Very Merry Married (Kringle Family Christmas)

Her nails dug into my arms and the pin prick of pain was the end of me.

She was the end of me.

Lexie Platzski, my wife, was all I ever wanted.

18

Lexie

He brought me a washcloth to clean up with. A warm washcloth. He left again and I rolled over onto my stomach and contemplated the Christmas tree and tried to figure out if I was making a small mistake or a giant one.

He came back in with plates of the sandwiches and salad. The bottle of wine and two glasses.

“I’ve never met anyone with a Christmas tree in their bedroom.”

“Well, I’m mostly only here to sleep. If I put it downstairs I’d never see it.”

I took the glass of wine he poured me and made room for him on the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out over mine. “You know,” he said and pointed at me. “I really would have figured you for a Christmas fan. It’s pretty. It’s fun. Presents.”

“I seem like the kind of girl who likes presents, do I?”

He nodded.

I sighed and rested my chin on my folded-up arms. “Christmas was kind of a bummer growing up,” I said. “My mom had a thing for unavailable men.”

“Like emotionally?”

“Like they were married.” I felt the bed shake with his hard laugh.

“Sorry, that’s not funny. You just…you’re funny.”

I grinned at him over my shoulder. No one had ever said I was funny. Or smart. Hot, I got plenty. Sexy, sure. But funny and smart? It wasn’t easy to get used to. “Anyway, the men she’d be dating were always with their real families and it was just the two of us.”

“And that wasn’t fun?” he asked quietly. “The just you and your mom part?”

“The two of us was never really enough for her.” I took a deep breath, surprised when it hitched. “She was the kind of woman who needed a man, you know? To feel safe. To feel like she had value. And there I was, sewing little presents for her and trying to figure out how to bake cookies and she would have three martinis and hope her boyfriend would call.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s awful.”

“It was. Now, we get together for the day after Christmas. We go out for lunch, shop. It’s better that way.”

“Only because you’ve given up what you want.”

I tucked my face away from him and he set down his sandwich and shifted around on the bed so we were lying next to each other. He kissed my shoulder, his hand tracing circles on my back. “What are you thinking when you hide like that?”

I was limp from sex. I was wrung out from trying to resist. I was warmed by nearly a week at the inn. Basically, I was putty. I was goo. And so I turned to face him and told him what was in my heart.

“I am wondering how much this is going to hurt. Because I know it will hurt, but will it be like nipple chafe from a beaded bra, or will it be like someone is cutting off my arm?”

“What is going to hurt like that?” he asked and I said the quiet thing out loud.

“When you realize this wedding was a mistake. When you realize I don’t fit into this life you have here. When you realize we don’t work.”

He propped his head up on his hand. For a City Council president or whatever, he had an amazing body. Lean with sleek muscles. I pressed my hand to his chest, my nails pricking just slightly into his skin. He picked up my hand and kissed my palm and then pressed it flat against his chest again.

“You’ve realized all that?” he asked and I nodded. “Then why are you still here?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Because I’m a glutton for punishment. Because nipple chafe isn’t that bad. Because I want to believe it’s real, too.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

“We’re past that, Ethan. No matter what happens I am getting hurt when this is over.”

He shifted closer to me. And closer. His hand on my hip. “My mom said something to me when she was dying and it never made sense to me until you walked into my life. Again. Well, walked into the inn.”

“What did she say?”

“She said ‘Ethan, you could easily marry a woman who fits into your life. But you need to marry a woman who is your life.’”

I wanted to believe this. It didn’t make sense but I yearned for him to be telling me that this was how he felt about me.

“What if I said I loved you?”

“I wouldn’t believe you,” I told him emphatically.

“What if I told you that you were all I needed to be happy?”

“I’d tell you to fuck off.”

He smiled at me and leaned down for a kiss. “Then I’ll keep it to myself a little bit longer.”