Page 53 of Married in Michigan
Yes.
I don’t know.
Welcome home?
Home.
Home?
I turn and step out of Paxton’s arm, heading for the terrace. But the door won’t open, and I get a little panicky trying to open it.
I stop, fighting for breath, and bite my lip. “I need to get some air,” I rasp.
Paxton steps beside me and unlatches something. “It was locked,” he says gently, sliding the door open. “Here.”
“Thank you,” I bite out.
The terrace is breathtaking. Flowers of all kind in full bloom, dwarf Japanese maples, carefully trimmed spruce shrubs, a profusion of greenery and flowers and trees I don’t know the names for, all artfully interwoven with stone flags and trickling streams and gurgling mini-waterfalls, hidden lights…it’s gloriously peaceful and calming, and I find a hand-carved wooden bench tucked into an alcove beneath the outspread arms of a cherry tree. Slumping down into it, I breathe in carefully; holding my breath, I straighten my spine, rest my hands on my knees, palms up, close my eyes, and slowly release my breath in a precisely measured four-count; I exhale to the same measured four-count, rest with my lungs empty for another four-count, and inhale once more. After a few repetitions, my pulse has slowed and my breathing is more normal. I can’t say the anxiety and turmoil in my brain have slowed, but it’s not dominating my physiological mechanisms anymore.
“Do you have anxiety attacks a lot?” I hear him ask, and feel him beside me.
I glance at him—he’s resting a buttock and thigh on the edge of the sculpted brick wall, which runs in a gentle, sinuous curve around behind the bench. I scoot over on the bench to make room for him, and he offers me a smile as he takes the spot.
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
“Frequently enough to have a breathing response,” he says.
“I don’t know if it’s an actual medical anxiety attack or panic attack, I just know sometimes stress and worry get the better of me, and it’s hard to breathe and my heart goes a little haywire.” I don’t look at him. “I don’t get them, like, every day or anything, but when I do get them, they hit hard and fast.”
“Where’d you learn the breathing technique?”
“My supervisor at the hotel, Tanya.” I sort through what to say. “I was going through some personal stuff and had an attack or whatever you want to call it while I was at work. Tanya has had them for ages, and actually saw a therapist about them—Tanya’s therapist taught her, and she taught me, and I’ve used it since.”
He hesitates. “So, why the anxiety attack now?”
I frown at him. “Um, because I quit all three of my jobs, got rid of my apartment, left my mother, and moved across the country to a big city I’ve never been to, where I don’t know a single soul, and all with a man I barely know who I’m about to marry in less than four months.” I laugh, and know he can hear the note of hysteria in it. I suck in a breath, hold it, and then I feel a barrage of words tumble out of my mouth like an avalanche. “We’re not in love, we don’t know the first thing about each other, I’m terrible at relationships, you and I are from completely different worlds and I’m a fish out of water in the worst way and I have no idea how to navigate in your world and this life I’m suddenly living, and I can’t figure you out for the fucking life of me and worst of all I can’t decide if I evenlikeyou yet a part of me wants to sleep with you and I can’t decide if that would be the worst mistake I’ve ever made or the best thing ever because it’s been a really long time and I’m going crazy and why thehelldid I just say that to you?”
I shoot to my feet and half run half stumble away from Paxton and the bench to the other side of the terrace, resting my arms on the polished steel railing of the glass partition separating the terrace from the world below. I hang my head and tremble uncontrollably.
I feel him approaching—for some idiotic reason, my entire body is hyper-attuned to his physical presence. Even facing away, with my eyes closed, I feel him behind me. He’s moving slowly, probably trying to figure out how to handle me.
He leans against the railing beside me, his arm touching mine. “Makayla, listen to me.” I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look into those absurdly compelling golden eyes. “Look at me, please.”
I force my eyes to his. “What, Paxton?”
He turns slightly, not quite facing me. “I thought I made this clear already, but I’ll try again. There is no pressure whatsoever to make this a real relationship if you don’t want to—whether physically or otherwise. I get that I’ve ripped you out of your life. Now, I’ll be honest here, and I know you’re going to say I’m being arrogant if not condescending, but…I feel like the life I’m about to give you, both in the temporary time we’re married and afterwards, is a pretty big step up from the life you were living before me. But still, you’ve left everything familiar, and that’s scary.” His eyes search me. “You seem like someone who will appreciate honesty, so here’s some blunt truth for you: Yes, I’m attracted to you. Yes, I’m a heterosexual male with a pretty wild libido, and you’re a beautiful woman about to share my home with me, so yes, certain…possibilities have entered my mind. Part of me is hoping something will happen between us. We’re two single adults cohabiting a home, and will soon be legally married, so it’s not like it’s a ridiculous notion for me to entertain.”
He touches a finger to my chin, keeping my gaze on his. “But—and you need to hear me and understand me very clearly—I make no claims, set no expectations, and will never demand anything.” His eyes heat, spark. “I can’t say I won’t test the waters with you, though, and I can’t say that if I sense you’re open to an advance that I won’t press it, because I sure as fuck will. But if—if—something happens between us, Makayla, it will be becauseyouwant it to. Because you allow it, if not seek it out yourself.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” I murmur.
“You don’t have to. I don’t need a response.” He straightens, pushing away from the railing. “I have some preliminary work to do before my meetings tomorrow morning.”
“I need some alone time anyway.” I meet his eyes. “Something you probably need to know about me, now that we’re living together—I’m not exactly an introvert, per se, but I’m the kind of person who needs time alone to recharge and to process my emotions. So, if I tell you I need time alone, it’s really not about you or not wanting to be around you, it’s—”
He grins. “You don’t have to explain that one to me, Makayla. I’m the same way.”
I tilt my head. “Really?”