In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(72)
Granted, the first year of marriage was the hardest, everyone said. And it wasn’t all bad, not at all. There were moments when Jack couldn’t believe he had a wife who literally skipped into his arms when he came home (sometimes) and who constantly told him how smart and handsome and wonderful he was. Who put her head on his shoulder and told him that all her dreams had come true the day she met him.
But Jack was learning that for every nice thing she said or did, he was expected to reciprocate in triplicate, and Hadley was definitely keeping score. One night, they went out to dinner to a really nice place in Corning, but Hadley barely spoke to him, becoming more and more sullen as the night went on, refusing to answer when he asked what was wrong. Finally, and only after they’d gotten home, she told him. He hadn’t noticed that she was wearing a new black dress. When he pointed out that she owned quite a few black dresses (eight, to be precise, he counted later), she slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall.
She had an endless need to be complimented. If he said she looked pretty, she’d pout until he said beautiful or gorgeous or sexy. She’d ask if he noticed anything different about her, and God help him if he didn’t guess it was a new perfume or a different shade of pink on her toenails, because she’d accuse him of taking her for granted. She loved gifts, and though he often brought flowers home, she’d make a pretend game of patting down his pockets to see if had anything else for her. The thing was, she meant it. Whatever he did get her, it wasn’t enough, the one exception being her engagement ring. Even so, she was already hinting for an anniversary ring—a sapphire-and-diamond band that, according to the website she showed him, cost twenty-four thousand dollars.
Then again, there were days when she’d tell him a story full of dry humor and her musical laugh, and her eyes would dance, and he’d feel this almost painful pressure in his chest, because this was the way he’d always thought it could be. Sometimes she’d call him to say she just wanted to hear his voice. She might bake cookies and bring them down, still warm from the oven, for him and Dad and Pops.
And, certainly not least of all, their sex life was fantastic. Frequent, boisterous, interesting...planned...mapped out, really. Choreographed. By her. Hey, he wasn’t complaining. It was just always a bit of a production.
In four months of marriage, not once had Jack just been able to go to bed at the end of the day and make love to his wife. Nor was he able to come home from work and kiss her and just take her to bed (or to the living room rug, or the couch and its many throw pillows). Morning sex was frowned upon. Lunchtime sex was okay, so long as he let her know a day or two in advance so she could get ready. Jack sort of thought that was his job, getting her ready, but...well. It was okay. Frequent and boisterous, those were good things.
Still, it might’ve been nice not to have to spend all that time lighting candles. Or scattering rose petals (he’d done that on their honeymoon, and now it was kind of a thing). Or playing certain music. Sometimes there was a theme to the night, and Jack would be asked to guess what that theme was.
These productions required a special wardrobe for Hadley, as well—new lingerie and red-soled high-heeled shoes, or skimpy little nighties, when all Jack really wanted was nudity.
While it was great that she put so much effort into that aspect of their marriage, it was a bit...much all the, uh, staging. And, yes, all the money.
“Is this a mistake?” he asked one night after he opened the AmEx bill. “Two grand at Bergdorf?”
“Nope. Not a mistake, sweetheart.” She smiled at him, dimple flashing.
“When were you at Bergdorf Goodman?”
“I ordered something online,” she said, not looking up from the game she was playing on the computer.
“And what did you order?”
“A pair of shoes.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“One pair of shoes cost two grand? My God! Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t raise your voice to me, Jack Holland!” she said. “And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. Yes. Two grand on one pair of shoes.” She gave him a pretty little pout. “Don’t you think I deserve nice things, baby?”
This is where fights began, Jack was well aware by now. Two hundred would’ve been a lot in Jack’s book, unless they were those really good steel-toed leather work boots Pru had given him for Christmas last year. But two thousand? “Of course you deserve nice things. But you have dozens of pairs of shoes already. Two grand—”
“They’re Christian Louboutin, babe! You sure didn’t complain the other night.” Another smile. Yes, the other night she’d done a very hot little striptease, leaving on only her trashy shoes. Even so, they weren’t worth two grand.
He took a deep breath. “Honey. That’s way, way too much.”
“We have the money.”
Jack folded his arms. “We don’t have two grand to spend on one pair of highly impractical shoes, Hadley.”
Well, that opened the door. She stomped her foot. Jack clearly didn’t appreciate how hard she worked to make their home beautiful. How much effort she put into being attractive, because “that’s what Southern women do, Jack, not like your sister, who looks like a man!”
Jack ran a hand through his hair. “Honey, you can’t drive us into debt because you liked a pair of shoes.”