Home

Now the pool and river are something else. I know we have a pool person. That guy has been coming regularly. But the storm the other day has left the outside looking unkempt. So I spend the rest of the day putting the outside back in order. And by five o’clock the place is spotless.

“Maybe I’ll cook?”

I surprise myself with that notion. I hardly ever cook for Vaughn. I’ve thrown meat on the gril a few times, but that’s about it. But it will be good. Very domestic.

I wrangle up enough ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs, find some frozen garlic bread in the garage freezer, and by the time eight o’clock rolls around, I don’t even recognize this place.

I sit on the edge of the pool next to the small waterfall, with my feet dangling into the water, sipping wine as I wait for my movie star to come home.

A flash hits me. A memory.

Vaughn and I are standing outside the Bellagio near the fountain. The heat is suffocating, but the water is shooting upward, dancing as they do, night after night, and the spray is bathing us with a refreshing rain.

Did we get married at the fountain?

God, I wish I knew.

I hear the door alarm and then the familiar punching of keypad numbers and my heart beats faster.

“Grace?” he calls out.

“Out here,” I call back.

He walks through the dimly lit living room, looking around like he might be in the wrong house. And then he appears in the opening where the glass walls would be if they were not folded away. “What’s going on here?” he asks with a smile. “I don’t think this is my house. Am I dreaming or is that real food I smell?”

I pat the cement next to me. “Come sit here. Put your feet in and have a beer.” I reach over the champagne bucket and pull out his favorite micro-brew. “It’s cold,” I tempt him.

He steps forward, loosening his tie as he walks, and a few moments later, the shirt is coming off. “Mrs. Asher,” he says with a mischievous grin.

“Mr. Asher,” I say back, trying very hard to stifle my smile. Everything about him makes me want to smile.

He drops the shirt on the concrete, his pace never slowing as he kicks off his black Versace oxfords. I have to tilt my head up when he stops in front of me. It’s hard not to notice that my mouth is in the perfect position to make him relax after a long day’s work. I feel the wetness between my legs just thinking about it.

But instead of guiding my hands to his zipper, he slips off his socks and bends down to look me in the eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m back now.”

“Are you ready?”

I’m confused for a moment, but then he unleashes that hidden dimple on me and places both hands on my shoulders.

“Ready for—”

And then he pushes me into the pool.

Chapter Twelve

#WhatPills

I ALMOST feel bad as she tumbles over the side. But not quite. She goes under, her slip of a dress clinging to her body for a moment before it balloons out, exposing her legs.

God, I fucking love this woman.

She comes up sputtering and thrashing, but also laughing.

It’s been a long time since my Grace has been here. A long time. She’s just about to yell when I cannonball in next to her, making waves that spill gallons of water over the turquoise tiled edge.

When I open my eyes underwater, she’s right there. Her long blonde hair flows out behind her like some siren’s. Her pretty summer dress looks like it’s caught in the midst of a breeze. Before I can surface, she grabs me by the shoulders and wraps her legs around my waist. My hands automatically cup her ass and we kiss underwater like teenagers. Her fingers weave through my hair, mine slipping up her dress, my thumb caressing her stomach as my fingers grip her back.

She’s buckling from that move when we spring out of the water, the tickle too much for her.

“Ahh!” she squeals as I hug her tight. “What are you doing, Mr. Asher?”

“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Her smile drops a little. “I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish and moody. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Just tell me you’re back to stay. Because, Grace, I can’t watch you be so unhappy. It’s killing me. I need you. I love you. And if I made you sad last night, I’m sorry.”

Her pout grows, but she keeps eye contact. “I needed to hear that stuff, Vaughn. I think you’re a saint for putting up with me. Not many men would stick by a girl they hardly know as she works through problems that are more than a decade old.”

I take a deep breath and touch my forehead to hers. The water drips down her face in small streams. I watch as they curve around her lips and her tongue darts out to swipe them away. “You’re not a girl, Grace. You’re my wife. I meant every word I said when I married you.”

She looks away and I know it’s because she can’t remember our vows. But I’m not going to tell her. I want her to remember on her own. And when she’s ready, she will.

“I love you, Vaughn.” She meets my gaze again and nods a little. “I’m sorry I was so out of it and I’m sorry I left you out of my decisions yesterday. You had every right to be angry last night. I was only thinking of myself, the place was a mess, and you work so hard. Thank you for taking care of things. I know it must’ve been difficult to take care of me, work, and keep up with the household chores.”

I kiss her on the nose. “It was my pleasure, princess. I can do laundry and dishes. Believe me, Felicity was the worst housekeeper ever. And you’re not the maid, so don’t think this house is your job. It’s not.”