Limits. Part 18

"What?" I ask before I realize I probably don't want her to repeat whatever she just said.

"I told you to slow down," she bites out, her words clipped with irritation. "You go that fast on choppy water, you're sure to wiggle the battery cable loose every time." She slams the seat back down, rolls her eyes at me, and grins. "You're lucky you have me here. You know that? Try the key again."

I do as I'm told, and this time, the boat starts right up. It's the second most beautiful noise I've ever heard. The first was the sound of Genevieve begging me not to stop last night.

"You're a G.o.ddess," I say to her as we pull up to the dock. If I wouldn't look like an even bigger tool, I'd kiss the concrete.

She shrugs her tiny shoulders and pulls her tank back on. "It's not a big deal. I sort of had the feeling you didn't know what you were doing."

J.D. is waiting for us. I happily turn over the keys, and he advises us to hurry back to our place because we're in for some ma.s.sive storms through the night. We take his advice, stopping only to grab a few things for dinner and some wine from the tiny market near the cabin.

Once we're back inside our cabin, and the rain is battering the roof like it might rip the d.a.m.n thing off, I come to the conclusion that there are much worse things than being stuck inside this mildly dank place with some cheap wine, a few candles, and this woman who I want to know every detail about.

"So, why'd you let me take over, if you could've handled the boat on your own?" I ask, heaving the grocery bags onto the single countertop.

"I didn't know if you'd be scared if a woman got the best of you," Gen grins.

I fake my best c.o.c.ky grin. "Does it look like I'm worried about anything or anyone getting the best of me?"

Genevieve giggles. "Right, I forgot. You know all the things, Professor."

"That's right, and don't forget it." I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in to me. Her skin is still warm from the day in the sun. Genevieve pushes her face into my chest. "Do you really want to know why I didn't tell you I'd never driven a boat?"

She doesn't answer but I continue on. "I didn't want to let you down. You're this tiny, gorgeous spitfire who is so d.a.m.n brave, and I just didn't want you to think I was a total moron. Because I care what you think of me, Gen. I've never wanted to impress anyone the way that I want to impress you. And you're my wife, I should've done that first. And-"

"You know what sucks?" She wiggles out of my embrace. "I didn't see a corkscrew anywhere! What are we going to do with all of this wine if we can't even get it open. Ugh! I can't believe I didn't think to grab one."

She pulls away from me and lets her hair fall over her face, so that I can't see her expression. "I mean, there's got to be one somewhere, right?" She opens and closes each drawer frantically, like finding that corkscrew is the most important thing in the world.

I start to replay the conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I said wrong, but decide to just help her instead.

"Here, let me." I reach over and take the bottle of wine she's holding from her, pull out my pocket knife and flick it open.

"What are you doing?" Gen asks. I plunge the thin, serrated blade into the cork and twist and pull until it pops from the bottle.

"Problem solved," I say, handing her the bottle. "Though, I didn't see any gla.s.ses, either." I pick up another bottle and tap the neck to the one she's holding. "So, cheers."

"Thanks." She presses her lips to the bottle and tips it back, taking a long gulp. "So, what should we do?"

I uncork a bottle for myself and take a swig. "What do you feel like doing? I think it's a safe bet the TV doesn't work." As if on cue, the lights flicker. "Let me light some candles while you come up with something."

I line up rows of candles along the mantel and on the kitchen counter and light each wick methodically while Genevieve digs through the hutch in the living room.

"Cards?" she asks, holding up a blue deck. "You want to play poker?"

"Yeah, we can play. I should tell you up front though-I will beat you. Every time." I turn to smile at her, but my face freezes when I watch her body move, graceful and s.e.xy as h.e.l.l in the flickering candlelight. Every time I'm sure I've seen her at her most beautiful, I get a glimpse of her in a new light or in a private, quiet moment, and I'm shocked by how she has levels of gorgeous I haven't even touched on yet.

Genevieve laughs and takes another drink from her bottle. The sound of it is light, and it feels like the awkwardness stemming from whatever I said wrong a minute ago is gone as suddenly as it came on.

"There are three things that I'm one-hundred-percent certain I'm better at than you. One is poker." She sits down at the tiny table and starts to shuffle and deal the cards without even looking, her fingers unbelievably quick and agile. "Hold em is good, right?" she asks with a smug smile.

I nod, impressed by the rapid flip of the cards and the confident way she moves. It's going to be bittersweet to crush her. But I'll definitely make up for it by being incredibly generous in bed later Because I'm a nice guy like that.

"Is that so? Well," I ask, picking up my cards and taking a seat across from her, "what are the other two?" I stretch my legs out and love the way hers tangle around mine. She pulls her chair close and puts her feet in my lap, grinning when I suck a breath in through my teeth.

"Well, operating a boat, for one," she says, her voice sweet and so deceptively innocent. I realize that this may be part of an elaborate poker strategy, and fear I might be in way over my head.

"And the other?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice even.

Instead of answering, Genevieve reaches across the table, her s.h.i.+rt strained tight against her t.i.ts, and dumps the box of matchsticks that I used to light the candles set on the red table cloth.

"Raise you two," she says, tossing two matchsticks into the middle of the table and licking her lips.

I glance at my cards, then back at Gen. "I see your two." I reach down with one hand and grab her foot, rubbing my thumb along her arch.

Other than a slight jerk of her lips, Gen's expression is unchanging as her eyes dart from me to the cards. "I see your two, and raise you five."

"The other thing, Gen?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet and running my fingers over every sensitive part of her foot.

She takes another long drink of her wine, and I notice how rapidly the pulse in her neck is beating. "Stop trying to distract me." She presses her lips together as I rub her heel.

"I'm not." I put the cards down and grab her other foot just to watch her pull her bottom lip in. Just to fl.u.s.ter her. "And there's also no way your hand is better than mine, either." I push my entire pile of match sticks into the center and lean back, rubbing her feet with gentle, relaxed pressure while she wiggles her toes and squirms. "I'm all in."

She tries to pull her feet away, but I hold tight. Her mouth curves into a sweet smile that has a bite of c.o.c.kiness around the edges. It's a huge turn on. "That's a pretty aggressive move, Professor. I'll take that bet."

I pull one hand up and flip my cards in a single, lazy motion.

Three of a kind.

"d.a.m.n, that's where all of the the three's went." Her mouth pulls down into an adorable pout, and I almost feel guilty for beating her. Almost. "Oh, and for the record? The third thing I'm much better at is making people-like you-squirm."

She gives me a little wink as she sets her cards down, leaning forward so I get a clear view of her perfect cleavage. "Straight Flush." She lays the cards out with a proud flourish.

"I don't know, I did a pretty decent job of making you squirm in the kitchen earlier." I mean it as a joke, but somehow, it comes out too serious.

"Oh, yeah. I guess you did. It's not like...I didn't..." Genevieve sighs, her fingertip tracing around the edge of her cards. "I didn't mean to get weird about what you were saying."

"It's fine, Gen." I gesture at her cards. "I was just trying to make a joke after getting my a.s.s handed to me by you. That was a fantastic play by the way."

"Thank you. And, about before...it's just that...I sort of think that you're building me up in your head to be something that I'm just not." She pulls her feet from my hands and lets them drop to the floor, then grabs at every card on the table, rounding them up with shaky fingers, her eyes cast down. "I feel like there's no possible way that I can avoid disappointing you, and I promise, it won't be a one-time deal." The sudden shake in her voice matches the shake of her fingers. "I'll figure out new ways, all the time in fact, to let you down. Not because I want to, just because, that's what I do. Ask anyone who knows me."

She clips the pack into a neat pile and riffles the cards to expel some of the nervous energy that transformed her from supremely confident to unbelievably vulnerable in a few short seconds.

"Genevieve." She's staring down at the mound of match sticks she just won. "Gen, look at me." She slowly raises her head, those steely gray eyes even darker in the candlelit room. "I know you. You could never do anything to disappoint me, baby." I reach over and pull her chair closer to mine so that I can scoop her out of it and onto my lap. "And you can't let me down. Because every d.a.m.n day you're giving me new reasons to fall in love with you. Even when you're swearing at me while I'm driving up a mountain or schooling me on how to start a boat. Even when you infuriate me by skipping cla.s.s, you still leave my dinner on the stove. You aren't perfect, Gen. And neither am I, not by a f.u.c.king long shot. But you're so d.a.m.n perfect for me."

She doesn't say a word. She presses hard against me, her mouth, her hands, her body searching for a way to tell me just how perfect we are together. Not that I had any doubt. Not that I mind being so thoroughly reminded.

18 GENEVIEVE.

The drive down the mountain was better than the drive up. Adam offered to let me drive, just in case it was a control thing, but my palms were far too sweaty to even attempt to grip the steering wheel, so I curled up in the seat next to him, and he held my hand most of the way.

"I should have done this the first day we moved in," Adam says when we finally pull up at our place. He unlocks the door to our apartment and scoops me up into his arms before pus.h.i.+ng the door open with his foot and carrying me inside, over the threshold.

"I forgive you. The weekend more than made up for it." I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, unable to remember ever feeling more loved than I do right at this moment. "Thank you. And you can put me down now."

Adam kisses the tip of my nose, then sets me down and lets the bags from his shoulders slip off to the floor.

"It feels good to be home," I say, breathing in the combination of cooking spices, old books, new paint, Eros balm, nail polish, coffee, pine cleaner-smells that mark the place where he and I have started to make our life together. It's a complex perfume I love completely.

"It is home, isn't it?" Adam wraps an arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple. "What do you think about Chinese for dinner? We have all of those gift cards to that kosher place on Brookline. I hear their Szechuan Crispy Beef will change your life."

"Sounds perfect," I say, tugging on his collar and kissing him on the lips. "Do you mind going solo to pick it up? I'd love to take a shower in a bathroom that doesn't have the distinct smell of lingering mold."

We had a fantastic time in Big Bear, but I am so thrilled to be home, where I know the shower is always clean because I scrubbed it myself just a few days ago and the mattress is always perfectly comfortable and covered with sheets that smell like my husband when I bury my face in them. Most of all, I'm so happy to be here, building this, making this all real with Adam.

I feel like we're finally settling into our real life. That this is the true start of our marriage, and there are no limits to how amazing our future together will be.

"I hear ya' there." He pulls me close and nuzzles my neck. "That sounds good. You get cleaned up, I'll grab dinner and a movie? Anything you want to see?"

"Surprise me." I lean in and press my lips to his. He bites on my bottom lip and draws it into his mouth. My body goes slack, and he wastes no time pulling me into him, his st.u.r.dy hand anch.o.r.ed on the small of my back.

Adam reaches for the zipper on the back of my sun dress, but I reach back and swat his hand away.

"We'll never eat if we get started with that," I scold. He lets out a low growl in my ear, but relents, kissing me quickly before he grabs his keys.

An hour later, I've showered and dried my hair just enough to pull it back into a messy ponytail. I skip the makeup and throw on a worn V-neck t-s.h.i.+rt of Adam's that-even though it's washed-smells like him and a pair of cotton shorts.

I'm pulling out plates to set the table when Adam walks in.

He wordlessly drops the two plastic bags full of food onto the table, then tosses his keys and a stack of unopened mail onto the kitchen counter.

He's still holding a single envelope, though, and his face looks pained.

"What's up?" I ask, slowly unpacking the hot container of wonton soup and fortune cookies, crinkling in their cellophane wrappers. Adam is unmoving. "Adam?"

He looks up from the envelope he's been staring at. "When was the last time you checked the mail?"

My stomach drops. s.h.i.+t, I'm always s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g something up. Like that time I forgot to pay my cell phone bill until it was two months behind, and I had to borrow the money from Cohen the day it was going to be shut off. Or the time I planned a trip to Jamaica with the girls the same week Dad needed an all-hands-on-deck emergency inventory for an upcoming audit. Or the time I dropped my final paper in the wrong drop box and almost flunked my cla.s.s for the semester.

"I...I don't think I've checked it since we've been here. I mean, you usually have the key with you, right? Is it something bad? If it's a bill, it's okay, we still have some money left from the wedding, and I get paid next Friday, so we'll manage. Hey." I nudge Adam's arm to try to draw him out of this mood. I want to go back to the lightness of a day ago, h.e.l.l, an hour ago. "Come on, let's eat before your life-changing beef gets cold. We can talk about whatever it is over dinner."

I finish arranging the dishes and containers as Adam slumps into the chair across from me, his face unchanged.

I scoop some rice onto his plate, expecting him to stop me. To tell me that I don't need to wait on him, because he always likes to do for himself, and for me. Right now, though, he's turned into stone.

"You're freaking me out. Can we just talk about whatever it is? Can I see the envelope?" I reach for it, wondering what the h.e.l.l could have stripped the life out of our home so completely.

Adam opens the flap of the envelope and unfolds the single piece of paper inside.

"It's from the Office of Citizens.h.i.+p and Immigration, Genevieve."

I try to swallow the piece of beef I was chewing, but it's suddenly lodged in my throat. I gulp down the gla.s.s of wine I'd poured and then count to ten in my head, like Adam told me he does when he needs to calm down.

It doesn't work.

"What does it say?" I ask, smoothing the delicate Spanish lace tablecloth, a wedding gift from Lydia. At first, I thought it was an impersonal gift, typical from my ice princess sister. But now that I think about it, it couldn't be more personal. It's a gorgeous covering for the place that Adam and I will share our meals over. It's here that we'll talk about our days, good and bad. And it's here that Adam appears to be having a mental breakdown over whatever is in that letter.

He clears his throat and flips the paper out of his fingers. We both watch it flutter onto the table. "It says we have to meet with someone in the Immigration Investigations department, Gen. Tomorrow. This letter must have been sitting here since the day after I got the d.a.m.n marriage license."

"Since when is the government that on the ball?" I snort.

"This isn't a joke, Genevieve." He's looking at me with that same expression he always had when I'd show up late to cla.s.s. The look that says I'm letting him down.

I hate that look so d.a.m.n much and will do anything to get it off his face.

"I understand that, but we can't change it," I say, my words calm. Not because I feel calm, but because I hope to trick him into following my lead and calming down. "We have to go to the meeting whether we sit here and pout about it or not. We'll go, they'll ask some questions, we'll answer them, go have lunch, and find out we're fine. Done deal." I scoop some more food onto his plate and toss a fortune cookie toward him. "Now, can we eat."

"I'm not hungry." He pushes his plate away, leans across to the counter, and pulls his laptop down.

"Are you seriously going to work at the table?" I ask, my heart sinking hard and fast as an anchor dropped into the churning waves.

Adam's rough voice makes my spine stiffen. "I'm not working," he snaps. "I'm researching."

"Eso es lo que dije. Es lo mismo, culo inteligente." I mutter quickly under my breath.

Adam barely glances up, then looks back down at his computer screen. I catch the slightest sign of a smile that he's fighting, because I know it turns him on when I speak Spanish, even if what I said wasn't all that nice.

"I'm trying to get some information on what we might expect tomorrow. See, right here, it says that we get to be interviewed together," he says, his shoulders falling with obvious relief.

"That's a good thing." I put my hands on his shoulders and rest my chin on the top of his head, dipping my mouth to kiss his hair. I draw in a relieved breath. Crisis averted. "How can we screw up if we're in the same room together. All we have to do is not overlap each other talking. We need like a sign, if I'm going to answer, or if I think you should take that one."