Not even sex was a commonality at this point, not with Eloise choosing to sleep on the couch.
A week ago, I’d thought this agreement of ours would be a damn breeze. The two of us would pretend for a while. We’d enjoy some hot, uncomplicated sex. Then after the wedding, we’d call it quits. Get a simple divorce. Part ways.
I was a fucking idiot for thinking this would be easy. Eloise and I were as fucked as whatever had been in my oven.
The smell stung my nostrils, so I strode for the closest window, only to find it already open. Then I glanced toward the back of the house to the sliding door, also open.
My wife sat on the deck.
I ducked into the laundry room, taking out the small fan stashed on the top shelf of the storage closet. With it in the kitchen window, running full blast, I propped open the front door to get some air flowing, then I headed outside.
The deck only rose about a foot off the ground. Eloise was sitting on the edge, her legs crossed, her gaze aimed to the trees. There was something black in her hand that looked a lot like a hockey puck. “I made cookies.”
The hockey puck. The source of the smoke and smell.
“Want one?” She held it up in the air, turning enough that I could see her face.
The look in those blue eyes made my chest pinch. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. Smudges of black from watery mascara that she’d tried to rub away. Or maybe that was from the cookie.
“Chocolate chip?” I asked, taking the burnt cookie.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t like chocolate chip cookies.” Winding it up like it was a Frisbee, I threw the cookie as far as possible, sending it sailing through the air and crashing into a tree trunk. Then I wiped my hands together, brushing away the charcoal dust, before I took a seat beside Eloise.
“You don’t like chocolate chip cookies?” she asked.
“No.”
“What’s your favorite cookie?”
“I don’t really like cookies. But if I had to choose, oatmeal raisin.”
“Oatmeal raisin? Oh my God, I married a monster.”
The corner of my mouth turned up. It was the first time I’d smiled in, well . . . a week.
“Sorry I stank up the house,” she said.
“It’ll fade.”
“Stupid Eloise,” she muttered.
“Call yourself stupid again, and I’ll take you over my knee.”
She gasped, her eyes widening.
“You’re not stupid.” I knew it was one of those off-handed, self-deprecating remarks, but I still didn’t like it. If I heard it again, I’d spank her beautiful ass until it was red. “So don’t say it.”
“Okay,” she whispered, her gaze running over my T-shirt and shorts. “Were you at the gym?”
“This morning. Then I went for a hike. Did you work today?”
“No, I took it off.”
Eloise had spent every day this week at the hotel. Either to avoid me or because she was busy. Probably both. Normally when I woke up each morning around six, she was already gone, leaving behind her scent, that earthy, floral vanilla, in the bathroom.
Except this morning, there’d been no perfume. When I’d come down from the loft, she’d been asleep on the couch, her eyelids fluttering as she’d dreamed.
So it had been my turn to sneak out early.
Foster had asked me to come to his gym this morning to work out.
Today was the first time we’d seen each other since the coffee shop last weekend. We’d talked on the phone a couple times, short, clipped conversations. Not that our face-to-face today had been much different. We hadn’t spoken much before we’d climbed into the ring to spar.
Inside the ropes, there hadn’t been the need for words. Foster had let his fists do all the talking.
Eloise’s eyes locked on the fresh cut on my lower lip. She reached out to touch it but stopped before she actually made contact. Then that sad look in her eyes doubled.
So did the pinch in my chest.
“How was Foster?” she asked.
Pissed. Seriously fucking pissed. “Fine.”
He was angry that I hadn’t told him about Eloise. He was mad that I’d spent a month concealing the truth. But mostly, I think he was hurt because he knew I was still hiding something.
Maybe I should have fessed up. Maybe I should have laid it all out there, explaining that this marriage was a sham. That Eloise and I were gutting this out so she could have a shot at her hotel and I wouldn’t have to show up to Sam’s wedding alone.
But I’d kept my mouth shut. My reward? An ass kicking.
Foster had landed a kick to my gut that had knocked the wind out of me. Then he’d popped me in the mouth, the skin splitting instantly.
It had bled on and off during my afternoon hike. Whatever blood was on the sleeve of my black shirt was invisible.
“You didn’t, um . . . tell him about our arrangement. Did you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Thank you.” She sighed.
More secrets. But for some reason, keeping our motives from Foster didn’t bother me as much as hiding this marriage to Eloise.
Why? No fucking clue. I’d tried to figure it out on my hike. I’d spent a couple hours trying to sort through these feelings. Clear my head. It hadn’t worked. I still felt . . . off.
Maybe I was just tired. Sleep had been shit all week.
“Where did you go hiking?” she asked.
“The Sable Peak Trailhead.”
Even after a punishing workout with Foster, I’d had this restless energy coursing through my veins. So I’d searched for local trailheads and headed for the mountains.
The loop had been six miles. My legs were dead, and tomorrow I’d pay for overexerting myself. And only a sliver of that energy had faded.
“That’s always been Mateo’s favorite trail.” Eloise pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “Maybe I should have gone hiking with you instead of yet another kitchen fail.”
Those beautiful eyes flooded with tears.
This wasn’t about the cookies. But if she needed to cry over them, I’d sit beside her.
Even though I needed a shower, even though I was starving, I didn’t move. We stared at the trees until Eloise filled the silence.
“My mom is an amazing cook. She jokes that Knox and Lyla inherited her talents, and by the time Mateo and I were born, there was nothing left for us. But I still try. I bake cookies for family dinners and pretend not to notice when they all disappear to the garbage can in the garage. I make sangria that no one drinks.”
“Do you like to cook?”
“No.”
“Then why not quit?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess it would be nice to do it right. Just once.”
Eloise was still trying to cover up those ugly horses with pretty pictures.
“After today, I think . . . I give up.” Her voice was so small. Gone was the strong, vibrant woman who’d caught me in her spell in Vegas. And at the moment, I’d give anything to make those tears disappear.
“I like to cook,” I said. “Hate doing laundry.”
She sniffled, wiping beneath her eyes. “I don’t mind laundry.”
“Then you do my laundry. I’ll cook. No more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. Deal?”