Whoever said Disneyland was the happiest place on earth never spent an evening in Asher Coleson’s bed. He was one thrill ride Olivia could strap herself onto, hold her hands in the air, and take a spin on with glee. Talk about a magic kingdom. And don’t even get her started on the poor suckers who claimed married sex was vanilla. They could take a page out of her husband’s playbook.
His number one move for a satisfied wife? Pushing her back against the front door without warning, then lifting her skirt and yanking her panties to the side, growling, “I’m gonna turn you around, and you’re gonna take it.”
She did. And it was explosive.
Dinner was forgotten in their frenzied rush to crawl inside each other, though Olivia had a heaping serving of meat anyway.
Body languid and fulfilled, they snuggled in bed, staring at the moonlit shadows playing across the ceiling. Darkness had fallen sometime between the rough quickie from behind against the front door and the leisurely exploration of bodies on luxury bedding.
She’d been fucked hard and loved slow in the course of a short evening, so yeah, Disneyland could suck it.
“You know I didn’t come back to you because Marshall asked me to, right?” Even if it spoiled the afterglow, she needed to say it.
He tensed. “I know nobody can make you do something you don’t want to.”
“And I didn’t want a divorce, either. What I wanted was to see you again. Talk to you. And then, the nursery in Sam’s house made it all come rushing back. The hurt. The hate. Along with a heavy dose of what was missing in my life. What I knew I wanted, but was too scared to hope for. And I was too angry to realize I didn’t want it with any other man.” She tilted her head to look at him. “I wasn’t motivated by Marshall’s suggestion, nor did I act upon any directive. He twisted the facts.”
“Which were?” he prompted, when she didn’t elaborate.
Sliding her hand over his belly, she cuddled closer. “He’d been grumbling about your lack of interest in the business and wanted you on board. I thought he was feeling remorse about the rift. Nostalgic, maybe, because his health was declining. Talked a lot about duty and family. And grandchildren. Didn’t seem to care who their mother might be, as long as your DNA was mixed in and y’all lived at the vineyard. It felt cruel at the time, but I made excuses for him. An old man righting his wrongs any way he could.” Stopping to lay a kiss on his chest, she sighed. “But when the will was read, I knew he’d done it on purpose. Used me to get to you.”
He stared at the ceiling, absorbing her words. “I was jealous of him, of his relationship with you.” He made a rough sound of disgust, the confession surprising. “From the moment we met, I was jealous. I wanted you all to myself. Didn’t wanna share you with somebody I knew was gunning for me. Someone who would turn you against me just for shits and giggles, and could offer you something I never could. To be home for dinner every night.”
“Ash, I never—”
“I know,” he interrupted, as if unable to hear the notion spoken aloud. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong. But if you had, nobody would’ve blamed you. I wasn’t around. After my time in The Unit was up, you were pretty well embedded there. I couldn’t swallow my pride and come get you. So much of our lives passed us by because of it. We should’ve been together. Repairing. Rebuilding.”
A hush fell over the room as they reflected on the void of a four-year divide.
“But having you back again this summer was…” He shook his head, at a loss. “Amazing. Amazing and agonizing because the clock was ticking and Marshall was looking over my shoulder.”
“I love the vineyard, Ash. Don’t get me wrong, but it was, and is, just a job. From day one, I made a mistake putting too much value on it. I let Marshall interfere in matters I shouldn’t have. But I came from nothing, and because of him—because of the job he gave me—I found something I was good at. It paid my bills. It made me feel important. It introduced me to you. It blinded me.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself. It was warfare between us, and you were caught in the crossfire. It’s ancient history now.”
“Is it? Is this all behind us? No more running or ultimatums when things get tough?”
“All in our rearview.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. “I’ll tie you to this bed if I have to.”
“And I’ll shove a gag into your mouth if I have to.”
Minutes ticked by as his breathing evened, Olivia’s imagination running wild.
“Ash? What if I want you to tie me to this bed?”
“Just say when.” His voice was husky with impending sleep. “And remember our safe word. Pancakes.”
Seeing clear blue skies and hot married sex ahead, she let contentment wash over her, drifting into a light sleep.
His hesitant voice woke her.
“Did he ever cry? Did he ever show any emotion at all?” She felt him swallow, the random questions dry and hollow. “When the baby died?”
She propped herself up on an elbow, running a finger down the ridge bisecting his six-pack abs.
“I don’t remember much about the days right after. Honestly, I don’t remember much about the months after.” She didn’t elaborate. This wasn’t about her. “But the first day I went back to work, almost six months after her birth, I had to search the house to find him. He was standing in the middle of your childhood bedroom, holding a grass-stained little league jersey. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, but he said something that was so odd, so out of character, I’ll never forget it. He said…” Olivia took a deep breath, fighting the emotion that came whenever she spoke of her. “He said, ‘My son’s child is dead. His child is lost to him forever. My child is living, but he is lost to me just the same. What kind of God would give us so much in common?’ Then he hugged me and told me to have the profit and loss reports for the last two quarters on his desk by noon.”
He laid his lips against her temple, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry I brought that memory back for you. I shouldn’t have.”
Olivia choked on a laugh. “It’s okay. It’s okay to feel things, even when they’re sad. Holding negative emotions inside is a recipe for disaster. We should know this by now.” Her hand traced his body, from shoulder down to his navel. “This masterpiece is not meant to hold negativity; it’s meant only for good. And to give me endless pleasure.”
“I know,” he replied absently. “I’m getting there. This new age, feel-your-feelings and tell-everyone-and-their-brother-about-them shit is hard to get used to.”
Her heart contracted with love. “The answer to your question is yes,” she said, cupping his bristled cheek and kissing him. “He cried. He was crying when he said that to me. But I believe his tears were less about the loss of our baby and more about the loss of his.”
He grunted. It was the only response he gave.
The question of whether or not Ash himself had ever cried hung in the air.
It went unanswered.
“I miss him,” she whispered, almost ashamed, “even though I’m mad as a hornet. I’m so used to seeing him every day that it just feels… I don’t know… wrong, I guess, to work next to his empty office. The staff is devastated. Rosa’s beside herself. And I’m still surprised he’s gone. I want to sit down with him, give him a piece of my mind, then brainstorm a new marketing plan over a bottle of his latest Cabernet.”
“I get it,” he finally murmured. “Believe me. I get it.”
“I’m sorry you never reconciled. I’m sorry he was such a shitty dad.”
“Don’t be. He’s burning in hell right now, and that’s all the consolation I need.” His arms tightened. “I feel like a new man. I have you, and that’s all I care about.”
“That’s all I care about, too.” Rubbing her fingers along his forearm, she traced the subtle lines of his tattoo as her eyelids grew heavy.
And that’s when she saw it. The significance of his tattoo. The design within the design.
The name in permanent ink—hidden in plain sight.