I Married a Master(22)
Author: Melanie Marchande

He nodded. "That’s fair. If there’s anything you want to ask me…"

Interlacing my fingers, I leaned towards him slightly.

"I want to see the settlement," I said, finally.

Ben blinked a few times, looking relieved. "That’s only fair," he responded, quietly. I’d expected more resistance, but instead he walked over to a safe in the wall and punched in a code, blocking the number pad with his body.

He brought me a sheaf of papers that looked and felt official enough. I paged through it, glossed over the legalese that didn’t seem to have much pertinence. However, there was enough of it to make me believe it was the real thing.

Then again, if Ben was committed to fakery, he would’ve put in some effort. Really, this proved nothing. But I felt better holding it.

"I’m afraid I can’t let that leave this room," he said, after a long silence. "But if there’s anything else I can do to ease your mind, just let me know."

Something furry brushed against my ankle.

"Oh!" I looked down, seeing the bright green eyes surrounded by orange fur. The cat purred loudly, rubbing his body against my leg as I scratched behind his ears. "I kind of thought you were kidding about the cats."

"You’re not allergic, are you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Do you really have three?"

"Believe it or not." He laughed. "Everybody told me you can’t have just one, and I didn’t believe them, until the first time I walked by the adoption center in the pet store and I thought to myself, well, I’ve already got all the supplies…" He rolled his eyes a little, but he was still smiling. "That’s Harry. They found him under a car when he was just a kitten."

The tabby was taking a liking to me. With a tiny oomph noise, he jumped up on the sofa beside me and poked experimentally at my lap.

"He’s the alpha," Ben said. "If you buy into that sort of thing."

"Sure, he seems like a real killer." I stroked Harry’s neck as he curled up on my lap, purring contentedly.

"He knows when to pick his battles. There’s no point in fighting with the beings who give him unlimited food and warmth." Ben was grinning. "Cats, on the other hand, are competition."

I glanced around the room. "Is that why the others are conspicuously missing?"

"You’ll meet them eventually," he said. "Carl and Lizzie don’t have as strong personalities."

Giggling, I rubbed Harry’s vibrating ribcage. "You really sound like a crazy cat lady. I hope you know that."

"See, you’ve got to rescue me from this before I’m too far gone." He was joking, kind of, but there was real exasperation in his tone. It was like he was so tired of being single that he was anxious to just play at being married, even if it wasn’t real.

"What do you think, Harry?" I looked down to the cat for advice. He blinked at me sleepily. His green eyes were almost the same shade as his owners’, in a certain light. "You want to see a lot more of me soon?"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Are you hitting on my cat?"

"Gross." Apparently, I was still capable of blushing. "That’s not what I meant, and you know it."

"He’s not very good at giving advice." Ben looked at me searchingly, his face going serious again. "So can I get a conditional yes?"

I sighed. "Okay. Yes. A thousand times, conditional yes."

"Fantastic." He grinned, gathering up the cards. "Celebratory hand?"

"Sure, why not." I expected the weight of my decision to come crashing down on me, but I felt strangely calm. Maybe that was a good sign. Or maybe it was just a sign of impending insanity. I couldn’t really be sure.

"You don’t think this is going to look a little bit suspicious?" I bit my lip, glancing at him. "We’ve known each other for all of, what, six weeks?"

He shrugged. "What’s suspicious? I’ve got money, you’re sex on a stick, I don’t think anyone’s going to question why we’re together."

I would’ve turned bright red, if I had any capacity left for embarrassment. As it was, I just stared at him.

Ben blinked, innocently. "What? It’s an expression."

"Yeah, and not one you generally say to a woman’s face." I managed a weak laugh. "Even if it’s an obvious lie."

Shuffling the deck of cards, he raised his head just enough to glance at me under his eyebrows. "You’ve got to stop that. Learn how to take a damn complement."

This time, I laughed for real. "I hate to break this to you, but that’s not exactly a complement."

"What, is it an insult now? I’ve really lost my grip on modern slang. Kids these days!" He made a dramatic gesture, which doubled as a way to deal me my first card. I felt like my eyes would actually fall out of my head if I rolled them any more, so I just picked it up and leaned back in my seat.

"Generally, yeah, women don’t like be called objects." I picked up the next two cards, smirking at him. "That may come as a shock to you, but there it is."

"Sex isn’t an object," he protested. "It’s a concept."

"A stick is most definitely an object."

"Yeah, but I said you were on a stick, not that you were a stick." He picked up his cards. "I can’t believe we’re still talking about this."

"On a stick? Like a spit-roasted pig?" Instantly I realized what I’d said, and my capacity for embarrassment came roaring back. He grinned at me.

"I’m going to leave that alone," he said. "Because I’m a gentleman."

I threw my cards at him.

***

Four hours in, and I didn’t want to leave.

How did this happen? I couldn’t be sure. I just realized I kept glancing at the time with a growing sense of unease, watching the hours pass, knowing that I’d have no excuse for staying once my street was open again. I should have wanted to run away, to scurry into some quiet corner and try to clear my mind. Start to untangle this mess I’d gotten myself into. But at the moment, nothing sounded less appealing.

It almost felt like an adrenaline high, being with him. I was always waiting for his next move, his next word – some part of me breathless with anticipation, pushing back against the current of annoyance that always came along with it.

Over the past few hours, he had slowly transformed. Piece by piece, he shed his work attire, the jacket now hanging by the door, his tie slung over the back of his chair. He undid his cufflinks – yes, cufflinks, in such a nimble, yet unmistakably masculine gesture that I couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t seem to notice, or think it was unusual to have been wearing cufflinks on a perfectly average weekday afternoon. Then, he rolled up his sleeves to the elbows.