Love Is Louder (7 page)

He whirls around, bumping into a patron and spilling his drink on the front of his white dress shirt.

“Oh, and by the way, I prefer brunettes!” I yell at his retreating back as the next act on stage sings “Hanging by a Moment” by Lifehouse.

He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes meet mine in a cold dead stare before he turns away and returns to his friends. I laugh.

I know yelling at a customer is bad for business, but I don’t care. James won’t do shit about it, and everyone knows me here. I greet my next customer with the biggest shit-eating grin. Even after thirteen years, it still feels good to put that asshole in his place.

I’ve always been a dreamer. I was the kind of girl who’d fantasize about the man who’d come into my life and sweep me off my feet. It came true, and then it seemed my dream was fading, the mirror cracking, but now James wants to mend it. This is an olive branch. Reconciliation.

I don’t know what has happened in the past week. James came home somewhat early last Friday night while I was in the bedroom going through proofs from several photo shoots. He told me he wanted to make it work, that he would change. His icy walls melted, the ones that had frozen over the past few months. It’s what I’ve been secretly lamenting and stressing over for weeks. Upon reflection, I probably should have asked him more questions about why the distance so we can avoid it happening again. But in the shock of the moment, I yielded to my desires, because I missed how we used to be.

My dream somehow resurrected from the ashes overnight. I fell asleep with his strong capable arms wrapped around me, but the thought still niggled in my mind, as I lay awake in his arms.

Why the change of heart?

Don’t question it, Brie. Take this as a good sign.

I can’t help but run every possible scenario in my head. My brain never stops these days.

Our mutual friends are not going through this. James’ high school friend got married three weeks after we did on the Fourth of July four years ago. They have a two-year-old boy and are expecting their second child sometime this fall. I feel empty, incomplete, and cheated. We haven’t talked about having kids since we moved here. His job has sucked up most of his time, and I see the toll it’s taking on him. Regardless, I thought I would be pregnant with my first child or at least be trying. We talked about it before we got married, and it was something we both wanted, but now he’s hesitant.

He’s not ready, but I am. Doesn’t that matter?

I have thought about coming off birth control, but I would hate to think that if I did get pregnant, he would ask me to do the unspeakable, and I couldn’t do that. I would leave him then and raise the baby myself.

My eyes float over the images of a one-month-old infant that I just completed a photo shoot for earlier today. Her name is April, and she’s chubby with pale, porcelain skin, blue eyes, and wisps of blonde hair. I wonder what our baby would look like.

Would the baby have James’ blue eyes and my brown hair? Would we have a boy or girl first?
I’ve already picked out the names if it were to ever happen for us. Tate for a boy and Tessa for a girl.

I sigh, shoving back the lump slowly rising in my throat. I’ve had moments where I’ve had to run out of the studio during shoots and lock myself in the bathroom so no one would see the tears clouding my eyes behind the lens. I’m strong on the outside. Well, I try to be, but when I see pictures like this with innocent, curious eyes staring back at me, I cannot help but wonder. I want to be a mother. I want to be given that chance.

I sort through my proofs before I file them away in the bottom right-hand drawer of my desk when my phone jostles me back. I look up at the clock and realize twenty minutes have passed. I retrieve my phone from my purse and smile when I see Ava’s name displayed on the screen. She always calls right before five to get together for our yoga class, but tonight I’m going to have to take a rain check.

“Hello.”

“Hey, you. What are your plans tonight?”

“Hey, James and I are supposed to go out for dinner to celebrate our four year wedding anniversary.”

“Oh, wow. He wants to do dinner and actually spend time with you?”

“Yes. This is good …”

“I hope so,” she says with a hint of doubt in her voice.

I take a deep breath. She knows my troubles and the issue James and I are going through. I want my husband. I want the marriage I envisioned when we got married. Perhaps he didn’t realize what a big responsibility it was taking the district attorney’s position. Did he really think this through? He really didn’t have to take it. He already had a great position right out of law school working for one of the top law firms in New York City.

“I don’t want to waste any time doubting us anymore. I just need to know if he wants this marriage as much as I do, and tonight is a step in the right direction.”

And hopefully over time, he will change his mind about having kids.

Before she can rebut or possibly give me words of encouragement, which I find slim to none, the line beeps with an incoming call. My heart jackhammers when I see James’ image flash on the screen.

“Hey, it’s James.” A faint breath escapes my lips as my stomach clenches.

“Oh,” she replies in a flat, lifeless tone.

In the past, Ava would tell me to say hi to James, but that stopped once things between James and me slowly went downhill. It hurts me in a small way that my husband and my close friend don’t get along anymore.

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” She hesitates and sucks in a breath. “I hope you have a nice time tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“You deserve it,” she says before we hang up.

A tingling sensation runs through me as I click over to the other line.

Will he pull a last-minute cancellation, telling me that he has a meeting, or will he keep our date?

This is not a regular dinner date. This means something; at least, it means something to me. James is…well, James. I can’t make him feel or think or believe what I believe. I have to deal with it. Compromise. Suffer? Our marriage is like a frozen lake. Some parts can handle the weight, and others can’t, and you don’t know until you take that step and hear the ice splintering under your feet. You can’t move; you can only hope that someone is there to save you.

“Hey, hon,”

“Hey, baby. Are you ready for tonight?” Even though things have been unsettled between us, the sound of his voice still makes me smile.

“Yes, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. Just be ready by seven and wear black. You know how I love you in black.”

“I already planned on it.” My stomach flutters, feeling the same attraction and anticipation when we first met in college. He’s really trying for us.

“Good. You always remember. I love that about you.” His voice caresses me, sending a trail of goose bumps down my body. I wish he were here right now, so I could look into his eyes and kiss his soft lips.

We can fix this. He still wants this.

I stand in my walk-in closet and appraise myself in the full-length mirror. I’m thinner than usual, thanks to the past few weeks of stress, but the soft lace of my black thong, matching bra, and garters still hug my subtle curves. I blow out a slow breath, debating on what to wear on this warm, humid, June evening. Short, black, strapless dress or long, silk dress with spaghetti straps? James loves my legs and shoulders, so I go with the short, strapless dress. Pulling it from the rack, I hold it up in front of me and close my eyes.

We can make it work.

“Brie.”

His gravelly voice startles me. Whirling around, I steal a breath when I see his heated eyes rake over my body. A burning need bubbles inside me. I itch to touch him, and I itch for him to touch me, but he controls what happens between us, and I eagerly comply. I’ve missed the connection so badly that I’d do anything to repair what we had to how it once was. I want the pressure of our careers to take a backseat so we can enjoy each other again.

Flashing me a smile, he pulls at his tie, yanking it loose and working the buttons on the front of his shirt, exposing his muscular tanned chest. He closes the space between us in two long strides. With a crooked grin giving his handsome features a devilish look, he takes the dress from my hands, returns it to the rack, and rests his prowling hands upon my hips.

“God, you...you look so damn good.” His eyes dance with mischief, his smile half-cocked. He tilts my chin with his finger so that our eyes lock and runs the outside of his hand against my cheek. I can already feel his erection poking my belly as I readily press harder against him. I want to be touched by him so badly it feels like madness.

I don’t want to go out to dinner; I want him to take me right now on the floor in my closet.

“Yoga does wonders.” I rub my hands down his chest as I peel off his white dress shirt, letting it drop to the floor. This is how it used to be. Spontaneous and hot. I didn’t expect this change in him, but I’m not going to sit here and question it. I have the old James back. I don’t want to take things slowly, but I know I have to. I can’t appear needy and desperate, even though I want us to get through this arduous point in our marriage.

Is that what created the distance between us? Needing him too much?

He scrapes his teeth across his bottom lip and pulls me tighter against his body. His gaze on me never breaks. His hands roam down my sides to my waist, my hips, and my thighs as his lips travel from my ear to my neck, leaving a trail of hot wet kisses that make my belly clench and my thighs tighten. I’m breathless and a little dazed by his touch and scent.

“The reservation is at eight. I would love to show you what you do to me when you wear black.” He smiles that smile that robbed me of my breath six years ago, and that little dimple pops on his right cheek that teases me to kiss it. His usual clean-cut face now has a hint of stubble, and his hair is ruffled and has grown a little bit more, making him appear sexier and casual.

Is this the first time I’ve noticed this change?

I can’t remember because it’s been a while since we spent real time together. I’m guilty of Googling” the signs that your spouse is cheating, “and one of the red flags is they change their appearance to please their new love interest, the one that has stolen their affections.

Stop! He’s taken on more cases at the office. He just doesn’t have time. That’s all it is. Enjoy yourself. Live in the moment.

I tug on his hair and meet his gaze, swatting all my insecurities and assumptions out of my mind and inhale his clean, musky cologne-tinged scent.

“What is it that I do to you?” I taunt, as the rapid beating of my heart drowns out everything except the sound of his voice.

“Let me show you what I can do to you.” His whisper stirs my hair and tickles my ear, sending chills racing over my skin. His lips slide to my chin, then slowly along my jaw, licking my neck with a deep moan of hunger. He moves his body so that his cock is pressed against my stomach. I’m suddenly weakened by his touch and the edge in his voice. I will relinquish control of my body to him as long as he sees fit. “I’ve been hard all day thinking about you like this. Do you know how impossible it is to work this way?”