No Complaints - Page 46

I place my hand on his chest, fighting the urge to leap at him, to grind my body against his.

“Luckily, husband, you bought us this big fancy house, and there are so many bedrooms.”

He grins. “Our bedroom works just fine. Why don’t you be a good girl and go wait for me? I’ll say goodnight to Bella and then come and show you how beautiful you are.”

“That’s what you said, do you remember?” I murmur. “The first time we ever….”

“Of course, I remember.” He smiles as he tucks some hair behind my ear, a gesture I’ll never get tired of. “You get more beautiful every day. I can’t wait for your album to be finished. Then the whole world can hear how beautiful you are.”

“Maybe six months,” I say, shrugging. “Maybe longer. Thank you, Ryland.”

“Hey.” He moves close to me. “What did I say about thanking me? We’re husband and wife. We’re partners. What’s mine is yours. You don’t have to thank me for pursuing your dreams. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I love you,” I whisper, trailing my fingernails along his abs as I walk by him. “Don’t keep me waiting too long….”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, his voice trembling in that way I know well, the way that tells me he’s struggling to hold back.

Walking down the hallway, I feel his eyes on me, so I sway my hips just that little bit more.

SIX MONTHS LATER

Ryland

I stand at the back of the theater, Autumn at my side. I’ve already checked my phone several times to make sure Bella is okay with the sitter. We’ve used the lady once before, a month ago, so that Rachel and I could go on a date.

When my hand strays to my pocket again, Autumn laughs.

I look over at my sister-in-law, grinning. “What?”

She shrugs, shooting me one of her smirks. Rachel has said that Autumn and I have that in common, how unreadable our smirks can be, how they can make a person feel small.

“But that was before,” Rachel added. “Now, you never smirk. You smile, Ryland. You smile so wide, so happy, and so…it melts my heart. I love it so much, how into us you are.”

“She will be fine,” Autumn says, jolting me back to the present.

I don’t ask if she means Bella or Rachel.

I know Rachel’s going to do great.

The stage is dark, the curtains drawn. There are at least one hundred people here.

She was tentative at first, my proud and capable wife, of using her last name and my celebrity to help launch her career.

So we settled on this as a compromise.

“If I can perform in a theater without choking, without making a fool of myself… and if people actually like the music, then maybe I can accept this leg-up.”

I admire my wife’s fierceness, agreeing because I knew, and I know she’s going to do amazingly well.

“Rachel was worried too,” I mutter, sighing. “It’s always stressful, leaving your kid with somebody else.”

“It’s only for a couple of hours,” Autumn says. “Anyway, I think she needs this. Rachel, I mean. She used to be so scared of performing. She’s gotten better at the studio stuff, obviously. Her album is the tits.”

I chuckle. “The tits?”

“What, you never heard that phrase?”

I shrug, smiling.

“She needs to get over her fear of live performance,” Autumn goes on. “This is the most people she’s ever sung in front of.”

I nod, feeling that particular brand of nervousness, the husband-wife concern that hits me any time I think about Rachel being at risk, whether emotionally or physically. It’s the same protectiveness I felt when I first laid eyes on her but amplified tenfold.

That was before I knew for sure she was going to be my wife and the mother of my children. Now she is all of that. And more.

My soulmate.

I’m not sure if I believed in that before, but I do now.

Finally, soft piano music starts playing, and a spotlight appears on the stage. Maybe there are people who’ll say it’s unfair her husband rented a theater for her and paid for the production. But those people would take the same chance if it was offered to them.

Husband rule number one – a man will do anything for his wife.

When my woman walks onto the stage, I bite down, appearing in the light. She’s wearing a sparkling black dress, the material hugging onto her curvy body. But not too much, not so tight that I have to calm the beast inside of me from punishing any bastard who stares too long.

Her hair is typically wavy and disobedient. Her smile seems shaky from here as she raises her hands to the microphone.

“I know this one,” I whisper, a glowing smile spreading across my face, making me feel like I’m burning up inside with all the love.

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