CHAPTER 7
Telling Jackie she wasn't coming to work that morning was a task itself. Having her best friend take her absence well, despite it being crunch time at the magazine, took her by surprise.
"You know what? Take a week. Heaven knows you need to find yourself. Vegas put a spell on you, and you need to get out of your funk. You're a disaster. Call me when you've gotten some sense in that noggin of yours," Jackie said.
Rory didn't want to hear Jackie treat her like a pariah, but she knew her friend meant well. Now if everything were that easy.
Luck had to prove her otherwise.
Trying to wake Tristin up from her couch was another ordeal in itself.
"Get up, Tristin. You're drooling on my couch," she hissed as she threw a face towel at him.
"Be gone, Witch," he moaned, flipping on to his back.
"Well, this witch does not make breakfast, so if you ever plan on getting anything in that bottomless pit of yours, I suggest you make a donut run," she replied, tying her hair back in a ponytail.
Part of her wanted to hear him make a smart comeback first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, her mind had already wandered to the task at hand.
Last night, they'd spoken with no words. They tried to come to grips with what was about to happen to them in the next few months, not knowing what to expect or how life was going to play itself out.
Neither complained, nor argued. It was like they both knew that they had to depend on and trust each other to make their arrangement work.
Exhaustion made them finally succumb to slumber.
Waking up without being smarter and without any answers, both accepted their fate and what they had to deal with in the long haul.
She pushed the niggling thoughts aside as she walked into her bathroom. To her surprise, he followed her to the small, cramped space.
"Excuse me!" Rory exclaimed as she stopped midway from scrubbing her face. His tall, lean frame squeezed itself into the confines. Her eyes wandered to his five o'clock shadow as he scratched the growth absentmindedly.
"I have to go," he retorted, eyes half open.
Rory let out a small "eep" as he flipped the toilet seat up. She turned back around and shut her eyes. Before she could glance at her reflection, she heard him unzip. The sound of trickling fluid made her blush.
"Couldn't you have waited until I was done in here?" she asked, upset.
He flushed the toilet as if he was telling her what he thought of her opinion.
"Would you have preferred me to pee in a cup? The morning void is something I cannot prevent," he said, pushing her aside to wash his hands.
"Rude!" she commented.
Like two clumsy teenagers, both tried to use the small bathroom simultaneously. Awkward was a term they became accustomed to seconds into the ordeal.
"Hey, before you know it, you'll be belching in front of me so we might as well get used to this cycle," he indicated, drying his hands on the towel.
"I don't belch, thank you," Rory informed him. She resumed exfoliating her face.
"Plus, if I am being assigned the task to do a breakfast run, the least you can do is be hospitable and allow me my morning piddle."
She was miffed at his actions but she knew it was too late to scold him. There was some truth to his statement. Eventually, their masks would fall off and they'd get to know each other more than they wish they did. She just hoped that he was right when he said they had their own facilities in their new digs.
"Here," Rory handed him a small package.
"What is it?" he asked as he wiped his face on the washcloth she provided him earlier.
"Thought you might want a toothbrush," she replied.
It was the first genuine smile she saw on his face in the past couple of hours. "Thanks."
"What?" Rory started feeling red creep back on her cheeks, and she didn't know why.
"You know what they say about sharing toothbrushes," he teased her.
"I am not sharing your cooties," she said. "Besides, you're forcing me to give up this hole. We're going to be sharing something more than just a toothbrush and bathroom space."
Tristin took a deep breath and exhaled. "You are right. Excited?"
"Scared," Rory amended his statement. "I really don't know what we're doing here."
"I don't know either but we have an agreement…."
"An agreement it is," Rory repeated the grim statement. Suddenly, the night's compromise had come out in the light. He, as far as she was concerned, was still committed to Katherine. She, on the other hand, still needed proof that happy endings existed.
Tristin exited the bathroom as he continued brushing his teeth. "Pack only the essentials. We'll come back for the rest later. I'll arrange to have your furniture put in storage."
She was about to argue, but she just shut her mouth. Some things just weren't important enough to argue about.
Five hours, four phone calls, a sublet on her apartment, and a trip in Tristin's car later, Rory suddenly found herself apprehensive about the drastic change that had happened in the short week.
'What am I doing here?' Rory asked herself as she stared at the house in front of her.
She had never seen this side of town. Come to think of it, she had no idea this place existed. Just right outside New York City, Rory had driven to Tarrytown, about forty minutes from the world she immersed herself in.
"What do you think?"
"What do you expect me to say?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "It is our company cottage, but for the next couple of months, it's going to be Chateau DuGrey."
"Excuse me, Chateau Gilmore-DuGrey, thank you," Rory corrected him.
"Of course," Tristin's acquiesced. Suddenly, his throat became parched. His palms sweaty, he looked at Rory and asked, "You ready?"
Rory shot him a look of dread. "Do I have a choice?"
He shot her a reassuring glance before he cocked his head to the side. "Come on. We don't have all day to get this done."
Rory gingerly got out of the car. Taking one deep breath before taking the stone steps, Rory followed his lead.
"Wait," he ordered before she took a step into the foyer. He lunged into the house for a second before darting back out. Before she knew it, Tristin swept her off her feet and attempted to carry her through the doorframe.
"What are you doing?" she asked, panicking.
"Carrying you over the threshold," he said. "Isn't that what bridal--"
Thwack!
Rory's head smacked against the doorframe.
Tristin panicked and helped her on to her feet as he dropped the stupid chivalrous act. Rory took a moment to recover from the jarring pain.
"Are you okay?" concern laced his voice.
Rory winced as she tried to regain her balance. "I would like to laugh, but my head hurts," she admitted, her giggle coming out a groan, as she was guided to the couch.
"I was just trying to be husbandly," he said, his pride hurt.
"It was cute," Rory said, leaning back against the soft backrest. "Just let me know the next time you try to do something endearing. That way I can prepare myself."
"Don't ever let me hear you say that I've never tried to be gallant," he said, trying to get a closer look at the red bump emerging from her forehead.
"I promise not to," she swore as she looked back at him. For a second, she got lost in his blue eyes. She shuddered just thinking how it was very easy for her to find herself day dreaming about him almost immediately.
Tristin held her stare and smiled. Nothing could have broken the tension any better. "So, what do you think?"
Rory gazed into the sunlit room and absorbed the new environment. "Very . . . nice."
It was more than nice. The two-story home was very deceiving. Quaint and comely on the outside, the interior boasted more than a residential front. The living room was large and inviting with a stone fireplace longing to be lit to heat up the space. Comfy throw blankets warmed the masculine dark leather seats that adorned the room. The small windows straddling the chimney brought a warmth and stillness that beckoned one to sit and read on a snowy or rainy night.
It was nothing short of perfect.
Her eyes darted to the corner of the room where a large wrought-iron coat hanger stood. Her face paled as she saw the mound of boxes wrapped in white wedding paper and ribbons. She knew she had to be hallucinating.
"What are those?" she whispered, pointing at the pile.
"I assume wedding presents," he playfully answered. "I know it's not my birthday, and if it's yours, man, your friends need to pick better wrappers."
"We have to send them back!" she nervously responded.
"Why?" he countered. "We did get married, you know."
"I don't feel right accepting these presents!" her conscience got the best of her.
He let out a frustrated sigh. "Rory, no one knows that this isn't the real thing. If you want to send them back, fine, but I think you're going to be hard pressed for questions if you refuse them now."
She looked at him, unconvinced.
"We don't have to open them. Hell, I don't care if you donate them. Let's just not argue about it this time," he replied.
Rory looked at the highly polished hardwood floor. "Fine."
Fine. What does that word really mean? All right. Okay. Fine just sounds … incomplete.
"Are you ready to take a tour of the house?" he asked.
Nodding, she gingerly got up and followed suit.
The high-vaulted ceilings led them to the dining room. Large and unassuming, the heavy classic contemporary appeal matched the large rug that accentuated the space. To its right was a two-person kitchen equipped with a gas stove and oven. The brushed silver refrigerator stood closely to the small breakfast nook shelf where Rory pictured him reading the paper before heading to work.
"Impressed?" Tristin broke into her thoughts.
"I am," she admitted.
"There's more," he said excitedly.
He led her out the French doors and onto the patio. Right outside, pine trees greeted her. She watched as a plane left a trail of smoke in the clear blue skies above the treetops. Tucked behind a locked shelf was a patio umbrella. The wooden lounge chairs still had some left-over snow melting.
She took the three steps down to the cold ground. As she looked right, she smiled. Two yellow swings hung on the swing set. An odd sensation to rock herself in the playground set made her grin.
She felt him behind her. His placed his hands on her shoulders before he leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"There are tennis courts over there," he pointed. "There's also a pool. Now, if you head there," he pointed the other direction, "you're in the woods."
Rory was breath taken. "You have a nice place."
"We have a nice place," he added. "Come on. You still have to see the rest of the house."
He turned her around and draped his arms over her shoulder. Automatically, her arm wrapped around his waist as they ascended the steps back into the house.
They were oblivious to the whirring and clicking of a camera hidden far away from them.
"There are four rooms in the house," he said, shedding his coat. "One room has been converted to an office since most people that stay here don't bring their family."
"Convenient for a drinking party," Rory replied absentmindedly.
"Are you telling me you're a lush?" he beamed a smile at her.
"No, just stating a fact!" she interjected.
"Here we are," he said.
A queen-sized, four-poster bed was tucked to one side of the room. Matching armoire and bureau completed the furniture. A small bookcase and sitting chair were nestled around the window.
"It's beautiful," she muttered.
"I thought you might like it," he said, beaming.
Rory went in and touched the spines of the hardbound books and paperbacks stacked and leaning up against each other.
"There's your bathroom," he pointed to the closed door.
"No sharing?" she teased.
"Not unless you ask," he volleyed.
Again, Rory found herself tongue-tied.
Averting his gaze, she stuttered, "S-so, where's your room?"
Tristin bit his inner cheek before he let could taunt her again. "It's, uh, over here."
Down the hallway, Tristin led her to his room. "This is me."
Despite the room looking like something that came out from Architectural Digest, Rory knew that he left his mark.
From the dark blue sheets that covered the bed to the messy stack of papers on the desk, she knew that he liked being here.
"When was the last time you were here?" she asked.
"Right before I left for Las Vegas," he replied.
Rory succumbed to the temptation to touch the furniture. Her fingers traced the edges of the sleigh bed. The warm mahogany color beckoned her to do more than touch. Her hand pressed down on the mattress like she was trying out its springs.
"You can sit on it. I promise, it won't bite," he teased.
She withdrew her hand from the flannel sheets like it singed her. "I knew that."
She took a step back trying to show that she was unaffected by his voice, his innuendo.
Alas, grace escaped her.
Her heel pivoted on a magazine cover on the floor. Even Miss Patty's attempts at making her graceful during her formative years at that point didn't help her land elegantly on the soft mattress top.
"Ooof!" Rory went as she plopped on the sheets.
"Rory, I'm not that kind of guy!" Tristin teased, trying to help her out of the bed.
"If you cleaned up after yourself," she taunted back.
"That's where you come in," he replied as she got back on her feet.
Rory was surprised with his comeback. "No you did not!"
She slapped him on the arm in both surprise and disgust.
"I'm teasing, I'm teasing!" he caught her arm in his hands and pulled her close to him. "That's why there's a cleaning service that comes once a week. Obviously, he or she still hasn't cleaned this week."
He was so close. So close his arm hair tickled her forearms. A delicious heat seared through her. She felt herself inch toward him.
She was falling, and she knew she had to stop herself.
"Tristin," she whispered.
Just like that, he tried to swoop down for a kiss.
And she would have allowed it… If only the two things stopped her from proceeding: her inability to trust in love again and Katherine.
"Katherine," she whispered her name close enough or him to hear.
"What?" he asked.
"Katherine," she repeated, putting some distance between them. "I can't…."
"You're right," he said almost dismissively. He dropped her hand immediately and walked away from her.
Immediately, his façade went up and the wall was erected.
"I'm sorry. I didn't…." Rory apologized.
"Ah, I'm going to be ordering some pizza. We might as well get started moving in, shall we?" He changed the subject immediately, scratching his chin like he was in deep thought.
The coldness suddenly settled without preamble. "Sure."
"Pepperoni okay?"
"Sure," she agreed as he walked out of the bedroom.
Once again, she was all alone.
Wrinkling her forehead, she decided to give him space. She sat back down on his bed and thought, 'Why can't I make a decision on my own?'
She was so afraid about poaching someone else's goods. She hated the feeling when she had to go through it herself when she and Logan dated eons ago. She was not going to inflict such pain to someone else.
The trip between his car and the house was tension-filled. She filled two suitcases and a box full of her research material for several articles she was set to submit to the magazine. Tristin left her alone for the most part, disappearing into his office in the house, making phone calls and making arrangements with the local Velocity branch and his office in Philadelphia. The only time he helped her out was when she asked for it. Even at that, the conversation was stilted and short.
Rory never thought she would be grateful when the pizza finally arrived. She was on the way to answer the door when Tristin said, "I got it."
He hurried to her side and helped her carry in the goods. The scent of New York pizza made Rory's stomach grumble.
Tristin went into the kitchen and retrieved paper plates and disposable napkins. Rory followed suit and grabbed utensils and drinking cups. They laid their bounty on the tables. They sat, said nothing to each other and grabbed slices of pizza for themselves.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
"Okay, we can't keep doing this," Tristin finally conceded.
"Doing what?" Rory feigned innocence.
"This!" he exclaimed. "Damn it, we are married."
"Only on paper," Rory clarified.
"Fine, on paper. But we have to live like a couple that is married. I feel guilty enough that I am taking much of your private time," he confessed.
"Tristin, I signed. I gave in at the Philly office. If there's anyone for me to blame, I should blame myself." She paused, putting down the pizza slice. "I think I underestimated who and what I was getting myself into."
He blanched. "You're not planning on reneging now, are you?"
She paused. "No."
He let out a sigh of relief. "Good."
"No, it's not good," Rory pointed out. "We are both miserable, we've been married for a week, apart from each other for a large amount of it, and the moment we're together we can't even agree."
"Well, Sugar, we're going down on this together," he grimly stated. "If we're going to have any semblance of a relationship we need to clear the air and set up some rules."
"Rules?"
"It's the only way I can think of for us to agree and not kill each other the next eleven months and change we are together," he reasoned.
Rory kept mum.
Tristin got out of his seat and went to the refrigerator. "Beer?"
"No, thanks. You have anything stronger?"
Tristin shut the refrigerator door and deposited the two long necks on the dining table before disappearing to the other room. Seconds later, he came back with a partially wrapped box, its card attached to it.
"What is it?" Rory asked.
"It's something that just got dropped off while you were unpacking," he said nonchalantly. He took the card out of the envelope and scanned its contents. Dropping the envelope on the table he continued on, "Apparently, our benefactor knows that we would be requiring courage from the spirits."
The box revealed the contents of a thirty-year-old Macallan Scotch and two flavored vodkas Rory loved.
"Did it say who it's from?"
"My guess is, the gods," he said. "Straight or on the rocks?"
"Cranberry if you have some," she answered shyly.
In five minutes, she had a tartini in front of her. Tristin cleared out the rest of their lunch and set a piece of paper in the middle of the table.
"For every rule we come up with, we drink," he ordered, handing the vodka and cranberry bottles to her.
"And if I disagree?" Rory asked, raising her eyebrow at him.
"Then we discuss," he said with an air of arrogance. "We have to agree and abide by what we decide."
Rory took a swig of her drink. Approving of the mixture, she agreed to the deal.
"I'm gonna start," he replied, clearing his throat the moment he uncapped his beer bottle. Upon raising it he said, "It will be law, which states in this house, there will be full discretion of each other's likes and dislikes."
"Isn't that a little broad?" Rory queried.
He shrugged his shoulders after a few seconds. "Well, like if I told you I don't like my stuff moved. You should respect that."
"That's why you should confine your mess in your room," Rory said.
"Exactly. So I would know when you've been in my room, Missy," he pointed the beer bottle at her.
"As long as you don't barge in on me while I'm in the bathroom, I will abide," she conceded, lifting her glass in agreement.
After she took her swig, she gave her rule. "I suggest that throughout this marriage, we are to talk things out when the small stuff starts bugging either of us. I am not fond of full arguments."
"Wow, non-confrontation from the debate queen?" he cajoled.
"See? This is why I think this agreement is not going to work," Rory sighed, slamming her glass down.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said. "I know what you mean."
He stared into Rory's eyes, trying to gauge her reaction on whether or not she bought his apology.
"It used to bug me when my dad made a spectacle of every little thing. I truly believe that a marriage would be so much better if people talked to each other and not at each other," he placated her.
"So, is that an agreement?"
"Yes," he said, downing his bottle.
After he unscrewed the second bottle, he started back up. "I suggest that we at least date once a week."
"Once a week?" Rory choked. "Date? You mean each other?"
"Well yeah," he said thoughtfully. "It would give us an excuse not to be at a luncheon or a dinner. I think we owe it to ourselves."
"Here, here!" Rory raised her glass and took a huge gulp of her glass.
They volleyed ideas back and forth until Tristin consumed at least half a pack and Rory had drank three glasses. She was feeling flushed and clumsy.
"I suggest no being semi-naked or naked around the house," she proposed.
"Now, that's probably something you might want to renege later," he said, a devilish grin played on his lips.
"When that happens, it will be the death of us," she said, chugging her glass empty.
"God, how many rules have we made?" Tristin asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I dunno. Too many?" Rory giggled. "We never wrote any of them."
"We'll remember… somehow," Tristin assuaged her without much confidence.
"I have to break the seal," Rory whined.
"We're almost done," Tristin tried to stop her.
"How sure are you?" Rory asked. "One more, and I am out of here."
"I suggest that throughout this marriage, we are to act like one."
Rory looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Tristin came around the table and closed in on her. "You won't flinch if I touch you. You'll accept my kiss when I offer it. I won't force you to hug me, but the more we can make this look authentic, the more tiresome the vultures will get."
Her skin tingled as he traced the outline of her hand on the table. The room suddenly felt like it was oven roasting hot. She had to get away.
Rory pulled her hand away and looked on the ground. "I really have to get an aspirin. I think I am getting a headache."
She got up and proceeded to head up the stairwell when he called after her. "Rory, I meant to give this to you."
Rory turned around and watched him fish something out of his pocket.
In a little felt lined sachet, Tristin dumped two rings on his palm. One was a diamond encrusted platinum Cartier that winked back at her at all angles. The matching engagement ring was a solid two-carat princess cut on a sliver of plain but highly polished platinum.
"I was going to give it to you last Friday but I forgot it in Philly," he shyly admitted.
"Tristin," she stuttered. "It's beautiful. I can't…."
"No, you have to. It is probably the only thing I will force you to do. Please, take it?" he said softly.
Rory offered her left hand to him as he slipped the jewelry on her finger.
"Thank you," she whispered. Taking a step back, "I do have to go."
She walked away biting her lower lip.
"Oh, and Rory? Don't mention Katherine again."
She froze on the stairwell and deliberated. "And if I do?"
"Let's just agree that it won't be beneficial for either of us."
