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Iwaited outside my apartment's door. Now that I was here, I wasn't sure what to do.
My wife called me at nine in the evening, as I had adamantly stayed late in my office on the day of our wedding, not sure where the hell I was supposed to go.
"Are you coming home for dinner?" She asked the most ubiquitously ball and chain question.
I cleared my throat. "I've already eaten."
"I haven't."
I took a deep breath. "Elsa, look—"
"I'd rather have this conversation face-to-face." She paused for a moment and then added, "Please, Duncan."
Thepleasedid it. I took the ten-minute walk home, scared shitless. I had still not called my parents. I had talked to Damian, who put me on speaker phone with Emilia laughing so hard that I, who had a thick skin, had been mildly insulted.
"Married? You?" Emilia could hardly get the words out she was so amused. "I can't believe it."
"Imagine how I feel," I grumbled.
"Congratulations, brother. You should tell Mom and Dad. They'll be thrilled they're going to be grandparents twice over."
"Oh, and the cousins will be the same age," Emilia said excitedly.
"And you don't think they'll mind being related to Jean-Luc Moreau?" I bit out sarcastically.
"Mind? They might think he's an asset. He has some very interesting connections in Africa." Damian was a businessman through and through, even if some of his ruthlessness had been tempered because of Emilia.
"You didn't marry this Jean-Luc dude; you married his daughter," my sister-in-law interjected. "You can't blame her for her father."
"Not blaming her, Em," Damian said defensively, "It's just that he'd be an asset when we're chasing after—"
"It's a marriage, not a business deal," Emilia quipped.
"Baby, come on, what I'm saying is—"
"Don't baby me. What you're saying is despicable. She's his wife."
"Doesn't change the fact that her father is a criminal we can use."
"Use? You're out of your mind."
"Sweetheart, now—"
"I'm going to leave you two to your brand of kinky foreplay," I drawled. "I'll talk to you later."
They did this bantering thing that led to a fight, and that led to sexy times. Like I needed to know so much about my brother and his wife's sex life. Merdé!
And speaking of sex life; what the hell kind of sex was I going to have withmywife?
Jesus!
I had a wife.
I rubbed my face with my hand. The incongruity of being married slammed into me like a Canova marble statue tumbling from its pedestal, shattering into countless irreparable pieces.
I opened my front door to the smell of food—delicious food. Garlic and spices. I walked to the kitchen where my wife was swaying to Janis Joplin, asking God to buy her a Mercedes Benz. She was in a dress with an apron that said,Embrassez le chefin French.Kiss the chef.
She smiled at me when she saw me right after she tasted whatever was simmering in the pot in front of her.
