The Officer Says "I Do" (16 page)

“Yes,” Tasha said without hesitation. “But in this case it’s true.” She paused, then added, “You’re always welcome here, you know. I’ve got a sofa bed that might paralyze you, but you’re welcome to it for as long as you need.”

The offer warmed her heart. She truly had some of the best friends in the world. “Thanks, sweetie. But I’m sticking. I just have to figure out a way to tone down my Skye-ness in certain situations and make sure that I’m not getting in Tim’s way. At least for now. Maybe later it will be different.”

“Maybe.” Tasha didn’t sound hopeful. “Remember the sofa bed.”

After Skye hung up the phone, she played with the corner of the bedspread, letting it flow between her fingers. The material was soft, a little faded, but still in good condition. The patchwork was beautiful, and she wondered if it was homemade. Probably from his mother, or maybe his grandmother.

Could she do this? Could she really dim her own light, even for a little while, to make sure that Tim’s career wasn’t compromised? Was that fair to her?

It was fair to her marriage to give it a try, she scolded. It might not always be fun, but sometimes in life we had to do things that weren’t fun to make up for the good parts.

She could always look at it as acting. A sort of ongoing performance. At home she could be herself, because who was there to notice or care besides her husband? And he’d already seen her. But in public, she could work on it. A little more quiet in spirit, a little less bright clothing. That’s all. Nothing drastic.

Yes, she thought as she sat up in bed, feeling more energized. It really wouldn’t be that bad. Just for a while she could play the part in public. If that’s what Tim needed for his career, she could do it. And then things could slowly drift back to normal.

Skye started rummaging through the sacks of clothing, deciding what to put where, and feeling much better about things.

***

Tim sat on the couch, feet twitching in some obnoxious rhythm he couldn’t seem to stop. His slacks were creased, his shirt was ironed, face freshly shaved, and he’d had a haircut that morning. Despite his own hesitations on interacting with Colonel Blackwater outside the battalion, he knew he had nothing to worry about. At least with himself.

There was a muffled thump above him, and a not-so-ladylike curse.

He winced. Skye was another story.

She was already hopped up on adrenaline, having switched shifts today so she could make it to the dinner. Then her lunch shift ran over with an unexpected wave of customers. She’d rushed in the door without so much as a “hey how are ya” and sprinted up the stairs to jump in the shower. And upstairs she’d stayed ever since, getting ready. How she was doing, what she was planning to wear, how nervous she felt… he had no clue. He did know she bought a new outfit for the night, but past that, he was clueless. Knowing Skye, though, she would stand out.

He knew she could shine. Skye had already won his father over. His mother, a tougher sell, had softened. The other wives seemed to enjoy her company.

But he knew the other Marines and their spouses weren’t who concerned her.

“Okay. I’m ready,” she called out from the stairs. “And if this outfit isn’t Captain O’Shay approved, I’m not going at all.”

Tim rubbed his sweaty palms on the sofa and stood. Then sat back down.

He wasn’t prepared for what walked in the living room.

Skye entered without her usual swish of fabric, her pop of color. Even her gait was subdued. Her hair was straight for the first time since he’d met her, and much longer than it was when it curled, reaching halfway down her back. With the brunette strands pulled up on either side, he could see simple gold studs in her ears. A pale blue button-down shirt with no frills was tucked into a straight black skirt ending at her knees. On her feet, black shoes with a small heel. One of those feet was tapping an annoyed beat, and he looked up to see her hands on her hips, head cocked to one side.

“Well? Will it do?”

She was beautiful. She was adorable.

She wasn’t his Skye.

But that wasn’t what his wife wanted to hear. He mustered up an encouraging smile and said, “You look great. Where’d the clothing come from?”

Skye reached up to smooth down her hair, then dropped her hand as if she’d thought better of it. “I went shopping with Beth.”

Toby’s wife. Sweet woman. Dressed a lot like what Skye was wearing at that moment. “It’s… it’s different. But nice.”

She pulled the shirt a little, then turned her head as if she were trying to see her backside. “It’s appropriate for something like this. Right?”

For a dinner with the Blackwaters, absolutely. Mrs. Blackwater’s mouth might drop open at the change in her.

She was trying. That’s what this was all about. She was trying her hardest to help him, to show her support. She cared. His heart beat just a little faster at the thought.

He stepped to her, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her slowly. His wife didn’t even put up a token protest, just melted against him and wound her arms around his neck.

If they had time, he would have stripped the outfit from her button by button until she was bared to him. He would have carried her upstairs to her—no their, it would be their—bedroom, set her down on the soft, warm comforter, and made love to her with every ounce of strength he had. Fast the first time. Fast and hard and more than a little rough. It’d been too long. He’d wanted for too long.

But slow the next. So slow she’d think they were moving underwater. Drag out every possible ounce of pleasure until they’d wrung their bodies dry.

If he had time.

With regret, he broke the kiss and stepped away. Fierce pride filled his chest when he saw his woman’s face. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair falling out of its pins on one side.

“Yeah. It’s appropriate.”

Skye blinked, a little like an owl, and walked to the fireplace to glance in the mirror above. Her hands weren’t entirely steady as she fixed her hair, he noticed. Good. She was as affected as he was.

“That was quite the pre-party,” she joked.

“You just looked too irresistible,” he answered, because it was easier than explaining how much her effort meant.

She smiled at him from the reflection. A glimpse of the real Skye. She was still in there. Surprisingly, that caused him a moment of relief.

“I’m ready to go if you are, Captain O’Shay,” she said teasingly and held out a hand.

Slipping his hand into hers was the most natural thing he’d ever done.

Skye wondered why she’d pulled so many strings at work to make sure she could come to this dinner only to wind up dead.

Dead of boredom.

“I don’t know that you’ve ever cooked such a delicious meal, sweetheart.” Colonel Blackwater patted his wife on the hand and gave her an indulgent smile.

Skye poked once more at the rubbery chicken on her plate, which sat beside her untouched mashed potatoes devoid of any spice or salt. Not to mention the limp green beans. Even Tim, who liked meat, had barely eaten anything. Though he’d done a much better job at moving food around his plate to seem like he devoured it all. Smart man, her husband. The entire meal was devoid of all spice or originality, which only matched the yawn-worthy décor in the Blackwater home. Everything was white or cream or beige. Including Mrs. Blackwater’s outfit. Had these people ever heard of color?

“Oh, it was just delicious.” MaryAnn, that was her name, all but fell to her knees in gratitude and worship once again. Pretty soon she’d have rug burns from all the adoration. “You’ll have to let me copy down every recipe.”

Laying
it
on
a
little
thick
there, aren’t we?
Soon they’d have to call for the jaws of life to pry the woman’s lips from the Blackwaters’ asses.

Mrs. Blackwater gave a small smile that said such praise was only her due. “I’m sure I can write it down for you, dear. I always love to hear when a wife wants to provide a healthy meal for her husband at the end of the day.”

“I absolutely agree.” Apparently not to be left behind, Julia joined in the blatant ass-kissing. It was an ass-kissing free-for-all. Her serious face only made it more amusing. “Making sure our men are taken care of is truly the most important job we’ll ever have.”

It was official. Skye stepped out of the car and into a time machine. They were currently in 1953, and any second now Wally and the Beaver would burst in through the back door.

But then she watched as Julie’s hand clenched a little harder around her fork, how her mouth pulled, almost as if she was fighting against another, more realistic response. And Skye wondered if Julia might not be more like her and Beth than she originally thought. That she assumed she had to play good wife and make nice with the boss’s wife.

To a degree, Skye could relate.

Besides Skye and Tim, and the Blackwaters of course, there were three other couples sharing the
oh
so
special
evening with them. One included Beth and her husband Toby, who was almost as quiet and reserved as Beth. Thank goodness for those two, or Skye was sure she’d have never survived. The other couples were ones she vaguely remembered from the barbeque, but they hadn’t clicked.

Probably because they seemed to click with the Blackwaters. Or pretended to click, in Julia’s case. Skye didn’t think she and Mrs. Blackwater would click if they knocked their heads together.

The thought of literally butting heads had her trying to swallow an inappropriate chuckle.

The only problem with holding back a laugh is that it seems to multiply as you hold back. She gripped the edge of her chair and prayed nobody would notice her eyes watering and chest heaving with the effort. But then Tim, damn him, nudged her and she let out a bark of laughter.

Conversation stopped, and all eyes turned to her.

Skye quickly grabbed her napkin and coughed delicately, patting her chest with the other hand. She shot an apologetic smile to the rest of the table. “I’m sorry. Water went down wrong.”

The answer seemed to pacify the group, though Mrs. Blackwater eyed her sharply for another moment before turning her attention back to her husband.

“What the hell was that?” Tim murmured.

“Not important,” she whispered back. She caught Beth’s inquiring look, but she only shook her head and did her best to be invisible for the rest of the meal.

After dinner was over, the Colonel led the men out to the back porch for a cigar, and the women moved into the living room for coffee.

What
is
this, 1812? The little ladies shift to the parlor so the men can enjoy their brandy and cigars in peace?

But she saw her moment for escape and asked for the powder room. Beth discretely followed until they were alone in the hallway upstairs.

“Hey there, Giggles.” Beth laughed quietly. “What the heck was that all about?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Skye leaned against the wall and breathed deeply—the first relaxed breath she’d had all night since walking down their stairs to see Tim. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Are functions always like this?”

Beth shook her head. “No way. The CO at our last battalion was all about a party. He used to have pig roasts in his backyard, complete with kegs of beer. Every CO is different on how they like to run things.” She sighed and leaned against the wall opposite Skye. “I’ll admit, this one seems more than a little stuck up.”

Skye snorted. “A little?”

Beth laughed. “Okay, okay. A lot. MaryAnn, I’ve never really connected with. Julia’s a good sort. But her husband really pushes her to try and get on the CO’s wife’s good side. She’s a sweetie, just wants to help her husband and thinks this might be a way.”

“Hmm,” was Skye’s reply. She’d never considered sucking up. It was enough to make sure she didn’t screw up.

“You look nice, by the way.”

Skye looked down at her conservative costume, as she liked to think of it. “Tim certainly thought so. He showed his appreciation before we left,” she confided.

Beth giggled, then covered her mouth and looked toward the stairs with wide eyes. When no sign of eavesdroppers developed, she giggled again. “We should probably head back down.”

“I’ll go first. Man, who thought dinner with the boss would turn into such a covert operation?” Skye walked down the stairs, Beth’s faint giggles following her.

It was like the temperature dropped ten degrees as she walked into the living room after leaving the warmth of friendship upstairs. The obviously fake smiles the three women sent her as she sat down left her wanting to check for frostbite. But she took a second glance at Julia and found Beth might have been right. There was something there besides cold formality. An extra tilt to her lips after the other two women had turned away. A little crinkle to her eyes.

“I like your outfit, dear,” Mrs. Blackwater said, her voice cool.

“Thank you.” Desired effect achieved. She smoothed down the skirt a little and wondered how well the fabric would burn.

“I assume the outfit you wore at the barbecue was more of a joke. A prank of sorts.” Mrs. Blackwater tisked her tongue. “Not the most proper thing for a new wife to do. But still harmless. It’s nice to see you have some taste after all.”

Skye bit her tongue so hard she would have teeth marks for a week. A quick glance at MaryAnn showed no aid from that direction. Julia squirmed just a little but said nothing either. Each were looking around the room randomly, their eyes landing anywhere but on her or Mrs. Blackwater.

Well, she couldn’t really blame them. Who would want to tackle the Dragon Lady, as she was starting to think of Mrs. Blackwater.

“I don’t mind experimenting with clothing every so often.” There, that was neutral, wasn’t it?

“I’m sure. But it’s nice to know that our Marines have a solid, comforting home to return to after such a long day. Or even a long deployment. Loud, lewd clothing indicates a more… unsettled home life, I would think. Your outward appearance is simply a physical manifestation of your inner self, I always say.”

Sounds
like
something
you
dragged
out
of
a
Psych
101 textbook from the fifties. Like everything else you say.

“But my husband always has an eye out for what is in his Marines’ best interest. There was one young man—you ladies are too new to the battalion to remember him—who met and married a woman within a week of meeting her. Oh, it was unbelievable. Horrible example for his subordinates.”

Skye almost choked on her coffee.

“As it turns out, the woman was a…” the woman glanced around, leaned forward, and lowered her voice to stage whisper, “a stripper.”

MaryAnn gave a delicate gasp of horror, as if Mrs. Blackwater had just revealed the wife was a member of al-Qaeda.

Beth walked in silently and took the seat to Skye’s right. “What’s going on?” she murmured.

“We’re learning about the domestic terrorist also known as exotic dancers,” Skye murmured back, and Beth snorted.

“I don’t have to tell you the amount of grief that Marine was given. My husband had to pull him aside to counsel him on the situation. It ended up affecting his entire career, the poor man.” Mrs. Blackwater shook her head and lifted the coffee cup to her lips, though Skye would bet she didn’t take a sip. “Some things you just cannot come back from.”

“The soaps in the bathroom were lovely, Mrs. Blackwater,” Beth interjected smoothly. “Where did you get them?”

Pleased with the compliment, their hostess launched into a lecture on the importance of coordinating bathroom themes, which turned the conversation to the safer topic of home décor. Skye was half-tempted to say something about incenses, black light posters, and Bob Marley music. Why not play up the “dirty hippie” label to its fullest potential?

Because Tim was counting on her, that’s why. So she managed to make it through the evening using short sentences and elusive comments. Shortly after the men returned, the “party” died and everyone headed for their cars.

The ride home was silent. Skye opened her mouth once to ask how the manly meeting outside went, but she didn’t. Tim seemed to be brooding almost as much as she was. Had his meeting outside not gone well? Did someone say something about her? Was she the new terrorist stripper?

Skye mentally shut down the worry center of her brain. There was nothing she could do about it now. Her outfit was conservative, she had held her tongue more than once during the evening, and there was nothing she would have changed.

“Thank you for coming.”

Tim’s deep, softly spoken words shook Skye out of her own momentary depression. “No problem. I had fun.”

He snorted.

Skye glanced over and caught the slight lift to the corner of his lips in the bluish streetlight.

“I won’t pretend that I had fun, so you don’t have to either. Some things are just obligations in this field of work, and having dinner with people you don’t particularly care for is one of them, unfortunately. Just like any other job. Boss invites you over, you go.”

“I can understand that.” How many times did she have to do something she didn’t want to at her last job?

“But thank you for the effort.”

“Effort?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “For, you know.” He glanced quickly at her outfit then back to the road. “Did I say you looked nice?”

“Yeah. You did.” She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

Ah. He didn’t want to say it. But her husband wanted her in more conservative clothing. Liked her in these clothes.

Did that mean he hated her normal wardrobe and just didn’t know how to say it? Skye fingered the hem of her skirt. Maybe it wouldn’t be tossed in the first fire she came across after all.

***

Skye bounded up the stairs the moment they walked in the front door. “I’m going to change, then I’ll be back down,” she called. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“That’s fine,” he yelled after her just before the master bedroom door slammed. He smiled to himself. Even dressed like an attorney, she couldn’t completely contain her impulsive, grab-life-by-the-horns personality. Thankfully.

At a more sedate pace, he headed into the guest room to hang his clothing up. Skye’s clothing, he assumed, would end up on a heap on the floor. Just like most else she owned. Of course, half of her outfits were designed to look wrinkled even when freshly laundered, so he’d never know whether it came from the floor or the closet. But one thing was for sure… the woman was not keen on hanging her things up.

But that was part of the fun with Skye. You never knew, period, what you were going to get.

Tim paused, dresser drawer half open. Wait, part of the fun was never knowing? When had he adopted that line of thinking? Consistency. Consistency was his favorite. He liked rules, schedules, stability. He lived his life by it. He breathed reliability.

He shook out a pair of basketball shorts and an old Academy T-shirt and slipped on the comfortable outfit. A night snuggling on the couch with Skye seemed like a great way to end a shitty day.

Maybe he’d even cop a feel, straight out of a middle school handbook.

But when he jogged back down the stairs, hitting second base was the last thing on his mind.

Skye stood with her back to him, debating the DVDs in the entertainment center. As usual, she swayed from side to side as if she couldn’t stand still, as if some song in her head compelled her to move and dance.

She’d twisted her hair into a knot, though a few tendrils had already escaped and were flowing down around her neck. What he could see of her legs were encased in black leggings, though her feet were bare. But he’d recognize that top anywhere.

That was his favorite sweatshirt from college. The soft gray material was always a comfort on chilly days. The N with a star on the front was starting to crack and peel off. A size too big on him, it swallowed Skye’s torso whole, falling almost to her knees. He’d lost it weeks ago. Or so he thought.

She must have had it for a while now. How long had she been wearing it?

And why did the thought of her in his clothing turn him on so much?

“Where did you get that?”

She whipped around, her knot of hair bobbing. Following his gaze, she glanced down at the sleeves that dangled over her hands, too long for her arms by half. “Oh. Um.” Her teeth caught her bottom lip like they always did when she was worried.