“You don’t even know me,” I said.
He smiled again. “You do have a point,” he said. Then he reached across the table to cover my hand with his good right hand. “We’ll take things one step at a time,” he said. “You’ll settle in just fine. We’ll have a healthy son or daughter. We’ll move into a beautiful house. I look forward to showing you the plans and the lot where it will be built. I hope you like plenty of trees.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Be strong now, Tess, all right?”
I smiled. His words were kind and encouraging and I did feel stronger, hearing them.
“All right,” I agreed. “I’ll certainly try.”
*
I took a bath in the roomy tub of the hotel’s honeymoon suite. I’d felt less nervous the night we’d made love in Washington. I’d been too tipsy that night to worry about anything. Tonight, though, was different. I felt as though my whole marriage, my whole future rested on this night. Henry and I needed to grow close. We needed to be lovers. Sober, attentive, caring lovers. My heart pounded at the thought. I wished I felt more of an attraction to him. Would lovemaking feel different to me now? Would it hurt less? Was I going to break down after it was over because it was Henry I was married to and not Vincent?
Gina had given me a beautiful blue satin negligee when I first got engaged to Vincent and I put it on once I got out of the tub. I studied myself in the mirror. I’d taken my hair out of its bun and victory roll and the moist air of the bathroom had made it wild with waves that spilled over my shoulders. Tendrils of it curled at my temples, and I tried to smooth it into submission with my hands. Where the negligee fell over my breasts, I could see the curve of my nipples. I shut my eyes. I felt naked. How was I going to get through this? I thought about my mother. What had her wedding night been like? Had she been nervous? We’d never had a chance to talk about that sort of thing and now we never would. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them away. I couldn’t let myself think about my mother tonight.
I drew in a long breath, turned out the light, and left the bathroom.
Henry was propped up in the bed wearing blue pin-striped pajamas, a book open on his lap. He smiled at me. “You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you.” I slipped into the bed next to him. My hands and feet felt ice-cold.
“Your hair is quite remarkable,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Not everyone found thick, wild black hair attractive. I would pretend he meant the comment in a positive light.
“Thank you,” I said again.
He lifted the book a few inches. “I like to read in bed,” he said. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I said. I’d read in bed since I was old enough to turn the pages.
“Do you have a book with you?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Why don’t you get it?”
I hesitated. This was hardly what I’d expected on my wedding night, but I got out of bed and walked barefoot over to my suitcase. I hadn’t bothered to unpack anything other than my negligee and toiletries, knowing I’d be moving into Henry’s house the following day. I reached beneath a stack of clothes for the Agatha Christie novel I’d been attempting to read over the last few nerve-racking days. I returned to the bed, propped my pillow behind me, and the two of us read for the next twenty or thirty minutes. Or at least Henry read. I stared at the pages but couldn’t concentrate. I wanted to get this night over with.
“Ready for lights out?” Henry finally asked.
“Yes,” I said, setting my book on the night table and switching off the lamp.
“Good night,” he said. A soft glow from the streetlights filled the room and I saw him roll away from me, pulling the blanket up to his neck. I was mystified. Mystified and horribly alone. I stared at the dark ceiling. Was he angry? Or was it the baby? Did the thought of making love to a pregnant woman disturb him? I rested my hand on my stomach. I felt the unmistakable swelling of my belly, and I smiled to myself in the darkness. I was not alone after all. I would never be alone again.
18
During our quiet breakfast in the hotel restaurant the following morning, dozens of questions ran through my mind. I wanted to find a way to ask him why he hadn’t touched me the night before, yet I couldn’t imagine a more awkward question to ask of a man I barely knew. I played with how to word it, but every combination of syllables seemed like a minefield. I had no idea how he would react or if he’d grow defensive. He didn’t seem angry in the least, but he was closed up this morning, preoccupied, barely touching his breakfast, his jaw tight. When I would catch his eye, he’d smile at me, but return his gaze to his untouched food or the window. Anywhere but my face.
“You’re very quiet this morning,” I said finally.
He gave me a weak smile. “I’m thinking about taking you home,” he admitted. “About Mama and Lucy. I’m trying to figure out how to make an awkward situation easiest for all three of you.”
“Ah,” I said, pleased to finally know what was going through his head. “How can I help?” I asked. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“Just try to endure them,” he said. He gave me that anemic smile again. “And whatever you do, don’t mention the baby.”
“Of course not.” I could tell he was genuinely anxious and it made me feel sympathetic toward him. Maybe that had been the problem the night before: he couldn’t stop worrying about today. “It will be all right,” I reassured him. Most people liked me. I couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t, for that matter, except perhaps that Jeanetta Gill, and she didn’t know me. I determined to win his mother and sister over.
*
If I hadn’t truly realized I was marrying into money, I knew it the moment we turned into the driveway of the house in the beautiful Oakwood neighborhood where Henry had grown up. Two stories tall and painted a pale green with black shutters, it was one of the most beautiful houses I’d ever seen. I was struck by its symmetry, the right side a mirror image of the left, from the windows to the double chimneys to the porches that graced either side of the building. A wide brick walkway extended from the sidewalk to a pillared front porch topped by a small balcony. The house was surrounded by trees, most of them leafless at the moment, but I could imagine the lush backdrop they’d create in the spring.
“This is breathtaking,” I said, leaning forward to get a better look, my hand on the dashboard.
“The house I’m building is a bit more modest,” Henry said. “A brick colonial. I hope you’ll like it. I’ve never been that interested in all the trappings.”
“I’m sure it will be lovely.”
He stopped the car just shy of a detached two-car garage. To our right stood a small cottage painted to match the house.