Chapter 8: Mr. and Mrs. Logan
Marie stepped out onto the sunny veranda where a very curious Logan had been breathing in the warm salt air of the Mexican Gulf, waiting for her to emerge. When she did, sharp hazel eyes were ready to greet her, skating appreciatively over her body as she showcased one of the long, billowy sundresses that he had returned with earlier that afternoon.
The man knew how to choose a dress size, Marie had to give him that; and he also had a good eye for what colors and styles would suit her best. The one she wore now was a flattering shade of pink; the feather light material and halter-top style ensured that she would not suffer in the near intolerable heat that was currently waving over the region.
The wooden soles of her new mules tapped on the planks of the veranda as she stepped toward him, then stopped when he raised a hand. He twirled an index finger slowly in the air, indicating for her to turn around, and she obeyed silently, allowing him a full assessment of her new attire. When she faced him again, he was leaning back against the railing, arms folded across his chest, clearly satisfied with his purchase.
“Everything fit perfectly,” she finally said, answering his unasked question and cutting into an unabashed gaze that she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to interrupt. Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet hers and he cocked an eyebrow in obvious curiosity.
“Everything?” he asked, the corner of his lip turning up a little. Marie felt a warm blush creep over her face and body as she registered that he was referring to the sundry undergarments he’d bought her.
“Everything,” she returned timidly. She hadn’t yet tried on the swimsuit, but he seemed to have a good handle on her size, so she was certain it would fit just fine.
“Wasn’t sure if all that flowery stuff was your thing,” he teased, apparently amused at her bashfulness, especially given that he’d already seen her naked.
Her blush deepened a bit under his gaze, then immediately began to fade as her mind hitched onto a comical image of the Big Bad Wolverine sifting through a bin full of ladies’ underwear. She bit back her own amused smile at the visual.
She looked at Logan, then – really looked at him – and lost the fight, letting out a small giggle.
“What?” he frowned, the smug expression dropping from his face as he raised his arms to his sides and looked down at his own outfit. “Not my style?”
Logan grumbled a bit at Marie’s snickering, but he didn’t scare her one bit.
Marie’s laugh subsided a little as she took in his outfit, noting to herself that pretty much everything was Logan’s style. The man looked like smoldering sex no matter what he wore, really…and this occasion was no exception. She offered an appreciative glance of her own as her eyes swam over the white pants…the tropical print shirt, worn open and over a wife-beater…the beige fedora with a brown band sitting atop his head.
“It’s just…well…I guess if you’re trying to ‘blend in’, that would certainly do it.”
Logan gave her a small smile, then his expression turned serious again as he remembered something in his shirt pocket. He reached out to take her left hand and pulled her gently toward him.
“If anyone comes sniffin’ around, we’re married,” he said, slipping a plain gold band onto her ring finger. Marie wiggled her fingers, watching how the sunlight glinted off of the metal.
“And that would make us Mr. and Mrs…” she started, confused as to how they should refer to themselves. Logan seemed stuck on that one for a moment.
“…uh…Logan, I guess,” he answered, brows furrowed.
“Mr. and Mrs….Logan?” Marie asked bemusedly.
“Yeah.” he replied. Hazel eyes moved up to her face again, searching her features for a few moments, and Marie sensed that he felt something was still out of place.
“What is it, Logan?” she asked him. Marie watched as the expression on Logan’s face slowly turned to realization.
“There's somethin’ else we should do while we're here,” he said.
~*~*~
Logan could have only imagined what someone would have thought had they been able to hear his and Marie’s hushed voices inside of the dimly lit villa that evening.
“Logan, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I know what I’m doin’. Hold still.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to put it all in.”
“Stop sassin’ me and hold still.”
“Ow!!”
“Oh, sorry. Pulled a little hard there, huh?”
“Um…yeah. Logan, have you done this before?”
“Course, darlin’. You’re talkin’ to the expert here.”
“Oh really? How many times have you done it?”
“Hmm? Oh…I dunno. Twice. Three times, maybe.”
“And that makes you an expert?”
“Well, actually…hold still, Marie. Stuff’ll sting like a bitch if it gets in your eye.”
“Are you supposed to be rubbing that hard?”
“Gotta make sure I get it all in. Thought I just told you I’ve done this before.”
“Yeah? On who?”
“Well, uh…had to do it on myself a few times.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…and once on Hector. Never done it on a woman, though.”
“God, that stuff stinks.”
“Don’t gotta tell me, darlin’.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to leave it in for so long.”
“How long’s it been in?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, you’re right, that’s probably long enough. C’mere. Bend over.”
“Like that?”
“Yeah…uh, no. A little lower.
“Like that?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect.”
“Ooh, that feels nice.”
“Yeah, thought you might like that.”
“Mmm-hmmm….”
"..."
“Okay, we’re done.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all there is to it, darlin’. Told you I know what I’m doin’. Come over here and take a look.”
Logan wrapped a towel around Marie’s head, stood her up from where she’d been kneeling in front of the bathtub, and pulled her toward the vanity mirror. He moved behind her as she faced the mirror and removed the towel from her head.
Wet brown hair fell down over her shoulders, that telltale white streak that once defined her look now gone. Logan picked up the empty hair dye package from beside the sink and looked at it, noting that he had picked the perfect shade.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, catching her gaze in the mirror. “Should I quit my day job and open up a salon?”
Marie stood in front of the mirror, taking in her image and slowly moving her hand up to where the white streak had been. Logan noticed the solemn expression on her face as she adjusted to her new look.
“What is it, darlin’?” he asked delicately. Marie met his eyes in the mirror for a moment before she silently turned and walked back into the main room of the villa.
Logan watched her from the doorway of the bathroom as she slowly sank to her knees on the floor, sitting back on her heels and cupping her hands over her face. Her body began to shake and Logan realized that she was crying. He walked toward where she was and knelt down behind her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, between sobs. “It’s just…seems like it’s been so long since I saw myself…like that.”
It was the second time that Marie had cried in his presence, and to say that Logan didn’t like it would have been an understatement. He moved closer behind her and wrapped her into his chest, holding her as she shook and thinking of all the disgusting things that Magneto must have done to her. He didn’t know how to comfort her…only knew that he would have done anything to be able to take on some of that pain himself, carry it for her.
The following week, he found a way to do just that.
~*~
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