do you recommend?”  He asked in a liquid baritone, his eyes narrowing just a little his smile deepening handsomely.

The girl tossed her hair over one shoulder and then the other, arched her back to better display her small, perky tits and bit her lower lip in an exhibit of deliberative pondering.  Grey’d put her at about seventeen.  At most.  Maybe sixteen.  But he knew immediately that she wasn’t a virgin.  And he knew she wanted him.  Which was appealing.

“Do you like cherries?”  She asked doing a slow blink and fixing him with a meaningful stare.

Oh, subtle, he thought and squashed his instinct to roll his eyes.  “Very much.”  He answered smoothly, but lightly.  He stepped toward the counter as she leaned over it just enough to show what cleavage she possessed to better advantage.

“There’s a Berry Cherry Surprise that’s really really good.”  She said in a kittenish purr.

“What’s the surprise?”  He heard himself asking her reflexively, in a low, playful tone.

“Maybe you should taste it and find out.”  She said brazenly and smiled wickedly.

He knew, in that moment, that he could have her.  That she would take her fifteen minute break on the spot and let him fuck her in the back of his BMW or up against the wall in the rest room. 

She looked him up and down and then cocked an eyebrow at his hands.  “Is that a wedding ring?” The idea seemed to enflame her open desire rather than douse it.

He looked down at his hands and was a little startled to see he’d been absently spinning the band on his left ring finger with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.  He wasn’t used to jewelry. 

“It is.”  He said, more to himself than to her as he gazed at the plain gold band.  It wasn’t at all to his taste, as far as wedding rings went.  He’d walked into the jewelers asked for a standard pair and walked out with this traditional thing and the smaller, matching one for her finger.  He’d had to guess at the size on hers.

“You seem kinda young to be married.”  She flirted shamelessly.  He heard another girl giggle in the back where she was wiping down surfaces with a damp rag.  On another day he might have tempted them to put out the “Back in Ten Minutes” sign and had a quickie threesome with them both right there in the store.  He stared at her, his smile lopsided now.

Had she seen him come in with Maggie?  He believed she had seen, had watched him walk in with someone, and yet she still came on to him relentlessly.  He realized he behaved the same way when he saw something he wanted.  He’d walked out of parties with other men’s dates more than a few times in his life and hadn’t given it a second thought.  He enjoyed it, in fact.

The girl looked over at the sound of the squeaking hinges of the pink bathroom door and then flicked her eyes back at Grey suggestively.  “So what can I get for you sir?”  She asked, not bothering at all to change the bedroom quality of her little-girl voice.

Grey stared at her for a long moment, even after he felt Maggie approach and come to rest by his side.  He openly ran his gaze down her slim, barely-ripening body and had a fairly good idea of what she’d look like underneath that horrible pink polyester uniform that she’d pulled tight and pinned in the back in an effort to make it look more stylish, cuter.  He lifted his eyes back to her face then and decided she was wearing far too much eye makeup.  Decided that the fuck would be quick and eager but not terribly satisfying.  Decided that there would be nothing remotely surprising or even interesting about her when she spread her legs for him.  He might as well jerk-off if he wanted that kind of release.

Still holding the girl’s gaze he spoke to Maggie: “Anything look good to you here?”  he asked.

Maggie didn’t speak right away.  “Does anything look good to you?”  She responded in a tight voice.

“Not as good as I thought it would.”  He said with a smirk at the girl across the counter.  “I’m not sure the fruit is fresh enough here.” 

The girl’s mouth dropped open.

He smiled charmingly and then turned to Maggie.  “How does a milkshake sound instead?”  He asked her.  He wanted to get out of there.

She looked at him for half a moment, then looked back at the girl.  “Do you have milkshakes?”

“Yeah, we do.”  The cloying little voice answered a tad flippantly.

“Maybe a vanilla milkshake.”  Said Maggie uncertainly.

“You should add the protein shot for fifty cents.”  Said the girl in a tone that made Grey’s skin crawl.

“Oh, should I?” Asked Maggie artlessly, turning to look at Grey.

“Yeah, every woman should get a good protein shot.”  Said the girl snidely.

Grey reached over and took Maggie’s hand firmly in his own.  He couldn’t say why the girl’s heavy-handed innuendo had made him so angry but it had.  “I saw an ice-cream parlor a block back.”  He said decisively.  “Let’s go.”  He shot a brutal glare at the little slut when he reached the door—he was inexplicably furious with her for speaking that way to Maggie and it took all his self control not to say something insulting and he held the door open for his wife.  Maggie sailed by him with a murmured ‘thanks’, an expression of mild bewilderment on her face.

“Have a nice day.”  The girl said in a tone that belied the sentiment.

Grey exited without another word and lengthened his stride so that he would reach Maggie’s car door before she did.  He held it open for her and closed it gently after she’d settled herself within.  He groaned quietly as he walked around to the driver’s side of the BMW.  What the fuck was he going to with himself for a week?