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Chapter Fourteen
Emery sleeps on the jet, and though I rouse her so we can climb into my car at the Inverness airport, she falls asleep again within minutes after we start our journey to my home. The lass wakes up just as we're driving through Ballachulish, the village where I was born and raised. My parents and some of my siblings live there now, but I'd moved to a more private location a few years ago.
When we'd first gotten into my car, a Mercedes S-Class, Emery had teased me about the luxury vehicle. She seems to think it's amusing to remind me of my wealth. Everyone knows I have money, but it never bothered me until I met Emery. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable with my lifestyle.
We've just crossed the Ballachulish Bridge over Loch Leven when my wife speaks.
The village is disappearing in the rearview mirror as she sits up, leaning forward slightly to squint at the scenery. "What was that lake?"
"Loch Leven."
"Where are we going?"
"Home."
"Gee, you're so helpful with the details." She falls back against her seat. "We passed the village. I thought you lived in Ballachulish."
"I said I was born and raised there. I live an hour from Ballachulish, near a village called Loch Fairbairn."
"This house of yours, is it out in the boonies or close to town?"
I wince and fidget in my seat. "I suppose that depends on your definition of boonies."
"Rory, honestly." She twists around in her seat to look at me. "Why are you avoiding my question? Will I be living in the middle of nowhere or not?"
"You will. In a way." I can't help wincing again. "I don't think of my home as remote, but you may have a different perspective."
"Are you afraid I'll be horrified when I see where you're taking me and flee as fast as I can?"
"Some women would."
I focus on the road so I won't see Emery, but I swear I can feel her studying me. Soon, we're crossing over another bridge with lochs on either side.
"What's that?" Emery asks, pointing out the window. "Is it still Loch Leven?"
"No, that is Loch Linnhe." I exhale a frustrated sigh. "Are ye planning to question me for the entire trip? Why donnae ye go back to sleep?"
"What's got you so grumpy? Worried about seeing your family?"
"If I promise to point out every notable place we pass by, will you cease talking?"
"Absolutely not." She slants toward me until her breasts graze my arm. "If you wanted a wife who doesn't speak unless spoken to, you shouldn't have picked me. You knew damn well what I was like when you practically begged me to marry you. I talked plenty over the weekend in New Orleans."
"Incessantly, yes."
"Watch it, buster. I'm this close"—she holds one hand in front of my face with her thumb and forefinger almost touching—"to forfeiting that half a million bucks by refusing to do you for at least two weeks."
I shrug as if I don't give a toss. "I survived without sex for thirteen months before I met you."
"Thirteen months?" She slouches into her seat. "It was six months for me. How many women have you slept with, total?"
"In my life? Twelve, including you." If she's going to interrogate me, I'm owed the same chance. "What about you? How many men?"
"Five. You mentioned before that you've had four one-nighters."
"Three."
"Four including me."
