Читать книгу The Good Liar - Laura Caldwell, Leslie S. Klinger - Страница 18

St. Marabel, Canada

“T ell me about the first boy you kissed.” Michael said as we strolled St. Marabel’s long main promenade on a Tuesday evening.

“What?” I punched him lightly on the arm. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“I do. I want to know everything.” Michael tucked my other hand tighter into the crook of his arm, and I nuzzled against his shoulder, unbelievably content.

It was June, when the days were getting longer and the summer had only begun to show itself, just like my new life, my new marriage, my new home of St. Marabel. St. Marabel, so far, had not disappointed. I adored its main street with its steep mansard roofs and brightly painted shutters over dormered windows. I loved the bistros protected by striped awnings, the little boutiques that stayed open until eleven at night, the galeries d’art. I liked the sight of vacationers moving languidly from store to bistro and back again. I loved the sound of French being spoken around me, buffeting me.

“Michael, I can’t tell you about my first kiss,” I said. “That’s the kind of thing people tell each other when they’re dating, not when they’re married.”

He made a stern face. “What kind of ridiculous statement is that? And besides, I will always be dating you. ”

“We’re married.” I loved the sound of it.

“But still courting.” Michael steered me onto a side street that curved its way around an old stone building. The scent of chocolate and pastry permeated the air. “So tell me about the first boy you kissed.”

I inhaled deeply, breathing the scent of the pastries and the cool, earthy smell that came from the cobblestones. “Maybe my first kiss was with you.”

“You were married before, my dear.”

I waited for the pain in my abdomen that always came when I was reminded of my relationship with Scott. But it didn’t hit. Not even a pinch. “Just because I was married doesn’t mean I kissed him.” I said this teasingly and felt a burst of relief that I could make a joke about my first marriage.

“Hmm, excellent. So I’m the first.”

“Yes.”

“I like it,” Michael said.

Suddenly, there was a rapid staccato sound from somewhere up the alley.

Michael swung me around and shoved me hard against the side of the building.

“Ouch! Michael, what—”

“Get down,” he barked in a low but insistent tone.

I did as he said and dropped to a squat, my heart thumping fast.

Michael spun around and faced the alley, one arm reaching behind to protect me, the other reaching toward his waist.

Two teenage girls ran past, their high heels clicking on the stone. Michael sighed, heavy with exasperation.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to me. “Sorry. I got jumpy.”

“Jesus,” I said, standing up. “What was that about?”

He stared in the direction of the girls. He blinked fast. “Sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did you think was happening there?”

“I don’t know. I got startled, I guess.” He lowered his head to kiss my neck and then whisper in my ear. “So where were we?”

I pulled his face to mine, so I could see his expression. The calm demeanor he usually wore had returned. “You’re okay?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” He grabbed me around the waist and nuzzled my collarbone.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m good.”

I wrapped my arms around him. “You’re sure?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but under his shirt, I could feel his heart beating fast.