She highlighted the peonies Brandon surprised her with at the chapel, the Titanic necklace (which she wore under her blouse and displayed to the oohs and aahs of other closet diCaprio devotees). She had just enough swoon worthy nuggets of information, just enough pictures of the two of them together to make it seem real. Never mind that she was still wearing a K-mart scarf, and she blacked in a scuff on her boots with a Sharpie when she got to work. The wardrobe that would take time to renovate. It was probably best she didn’t swan into the office wearing head to toe Prada. Too much conspicuous consumption could make the Wicked Queen’s radar go off.
Marj spent most of the day repeating the same two or three stories from her Vegas trip, showing off the ring as bashfully as she could manage, and protesting that no, really, she wanted to work. It wasn’t as though their newlywed status would disrupt the workplace since Brandon’s office was off-site at corporate headquarters. Still, she checked her phone more than was necessary just to see if he’d messaged her or emailed her or in case she had a missed call from him. Twice she texted Britt because she was pretending to message her adoring husband back after he kept checking up on her. Which he hadn’t because he was busy with his own work and wouldn’t be the sort to send smooches by emoji every hour.
About the time she got off work, Marj had a voice mail from Brandon saying that he had a dinner meeting and he’d be late. He’d like her to wait up if she wasn’t too tired. After last night’s coupling, she was indeed tired. Still, she found the home gym, worked out, showered and made herself some red pepper quinoa thanks to the fabulous array of ingredients in his pantry. The cook had been somewhat put out by the intrusion, but clearly the woman knew she was to let Marj Cates do whatever she liked in her own home. So at eight o’clock, Marj went to sleep. A disco nap, she called it, to be well rested for his return. She woke up at midnight, and he still wasn’t home, the same at one. At two thirty, Brandon opened the bedroom door, dropped onto the mattress and began snoring before she could even speak to him, much less initiate anything more amorous.
The next two nights were similar. So much so that he did send her one apologetic text that hopefully they could catch up over the weekend when they went to the opening of the ballet season.
She had replied, “Ok,” but if she’d had her way, they’d have plans to go to a club or three, hear some live music and unwind in style. She even had a cinnamon colored bandage dress that would be perfect for such a night. Marj had embraced the online shopping and had a few deliveries, mostly of eveningwear, but that dress for clubbing was burning a hole in her closet. Maybe she’d break it out for the after party, assuming the ballet didn’t last all evening. Maybe she could coax her new husband into going out for a drink or three after the performance.
The thought made her smile when she hadn’t been smiling very much for the last few days. She’d kept cheerful enough at work for appearances, but she didn’t like being left alone every night.
Chapter 5
Friday, she hadn’t spoken with Brandon in days, and she was eager for five o’clock so she could get home and get ready for their evening together. Her dress for opening night at the ballet was a retro cocktail frock in pale jade green lace, long lacy sleeves, and a full skirt that stopped above the knee. She felt like she ought to wear a whimsy veil and hold a champagne cocktail in one hand while Dean Martin crooned from the hi-fi. There was a sort of rockabilly swish to the skirt that appealed to her, and she knew that Brandon liked her personality well enough to be pleased with her choice instead of expecting an LBD from her.
When she emerged from her dressing area to retrieve her shoes, she found not Brandon, but a velvet box on the nightstand. Opening it, she found a pair of long earrings glinting with a sweep of tiny diamonds. She fastened them on and watched them swing among her curls in the mirror, distracted by their beauty. So she was barefoot when he opened the door. She looked back over her shoulder, felt the unaccustomed weight of the diamonds as she turned her head. He looked all polished and handsome, very James Bond—slick and dangerous. It was all she could do not to cheer, to run and fling her arms around him. She had to hold herself in one spot, remind herself to give a small smile and thank him for the gift.
“You look lovely. I’m glad you like them,” he said.
“I take it you’ve had a busy week, husband,” she said lightly.
“No more so than usual. Did you miss me much?”
“It crossed my mind a time or two that you weren’t here,” she lied easily.