Liberty for Paul by Rose Gordon Page B

piece of bread in her hand, “you should use your fork to stab the beans, instead of just chasing them around the plate like that.” He watched her fingers tighten their hold on her fork until her knuckles were completely white. “You can pretend the beans are my head if you’d like,” he suggested with a lopsided smile.
    For the first time in what seemed like ages, he watched a true smile take hold of her lips. The image caused a tendril of heat and desire to coil in his stomach.
    “Thank you for the suggestion. I will do just that,” she said sweetly, changing the position of the fork in her hand so that she was holding it with a fist and the tines were pointed down toward the plate. Then, with more force than necessary, she started stabbing at the beans. Loud screeching and scraping noises where her fork was hitting the plate along with the beans echoed throughout the room.
    “See, sweetheart, it’s much easier to eat that way,” Paul told her while trying to keep a straight face. She was absolutely obliterating some of those beans with how much force she was using. She must truly hate him, he thought somberly, his smile rapidly fading.
    “Stop that,” she said tightly, stabbing at her plate.
    “Stop what?” he asked with sincere innocence. What was he doing now that was irritating her?
    “Stop calling me that,” she said through clenched teeth.
    “What? Sweetheart. I only called you that once, it’s not as if I’ve made a habit of it. Yet.”
    “Well, stop. I don’t like it.”
    “All right. You don’t like sweetheart. How about when I called you ‘my dear’ or ‘dearest’?” he asked, just to tease her.
    She pursed her lips. “Mr. Grimes, I feel you are deliberately trying to anger me. Let’s get one thing straight. We only got married because of my stupidity and my father’s anger. This is not a love match. Therefore, I would prefer if you did not call me any of those terms. Clear?”
    “Clear,” he agreed. He’d called her those things only to help fuel the fire of her angst. Until now, he’d doubted they were working. Apparently they were. Good.
    “Thank you,” she said semi-cordially.
    “You’re welcome, Liberty,” Paul said softy.
    She slammed her fork down on the table. “Do not, and I repeat do not, call me that.”
    “What by your name?” Paul asked, bewildered.
    Her eyes flashed fire. “You may call me Mrs. Grimes.”
    One of the corners of his mouth tipped up. She would rather he call her by the name he’d given her than her own name. That was rather amusing if he did say so himself. “Why would I do that?”
    “Why wouldn’t you?” she countered.
    Of course the majority of married couples addressed each other formally, he knew that. But just because he knew it didn’t mean he agreed with it. “Because you’re my wife,” he returned simply.
    Liberty rolled her eyes heavenward for a moment before meeting his again. “Just because I’m your wife does not give you the right to take such liberties,” she blustered, then exhaled sharply when she realized her own blunder. “Mr. Grimes, take that smile off your face before I wipe it off for you.”
    Paul raised his hands in mock innocence. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice uneven from trying not to laugh. “I did not mean to take such liberties, Liberty.”
    She twisted her lips and contorted her face in such a way that she looked like she was suffering from a digestive complaint. He couldn’t hold it in any longer, he let out the howls of laughter he’d been trying to keep inside.
    She scowled at him. “Don’t think for one moment that if you choke on your dinner that I’ll whack you on the back and save you the way Brooke did for Andrew.”
    “Not to worry,” he said in between bursts of laughter, “I didn’t have any food in my mouth.”
    “What a pity,” she muttered.
    When Paul got his laughter under control he stared at his wife across the table. Her face still had the pinched up constipated