The M Word (Best Friends Wedding Series) Page 3
“No, I’ll take care of that.” She carried the magazines to the couch. These were followed by the pictures of her parents, her sisters Joan and Ellen and their families, Tom and his family. There was even one of her and Steven that she had forgotten to get rid of. She placed it face down on the couch.
Marius took a vase with wilted and dried flowers -- another gift from Steven -- over to the dining room table. His forearms were brawny and sprinkled with dark hair. The first button of his shirt was undone, and there was a little v of dark curling hair, there too. Too much hair, she thought. He caught her watching him and smiled.
Embarrassed, she looked down at his shoes. In contrast to his clean, neat appearance, they were dusty.
She watched as he raised the lid of the piano and draped a cloth over it. “So it won’t leave a mark,” he said as he rested it against her wall.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I haven’t decided what color I’ll paint the living room.”
He pointed to the squares of color she had painted on the dining room wall. “Are those the colors you’re considering?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Nice.”
“Which do you like best?”
“It’s not my house,” he said politically.
She persisted. “But I’d like your opinion.”
“The yellow.”
Steven had liked the pale green. She grimaced. Steven was like an unwanted mental guest who wouldn’t leave.
Marius slid the front piece off, exposing the piano strings and hammers.
She drew near, fascinated. “I've never seen the inside of a piano before.”
“It is an amazing instrument. As you see, every note has three strings, but as you go to the far left, that becomes two strings, then one.”
She watched as he took a red strip of thick felt and pushed it among the strings. “What are you doing?”
“I'm muting the outside strings so there's only one string per note.” He hit middle C. “Do you hear that -- the waa waa echo, the sour sound? That means it's flat.”
Brenda listened carefully as he struck the note again. Finally she said, “If that's flat, I think I've never heard a piano that was in key.”
“Then it will be a new experience for you.”
She slid off her pumps and sat on the floor with her bare legs tucked beneath her. She watched as he worked, tightening the piano string to raise the pitch until it matched the pitch of his tuning fork. He was very methodical, and there was an economy to his movements.
“What note is that?”
He struck the tuning fork again. “A above middle C. The standard pitch. Four forty cps. Cycles per second. Once the A is on pitch, I can set the temperament for all the other notes, each a half step above or below its neighbor.”
“But if the A were off --”
“The entire piano would be off, yes.”
That's how she felt. Her entire life was skewed lately, with everything sour. If only she could find the way to stretch her strings and get herself back in tune. “Does it bother you if I talk? Do you want me keep quiet?”
“Please talk. I may not always answer, but I can listen.”
She relaxed. “I saw that article about you in the newspaper,” she began.
Marius nodded without looking at her. “Yes, I've been surprised by how many people read it. I am a celebrity.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Fair enough. “What are you studying in school?”
“Music history.”
That wasn’t very practical, but her degree in mathematics hadn’t turned out to be a gold mine either. Looking back, she thought she should have majored in engineering or computer science like everyone else in her family.
“And you’re from Poland.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any family here in the United States?”
He glanced at her. “No.”
“Do you come from a large family?”
“My mother, my sister Tesia and my brother Anselm live in Poland.”
She heard the hint of emotion in his voice when he said their names. “You miss them.”
“Every day I wake and part of me is missing.” He patted his broad chest.
Brenda’s breath caught. How would it feel to be loved like that?
“My mother, she is a widow,” he continued. “My father was ill for many years, and she took care of him. Some day I hope to care for her.”
He spoke very matter-of-factly, soliciting neither sympathy nor praise. She liked that.
Brenda was silent for a few moments, watching him work. “Do you have family near?” he asked casually.
“Yes. My parents and one of my sisters live here in Dallas. My other sister’s in Mesquite and my brother lives in Fort Worth.”
“All Native Texans?” he asked.
She was puzzled by his question. “Yes, why?”
“I see it on the license plates, as if Texas is its own country.”
She smiled wryly. “Some people think it still is.”
He nodded. “I’ve noticed that.”
A few minutes later, he said, “It’s good to have family near. Are you close?”
“Yes, but everyone is very busy. We don’t get together as often as we should.” Her family had liked Steven, but he hadn’t wanted to spend much time with them. He said he wanted to keep her to himself, but now she wondered if he was just trying to avoid getting caught in his lies. She asked, “Does any of your family want to come to the United States?”
If he thought her questions were growing too personal, he didn’t show it. He was silent for a few seconds, then said, “My mother would like to visit, but she is very busy with our family store.”
She imagined his widowed mother, hunched over, dressed in a black dress with a scarf tied on her head, working in a little grocery store. “What kind of store?”
“Music. My father started it. We sell pianos and other instruments, music books. Anselm works there, too.”
“But not you?”
He shook his head. “I did when I was younger. I tuned pianos and helped sell guitars. But now, I am the dreamer. My mother and brother, they are much more --” he hesitated for a second, trying to find the right word. “Practical.”
That was interesting to Brenda, because she was the practical one in her family. “Your English is very good,” she said. “Did you study it in Poland?”
“Yes, for many years.”
She wanted to ask about his visa, but didn’t dare. How soon was his time running out?
She suddenly realized that she hadn’t offered him anything to eat or drink. Her southern mother would be appalled by her lack of hospitality. She stood and brushed her hands on her skirt. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, thank you. I’d like a glass of water. No ice.”
She filled a glass with chilled water from her refrigerator door.
He picked up the glass, then set it down, on a piece of paper so it wouldn’t leave a ring on her hardwood floors. He was a careful man, she thought, but she was surprised he didn’t drink it. He saw her look, and explained, “I'm waiting for it to warm up. I don't drink anything cold.”
Why not, she thought but didn't pry. She said, “Are you hungry? I don't have much in my fridge, but I have crackers and cheese ...”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
He worked for several minutes in silence. Without looking at her, he asked, “Do you play the piano?”
“I took lessons when I was younger. That’s why my parents gave me the piano, but no, I don’t play often. Not like I should.”
“Music should be a joy, not an obligation.”
She smiled. She’d bet he was a good salesman at his family’s store.
“Do you have other hobbies?”
Hobbies? That stumped her. She worked long hours at the bank, and after that, she usually spent time with Steven, doing
what he wanted -- exercising or watching a movie. She searched her mind for what she liked to do by herself, for herself. Occasionally she went somewhere with her girl friends, but not often. “I like gardening. Plants.” As she said this, she saw that the potted plant by the front door had shriveled and died. She hoped he wouldn't notice.
“What do you like to read?”
It had been a long time since she'd read anything but articles on the internet. “Travel books. Mysteries.”
“No romances?”
She thought of the sack full of paperback romances in her bedroom closet. Steven used to tease her about them. These are what make women unhappy. They create unrealistic expectations.
“No, no romances,” she said coolly. Not any more.
“I like romances,” he said simply. “I like stories that make me laugh and cry. Do you like opera?”
She was startled by the jump in the conversation. “I don't know much about it. I listen mostly to Country Western.”
“Ah, yes. Country Western can be good, simple music. Heart felt music.” He smiled at her.
His eyes were warm and kind as they looked at her. He seemed a genuinely nice man, but he was still a man. Could she trust him? Did she want to?
He worked for a few more minutes, then put the piano back together, replacing the front piece.
“Are you done?” she asked.
“Yes. I'll check it again in a few days to see how well it has stabilized.” He held up his hands, forming a horizontal line. “Right now, the strings are taut, but they'll sag a little,” he dropped his hands slightly, “and lose a little pitch.”
“Is there anything else I need to do, like replacing the felts?”
“No, you have a very good spinet, in good condition.”
She stood again. “I’ll get my purse. I forgot to ask you how much you charge.”
“No charge.”
She must have misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”
“No charge.”
“No, I insist,” she said as she pulled out her checkbook. “You’ve provided a service and you should be paid. How does two hundred dollars sound? Too little?”
“No, you don’t understand. I am here in the United States on a student visa. It is not legal for me to be paid by anyone other than the University.”
Brenda sensed very clearly that he was not the kind of man to take money on the side. He was honest.
She was flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He shrugged. “You needed your piano tuned. I like tuning pianos, and I had the time.”
She still couldn’t believe his generosity.
He said, “Consider it a gift. Between friends?”
Could they become friends?
She took a deep, steadying breath, then asked, “Would you like to marry me?”
CHAPTER THREE
Marius threw back his head and laughed. Brenda Williamson wanted to marry him? How marvelously convenient.
She flushed. “I didn't think it was that funny.”
Marius wiped the corners of his eyes. “No, you're right,” he said politely. “Forgive me. I forget how blunt American women are. You surprised me.”
She rushed to explain. “I haven't fallen in love with you. I'm offering you an arranged marriage: a chance to get your green card.”
Of course. What else could it be? He watched her carefully, to gage her response. “Why?”
“Your student visa is expiring. If you marry me, you can become a permanent resident.”
He shook his head. “No,” he said clearly. “I don’t need it. My student visa was extended.”
Brenda felt oddly letdown. “But it will expire eventually.”
“Yes, and there are other ways to become a permanent resident. Thank you, very much for your offer, though. You have a tender heart.”
“You’re turning me down?”
No doubt she’d thought he would jump at her offer like a starving dog for bone.
He hesitated. He should turn her down, but he was tempted, none-the-less. He asked, “Why do you want to marry me?” Did she expect him to pay her? He’d heard of such arrangements since coming to the United States.
She picked at a loose thread on her skirt to avoid his scrutiny. She said, “Ever since I read the article about you, I keep thinking how unfair life is. Because I was lucky and born here, to my parents, I have freedom, a comfortable life and endless opportunities. And here you are, on the brink of being deported.”
“Not really. It was a simple matter of filing the right paperwork. I am fine.”
She glanced at him briefly, then away. “But that's not the only reason.”
He waited.
“There's a man. An old boyfriend.”
“Ah.” He knew a woman as lovely as Brenda would have a man in her life. “He is bothering you?”
She looked embarrassed. “Yes, that's it exactly. I've told him I don't want to see him again, and he doesn't believe me. And I ...” She stopped, then blurted out, “And I'm afraid I'll take him back.”
So she still loved him. Warning bells rang in his mind, telling him not to get involved with this beautiful woman and her troubled life. She will only bring you sorrow, he thought, but already it was too late.
He'd looked up into her beautiful blue eyes nearly a year ago at the park and known that he would never be the same. Something about her had pierced his heart like no other woman before her. He had come to the bank regularly, just to see her, just to hear her speak.
But he had nothing to offer her, so he had waited. And now, she wanted to marry him.
God was generous.
She continued, “I thought if I was married to you, it would prove to him that I was serious.”
He smiled wryly. “Marriage to another man would tend to do that, yes.”
“Besides that, you're big and strong.”
“You want me to beat him?”
“Would you?”
He clenched his hands into fists, surprised by the wave of possessiveness he felt. “I've never beaten a man before, but if necessary, yes, I would do it.”
Her eyes widened at the fierce note in his voice, and he knew he'd frightened her. Whom did he think he was, Alfredo confronting the Baron? Times had changed since the 1850's. These days, one couldn't challenge another man to a duel. Not without legal repercussions.
“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “It was a crazy idea. You probably have a girlfriend, anyway. Forget it.”
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, and smiled to reassure her. He said quietly, “No, I don’t have a girl friend and I don't want to forget it.”
She hesitated, wary.
Trust me, he thought, looking into her beautiful blue eyes. I would never hurt you.
“That’s not all,” she said bravely. “I want a baby.”
For a moment, Marius wondered if he were dreaming. The prospect of making love with Brenda was intoxicating. His voice lowered, “You wish to consummate the marriage?”
Her face flushed pink. “Not right away. I’d like to get to know you better, first, but ultimately, yes.”
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Then you are proposing a real marriage.”
“Yes. I don’t want a fake marriage and risk going to jail.”
“But you don’t love me.”
“No. I don’t believe in love. Or at least I have a bad track record. I fall in love with the wrong kind of men. I’m good with money; I’m good at my job; but I’m crap when it comes to men.”
She was so open, so vulnerably honest. He was humbled by the trust she was giving him.
She continued, “I decided that I should approach marriage more logically, like they did hundreds of years ago.”
It was a European approach. He knew many people who married more for convenience than passion. But what had her bastard ex boyfriend done to make her willing to marry someone she hardly knew -- almost a stranger?
She said, “And
as long as we’re both honest and treat each other with respect, we can both get what we want.”
He did want her. In his bed. Forever in his life.
He would take the risk.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
#
The words hung between them for a moment and the silence lengthened. She’d been thinking about it, worrying about it, and researching the ramifications of it for more than a week. And now Marius had said yes. Brenda felt as if she were suddenly ten pounds lighter. “Okay then,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll have to talk and make plans. Are you hungry?”
“A little, yes.”
“Great. I’ll change out of my work clothes and we can go out to eat,” she said. “We can iron out the details.”
“I’ll put away my tools.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said hurried down the hall to her bedroom. She shut and locked the door behind her. For a moment she stood against the door. Her heart pounded and her stomach felt as if she'd eaten a dozen hockey pucks.
Was she crazy? Could she do this?
She walked to her closet, unbuttoning her narrow skirt as she went.
There was no point in wishing she were fearless; she must make a stand and keep it. Besides, it wasn't fair to give Marius hope and then snatch it away.
She stepped out of the skirt and hung it on a hanger. You can do this, she told herself. It really is what you want -- a way to get rid of Steven once and for all -- and do something noble in the process.
Have a baby.
She unbuttoned her blouse.
But sleeping with Marius. Could she do it?
He wasn’t her ideal type physically, but from experience she knew that sex for her was more a matter of attitude than physical reality. Once she got used to the idea, she’d be fine. And besides, there was more to a relationship than sex.
But did she know enough about him?
From their prior interactions, she knew that he was pleasant, polite, and neat. He’d never bounced a check. Today she’d learned that he was generous and honest.
But what if he were a mass murderer? Or worse?
She inwardly laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts. He couldn't be worse than that. Besides, if she didn't marry him, Steven would return and wear down her resistance.