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I wiggle my ring finger, flashing the titanium wedding band at him. “Don’t really have a choice, not that I mind.”

Odette finally catches up to us and wrings her hands together. “Hey! I thought I’d join the team today. Is that okay?”

A wide grin spreads across my face. “Of course! You’ll love working with the dream team.”

David walks ahead of us. Without thinking, I reach over and pull Odette’s hand into mine. She looks up at me, eyes wide, then quickly drops her gaze to her feet. I hope I’m not making her uncomfortable. Public PDA is in the contract, though, which is the only reason I’m holding her hand, of course.

Now that we have a moment alone together, we need to talk about what happened last night. “Odette, I know that I hurt you last night and I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. You already apologized.” She attempts to smile, but I can tell that she’s still hurt.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry I forgot about our plans. When I’m focused on a task, I tend to ignore everyone around me.” I rub my thumb on the back of her hand. “Obviously, I need to consider you when making plans.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “We’re both still figuring this out. And spending quality time isn’t in the contract. But I do appreciate the apology.” She gives me a real smile this time.

“It may not be in the contract, but since we’re married, we might as well be friends, right?”

“I’d like that.”

I grin. “How about we do an early morning coffee date every week? We both get up early anyway, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that we both love coffee.”

She looks into my eyes, holding my gaze. “I would love that, really.”

I give her hand a squeeze. “It’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” she replies with an adorable blush.

Chapter 17

Odette

Two weeks later, Kansas Day rolls around–the day we celebrate Kansas becoming a state. Naturally, it’s a pretty big deal in Kansas. Even aside from that, I’ve been looking forward to it all month because Madden and I are spending the day together at an elementary school an hour away. As Wichita isn’t the only city in the fourth district, it’s important for Madden to make appearances in other cities as well. And, since education is one of his main platforms, today we’re dressing up like pioneers and reading books about our state to several classrooms of children.

We rented historically accurate costumes from a local costume shop to make it more fun for the kids. Unfortunately, the shop failed to inform me that my period-correct frock has about fifty buttons to fasten in the back. I stare in dismay at my reflection in my bedroom mirror, twisting to inspect the row of gaping buttons running down my back.

Heat rushes to my face. Unless I want to scandalize a pack of children, I have no choice but to ask Madden for help.

As if he can read my mind, Madden knocks on my bedroom door. When I open it, he swaggers into the room with a grin, wearing trousers, a buttoned-up vest, and a matching jacket.

I take in his ensemble from head-to-toe and wow. He can hitch his horses to my covered wagon any day. It’s annoyingly obvious that this man would be handsome in any decade.

“Milady,” he bows. “You look beautiful.” He nods at my dress appreciatively.

I sigh and look down. There’s no way I look as good as he does. My skirt and waistcoat are navy blue satin with off-white velvet trim, and the waistcoat is lined with gold buttons in the front. I’m sure the settlers back in 1877 didn’t dress this fancy, but it's fun to pretend.

I curtsy. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Are you ready to take to the carriage?” Madden flashes me a boyish smile.

“Actually, I need your help.” I turn slightly to show him my predicament.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Okay, sure. Turn around.” He twirls his index finger, motioning me to spin.

As his hands fumble nervously with the buttons, his breathing deepens. Maybe he has a cold or something. The feel of his warm hands drifting their way up my spine, securing each button, is pure torture. I’m most likely blushing from head to toe because the room suddenly feels boiling hot.

I must be losing my mind. Kansas Day is not sensual. I just need to pretend to be a tough pioneer woman and get my hormones under control.

Fifty buttons and one uncomfortable hour later, we finally arrive at the school in Madden’s Audi, sitting in our crinkly 19th-century clothing. I jump out to adjust my bustle and get the yards of fabric under control.