Chapter 4
Home Sweet Home, Or Not
Lindsay
The flight back to New York City was much mellower than the flight to Vegas.
Everyone was quiet or sleeping, including James, my new husband. The word had the tomato juice from my Bloody Mary sticking in my throat.
What had we done?
Exhausted, I leaned against the window and tried to fall sleep, but my mind kept telling me I was an idiot.
I opened my eyes and glanced over at him. God, he was so good looking, and smart, and confidant. Then again, he had been born to be a leader. But husband material, I wasn’t so sure.
In the short time we’d known each other, I’d come to learn that James Ashton was a Harvard graduate and real estate heir. He’d acquired his real estate license shortly after grad school and was now wheeling and dealing with the bigwigs. The Ashtons were also philanthropic, and with his father on sabbatical, he was responsible for helping his mother with their family obligations.
What the hell was I doing with this man?
He’d grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth for God’s sake, and I had grown up scrounging to find a plastic one.
He was so out of my league.
Sure, I’d made it as a model, and making it is half the battle. My face and body graced the covers of not only Victoria Secret catalogues, but some foreign fashion magazines too. Occasionally, I even strode down the runways for up and coming fashion houses. But I was no supermodel.
Although James would call me that until the end of time.
Sure, I’d come to learn the ins and outs of Manhattan’s elite, but in no way did I belong in high-society. I could never fit in. I wasn’t a blue blood. I didn’t grow up being driven around in fancy cars, going to private schools, and walking along the always clean sidewalks of the Upper East Side. And I certainly was no debutante.
James opened his eyes. Caught me staring. He studied me for a long while, and then he leaned close. Taking my hand, his palm slid over the top of my knuckles. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
The man was lethal. With every touch, he seduced me, and I doubted he even knew it. Or maybe he did. Maybe he knew exactly how to get what he wanted, and that was the problem. He wanted me, but for how long?
I wasn’t insecure by nature, but I’d heard some of the girls talking about him in the bathroom at the airport. They’d said one woman would never satisfy him. He was an animal that couldn’t be caged. That eventually he’d grow tired of me, and venture out. “Just give it time,” one of them had said.
The problem with giving him time, was that with each passing day, I’d grow more and more attached to him, and then when he finally did tire of me, I’d be the one hurt by all of this, by one drunken night in Vegas that probably never should have happened.
I shifted uncomfortably under his close scrutiny. I didn’t want to have this conversation here. It was too intimate. Too personal. Too private.
“Things,” I simplified.
“What kind of things, Lindsay?”
It was clear he wasn’t going to back down.
“I’m wondering how we’re going to make this marriage work,” I said, finally relenting.
“What do you mean by that?” he prompted gently.
I blew out a breath. “We come from two different worlds, and as if that isn’t bad enough, we don’t know a thing about each other.”
“That’s not correct,” he grinned. “I know you like it when I kiss you right here,” he slid his mouth behind my ear.
I threw my head back. He did know that.
“And here,” he slid his lips down my throat.
I purred a little.
“And I know how to make you come,” he whispered.
My head popped down, and my eyes flashed. “Marriage isn’t only about sex,” I whisper yelled.
He’d been caught off guard by my outburst, I could tell by the way his eyes narrowed. After a moment, he brought my hand to his lap. “I know that, but off-the-charts chemistry is a starting point, don’t you think?”
“I’m not sure. What if it turns out I’m not enough for you?”
“Did I say or do something to make you think you wouldn’t be?”
“No, but—”
He shook his head. “No buts.”
I looked around the cabin. “These people know you better than me, and I overheard them talking about you. About what you are like. What you need to be happy. And I realized I really don’t know you at all.”
“These people don’t know me. They only think they do. They’re wrong, but you’re not wrong, you don’t know me,” James said.
“Exactly! Then why didn’t we stay in Vegas and get an annulment? Why go through all of this?”
His brow lifted. “Are you saying this has been meaningless?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I guess what I mean is why did you want to stay married?” I asked, my lips trembling as I stared back at the intensity in his eyes.
“Because I want to be with you. It also means you belong to me. And only me.”
He had no idea how deep his words affected me. I’d never belonged to anyone, not even my parents. But I could see how much he could hurt me, and I wasn’t sure I was willing to risk it. “That’s not the definition of a husband,” I quipped.
“No, but right now it’s a start,” he murmured. “At least give me that.”
I licked my lips, my chest rising and falling with my rapid breaths. He had a point. It was a start. It wasn’t the ‘Once upon a time,’ fairytale romances were made of, but it was something. And besides, it’s not like I knew how to be a wife. I did, however think I might have a better idea of what that meant than James.
He curled his fingers tighter around my hand and squeezed gently as he gazed down at me.
Finally I conceded and grinned up at him. “Yes, I can give you that.”
The flight attendant stopped at our aisle and offered us each breakfast. Both of us remained quiet while the plates were being served.
Once the flight attendant had served us both juice and coffee, and retreated, James took a bite of his scrambled eggs and said, “Now, tell me more about you. You’re a supermodel, obviously.”
I shook my head. “I’m a model.”
He shrugged.
I picked up my fork and also took a bite of the eggs. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, and I quickly took another bite.
“Do you like it? Modeling, I mean,” he asked.
It was a personal question, but then James didn’t seem like the sort of man who worried too much about boundaries. “It’s the only job I’ve ever known. I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen, and it usually paid the bills.”
“Where the hell were your parents?” James demanded.
I blinked at the ferocity in his gaze and the anger brimming from his eyes caught me off guard. “I never knew my father, and my mother wasn’t always capable of taking care of me.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
I explained to him the situation, and it took him a long while before he spoke again. Even when he did, he still looked annoyed. “Tell me something about yourself. Lets try things you like to do when you’re not working.”
“I like to sightsee and explore new places. I like to shop, but mostly I window shop. And I really like to be outside.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I like to do all those things. See how easy that was. Now, tell me about your place?”
I took a bite of my toast. “Right now I’m living in a two bedroom in Soho with a girl I met at work. Her boyfriend is a photographer and he’s spending a year in Europe building his portfolio, so she wanted some help paying the rent.”
He set his fork down, pushing his plate aside. “Where did you live before?”
I played with my food, not really wanting to answer that question, but I could feel his gaze growing more intense, the longer I stalled. And I too pushed my plate forward, and then looked over at him. “With a photographer I’d met on a shoot in California.”
James leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair in what I thought might be agitation. “Was this photographer your boyfriend?”
“Not exactly. We dated, but we were never exclusive.”
The flight attendant came and took our plates and glasses, resulting in a prolonged silence.
Once we were alone again, he said, “You understand I’m not like that. That you’re mine, and I don’t share.”
This was a huge leap we’d taken. “I do, as long as you understand the same.”
Very matter-of-factly he said, “I do,” and then he smiled and reached over to slide his palm over my hand again. Warmth traveled through me, sending pleasure throughout my chest. It was a giddy feeling that I couldn’t explain to myself if I wanted to.
“So I take it moving out won’t be a big deal? I should be able to pay your roommate what’s left on your lease and have the movers there on Monday without any problems.”
My eyes widened. “We haven’t talked about where we’ll live.”
“We haven’t talked about a lot.”
“I know.”
His brow furrowed. “Well, this one is a no-brainer. We certainly can’t both live with your roommate, now can we?”
I shook my head. He had a point.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll live at my place. You can do whatever you want to make it feel like yours.”
There wasn’t really much I could say to that, but there was one thing. “You don’t have to pay for me. I have my own money.” Although in truth, I doubted I had enough in savings to buy out my lease.
Those furrowed brows deepened. “You’re my wife, Lindsay, and I take care of what’s mine.”
That didn’t sit right. There was so much he had to learn about me. “And I have always taken care of myself.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing you have me now.”
That’s all he said, and then he pulled me close to him and closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again until we landed, where he had a car waiting for him, with his own driver, of which he informed me was now my driver too.
This transition was certainly going to be a bumpy one for the both of us.
Arriving back in New York, our first stop was my apartment. My roommate wasn’t home. As I went about packing some things, James poked around, asking me questions about photos placed here and there, or various items strewn around. Once I felt I had enough things to last the first part of the week, I left a note for my roommate to tell her I’d be gone for a few days. I’d call her later this week to explain.
There was a fire in James eyes as he took my suitcases. I knew it was satisfaction because he’d gotten me one step closer to his place.
His place.
I’d known he must have lived somewhere glitzy, but when Hal, his driver, and it seems mine now too, pulled the Mercedes in front of a very handsome, palatial, pre-war building, located directly across from the entrance of Central Park Zoo, I turned to him in shock. “You live here, on Fifth Avenue?”
He laughed and stepped out, reaching for my hand. “No, baby, we live here.”
I looked up before I got out of the car and counted sixteen floors, then my gaze lowered to the canopied entrance and doorman. I had no idea until then just how wealthy James was, and honestly even then, I hadn’t fully understood the vast of it. The one thing I did know was that everyone was going to think I was a gold digger.
Slowly, I took his hand and stepped out, still staring at my new home. “What floor?” I managed to ask.
“Fifteenth,” he answered.
Well, at least it wasn’t the penthouse.
“It’s a two-story,” he added.
That’s when I thought I was going to be sick right there on the ultra-clean sidewalk of the Upper East Side.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “It was my uncle’s. He died a few years ago. He never married, and had no children, so he left it to me. There are three bedrooms, a library, and a terrace. You’re going to love it. And if we have more than two kids, we can always convert the library.”
And then I really was sick.