You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(29)

“No?” He started unbuttoning her blouse. “Then let’s get naked and do it on the kitchen table, right here, right now.”

Laughing, she moved his hands. “The kids…”

“Are asleep, and Maddie’s probably already in our bed.” He cupped her cheek. “What’s going on? You don’t undress in front of me anymore, you turn down the lights when we make love, and you find it harder to let go when we have sex.”

He’d noticed it this afternoon when he’d made his move. The kids had both been napping and sunlight was streaming through the windows when he’d swept Kayla up and carried her into the spare room. She’d made excuses then, too.

With her cheek pressed against his palm, his wife took a deep breath. “Hé, la grosse, ?a va là, fous-moi la paix. Do you know what that means?”

He shook his head. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, then kissed his palm and moved away. “I’ll tell Bob on our date next week.”

“Why not tomorrow?” They’d booked a babysitter, and a hotel, and were staying downtown for the Grammy party. And their wedding anniversary. He had her gift already packed with his tux.

“No, tomorrow’s for fun.” She crossed to the kettle and flicked the switch. “Hot chocolate?”

“Sure, thanks.” And that was clearly the end of that discussion. But he had no intention of waiting another week to find out what was bothering her. Excusing himself, he walked into the living room and looked up the phrase on Google, pretty sure it was French. Except nothing he put into the search engine came up with a match, because his spelling was strictly guesswork. Stuck.





Chapter Thirteen





Jared woke on his wedding anniversary with Maddie’s calendar in his face, no Kayla beside him and an idea.

“You’re well enough to go back to your own bed tonight,” he told his daughter as they crossed off another day.

“But I always sleep in your bed when you and Mommy aren’t here.”

“Tomorrow, then. I’m serious, kid, get your brain around it.”

She skipped to the door. “Okay, Daddy.”

Rolling out of bed, he showered, dressed, then phoned Dimity. “You speak French. Any idea what Hey, lagrosse car-va-la something means? I can’t find a translation online.”

“Did Kayla suggest you ask me?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not at liberty to say…but you’re pronouncing it wrong. Grab a pen and write this down.” She spelled out the phrase for him.

“Thanks.”

“And Jared, I offered to get him fired. She wouldn’t let me. Said the * might have a family to support.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It will.”

He found the translation within thirty seconds.

Anger rising, he went to find Kayla, passing Maddie his cell en route. His wife was in the laundry room folding clothes, with Rocco sitting in the basket on the floor, playing with pegs.

“Hé, la grosse, ?a va là, fous-moi la paix,” he said grimly. “Who said it to you?”

Her welcoming smile faded, and she picked up a small onesie.

“Remember the day at the theme park in Paris? You showed up late with Simone and a photographer, and we argued over how much the kids should be in the public eye. I refused to go with you to a function that night.”

“I remember.”

“Zander talked me into changing my mind, only I was in such a hurry I forgot ID.” The onesie had been folded so many times it looked like a washcloth. “The security guy didn’t believe I was your wife and wouldn’t let me in. He said…” She shrugged, sorted through the socks.

“Get lost, fatty,” Jared said in a hard voice. His son glanced up. He crouched to pat his head, and Rocco offered him a peg. Kayla concentrated on her work. “I didn’t understand what it meant until I met up with Dimity in a bar and she translated.”

The peg snapped. He shoved it in his pocket. “Why did you never tell me? I could have gotten the son of a bitch fired.”

“I felt too humiliated.” The smallness of her voice only stoked his inner rage.

“Dimity would have fired him.”

Matching a sock with its mate, Kayla gave a humorless laugh. “Why single him out?”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t just one incident that screwed with my confidence. I’m not that fragile.” Anger colored her tone for the first time. She shrugged again. “Though maybe I am. I keep telling myself I’m over it, but…” She reached for a towel and he flicked it out of her hands.

“Kayla, talk to me.”

She huffed out a frustrated breath, picked up another towel. “On tour, so few people could hide their surprise when they met me. They expected you to have a matching wife, leggy and beautiful. Then they’d learn we’d hooked up in high school and nod, as though that explained it.”

She added the folded towel to the neat stack on the washing machine. “I’m the chubby chick you married before you knew any better. Your starter wife. And before you get all enraged I know that’s bullshit and you don’t think that way, but—”