Read Online An Inconvenient Husband by Karen van der Zee - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen van der Zee
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the busy
open market offering a wide variety of goods—food, charcoal, plastic toys, batek cloth,
herbal medicines, and a stall full of ladies' and children's lingerie. Lacy
bras, girls' flowered panties, embroidered nightgowns, silky seductive women's
panties as well as sturdy, functional cotton ones made in China.
She selected some
functional, white cotton ones, with Blake looking on, brows quirked
sardonically. It wasn't what she was used to wearing and he knew it. She gave
him a challenging look. "I've always had this fantasy of wearing Chinese
underwear, so how can I pass up this opportunity?"
"I wouldn't want
you to," he said mockingly. "Get a bra to match."
"I'll manage with
the one I have." She could always go without. She couldn't buy a bra
without trying it on to make sure it would fit.
She paid for the panties,
then moved on and bought a comb and brush and a pair of flip-flops. She
hesitated at a stall full of colorful batek- cloth sarongs, but
Blake put a hand briefly on her shoulder.
"There are plenty
of kains at the house."
She moved on to the
food section. Women sat on mats with their wares in front of them, colorful
piles of fragrant mangoes, ripe tomatoes, guavas, papaws and all sorts of other
exotic fruit. She was admiring a bunch of rambutan, small round
fruit with red hairy fibers, clustered on a stalk like hairy grapes.
"I love these
things," she said to Blake. "Don't they look lethal with all those
red fibers sticking out all over?"
"Yes, I
suppose." He pushed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels,
scowling.
"Do you like
them?"
"Yes," he
said impatiently.
"Let's get some
to eat in the car," she suggested.
"Fine." He
turned to the market lady. " Berapa ini?' he asked,
fishing some coins out of his pocket. When she answered him, he countered with
another offer and handed her some money. She accepted without further
bargaining. He picked up the stalk of rambutan. "Let's go," he
ordered.
"Why? We haven't
seen it all yet. Are we in a hurry?"
He gave an exasperated
sigh. "You and markets. I should have known."
She stopped walking
and faced him squarely. "I happen to love markets, especially the food
sections, and if I remember correctly, you enjoyed them, too." They'd
spent happy hours wandering through open markets, at home, on the Caribbean
island where they'd spent their honeymoon, and in Venice, Italy, once.
His eyes had an odd
shuttered look in them. "That was then and this is now. I'm not on
vacation. I have no time for lollygagging and admiring ginger root."
She refused to move
and stared back at him. "Are we in a hurry for something? Does fifteen
minutes make a difference? You used to like this sort of
thing."
"Well, I don't
now," he said brusquely, and turned around, marching out of the market.
She wondered what she
had done to annoy him. He'd never been a moody man. As a matter of fact, he'd
been one of the more even-tempered people she'd ever known. He'd once told her
that there were very few things in life he considered worthy of getting worked
up about.
He was worked up now.
She stared at his
retreating back, a faint suspicion whispering through her thoughts. Anger was
often used as a cover for other emotions. Maybe he didn't like remembering what
they had used to do together. Maybe the memories hurt him, as they hurt her.
She sighed and followed him back to the car. She was imagining things.
They drove on in
silence and her mind produced a memory of the week they'd spent in Italy, of
the huge marketplace in Venice. He had been on his way to Africa to work, she
to visit her friend Sophie who lived in Rome.
A wonderful market. It
had been fall and there'd been countless stalls full of mushrooms—all kinds,
small ones and big ones as large as a man's hand. She had never seen anything
like it and she'd been enthralled.
She'd noticed Blake
watching her with an amused grin.
"What's so funny?"
she'd asked.
"What I like
about you is your enthusiasm. I've never
open market offering a wide variety of goods—food, charcoal, plastic toys, batek cloth,
herbal medicines, and a stall full of ladies' and children's lingerie. Lacy
bras, girls' flowered panties, embroidered nightgowns, silky seductive women's
panties as well as sturdy, functional cotton ones made in China.
She selected some
functional, white cotton ones, with Blake looking on, brows quirked
sardonically. It wasn't what she was used to wearing and he knew it. She gave
him a challenging look. "I've always had this fantasy of wearing Chinese
underwear, so how can I pass up this opportunity?"
"I wouldn't want
you to," he said mockingly. "Get a bra to match."
"I'll manage with
the one I have." She could always go without. She couldn't buy a bra
without trying it on to make sure it would fit.
She paid for the panties,
then moved on and bought a comb and brush and a pair of flip-flops. She
hesitated at a stall full of colorful batek- cloth sarongs, but
Blake put a hand briefly on her shoulder.
"There are plenty
of kains at the house."
She moved on to the
food section. Women sat on mats with their wares in front of them, colorful
piles of fragrant mangoes, ripe tomatoes, guavas, papaws and all sorts of other
exotic fruit. She was admiring a bunch of rambutan, small round
fruit with red hairy fibers, clustered on a stalk like hairy grapes.
"I love these
things," she said to Blake. "Don't they look lethal with all those
red fibers sticking out all over?"
"Yes, I
suppose." He pushed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels,
scowling.
"Do you like
them?"
"Yes," he
said impatiently.
"Let's get some
to eat in the car," she suggested.
"Fine." He
turned to the market lady. " Berapa ini?' he asked,
fishing some coins out of his pocket. When she answered him, he countered with
another offer and handed her some money. She accepted without further
bargaining. He picked up the stalk of rambutan. "Let's go," he
ordered.
"Why? We haven't
seen it all yet. Are we in a hurry?"
He gave an exasperated
sigh. "You and markets. I should have known."
She stopped walking
and faced him squarely. "I happen to love markets, especially the food
sections, and if I remember correctly, you enjoyed them, too." They'd
spent happy hours wandering through open markets, at home, on the Caribbean
island where they'd spent their honeymoon, and in Venice, Italy, once.
His eyes had an odd
shuttered look in them. "That was then and this is now. I'm not on
vacation. I have no time for lollygagging and admiring ginger root."
She refused to move
and stared back at him. "Are we in a hurry for something? Does fifteen
minutes make a difference? You used to like this sort of
thing."
"Well, I don't
now," he said brusquely, and turned around, marching out of the market.
She wondered what she
had done to annoy him. He'd never been a moody man. As a matter of fact, he'd
been one of the more even-tempered people she'd ever known. He'd once told her
that there were very few things in life he considered worthy of getting worked
up about.
He was worked up now.
She stared at his
retreating back, a faint suspicion whispering through her thoughts. Anger was
often used as a cover for other emotions. Maybe he didn't like remembering what
they had used to do together. Maybe the memories hurt him, as they hurt her.
She sighed and followed him back to the car. She was imagining things.
They drove on in
silence and her mind produced a memory of the week they'd spent in Italy, of
the huge marketplace in Venice. He had been on his way to Africa to work, she
to visit her friend Sophie who lived in Rome.
A wonderful market. It
had been fall and there'd been countless stalls full of mushrooms—all kinds,
small ones and big ones as large as a man's hand. She had never seen anything
like it and she'd been enthralled.
She'd noticed Blake
watching her with an amused grin.
"What's so funny?"
she'd asked.
"What I like
about you is your enthusiasm. I've never
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