Something Borrowed

Chapter 25

"We can build a house, Ames," he offered, finishing up the buttons on his shirt. "If that's what you want, we can do that. I just thought after Brent left you'd want--" he cut himself off with a heavy frown, his gaze dropping to the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest. It occurred to Amelia that she and her husband were playing a sort of child's game. First one to mention Brent loses.

"You know," she said, stepping around the bed and hooking her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I wanted my own home long, long before I met your brother. It wasn't my dream with Brent. It was just my dream."

Together, they left the sanctity of the bedroom and walked down the chilly hallway toward the stairs. They were just stepping, arm-in-arm, onto the first floor when Josh finally responded.

"Would you like a one story house, or two?"

Amelia laughed. "I think one would be enough for now, don't you?"

"I've never given it much thought," he said, shrugging. "Have you considered which pointless rules you'd like to enforce?"

"Oh, of course," she said, stopping in the middle of the hall and tightening her grip on his arm so he had to stop as well. He turned toward her, frowning, and she reached up to feather her fingers through his unkempt hair. He grimaced and moved as if to smooth it, but she batted his hand away and let hers rest on his shoulder.

"In my home," she announced, with all the gravity and authority of a divine edict, "there will be an absolute ban on Macassar oil."

Her husband's brows pulled together in confusion. "A ban on what?" he asked, shaking his head slowly, evidently lost.

"Macassar oil," she said, as if he simply hadn't heard her. "I absolutely hate it. It smells godawful, and it stains everything. Since you aren't familiar, I assume it won't be difficult for you to obey that law."

He shrugged, a cautious smile tugging at the edge of his mouth, and she raised her free hand to her chin, tapping her lips with her finger as if in thought. "I'll have to come up with something more difficult for you," she said. "Just to test your commitment."

"Do I get to make any laws?" he asked dryly, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen once more.

She tipped her head back and let loose a dramatic laugh. "Oh, Josh, you fool," she said, patting his arm condescendingly. "It's not your house. You're only funding it, building it, and helping me fill it. You'll hold no power whatsoever, and frankly I'm appalled and a little disturbed that you'd even suggest such a thing."

He snorted and took her hand from his shoulder, wrapping it in his as they made their way through the salon to the dining room. Usually, Brent's father was the last one to arrive for any meal, so it felt wrong to walk in and see him sitting there at the head of the table. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt his eyes burning into her back while she and Josh quietly served themselves from the small buffet at the side of the room.

Since her bizarre betrothal to Josh, the old man had been nothing but cordial to her. Sometimes she had a hard time seeing the man of whom Melissa was so embarrassed and who was so cruel to her husband. He spoke to her often of the child's arrival, inquiring after names and how she planned to decorate her son or daughter's room. He had even unearthed a small shelf of children's books and spoke fondly of reading them to Brent and Melissa when they were small. From what her husband and Melissa had said, she imagined he'd read to Josh as well before everything went south. It almost saddened her more to know that he'd had his father's love and lost it, than to imagine that he'd never been loved at all.

She and Josh took their seats, and Mr. Tucker said grace. Amelia barely had enough time to spear a fried potato on her fork when she heard the old man clear his throat.