Chapter 61

61

Mira

"Give me that." My handbag falls from my grasp. I cross the floor, reach for the stupid vibrator, but he holds it out of my reach. I jump up, and he extends his arm. I leap onto the bed make a grab for it, but I’m nowhere near close to touching it. "That’s mine," I protest.

In response, he lowers the vibrator, and when I try to get a hold of it, he steps away. He brings the device to his nose again and sniffs, the way I saw him from the doorway. Goosebumps pop on my skin.

"I washed it after I last used it." I tip up my chin.

"I can still smell your cunt on it."

I gasp, "You’re filthy."

"I want to be filthier." He fixes me with that glare that has moisture rushing out from between my thighs. No, no, no. I'm not going to let our mutual chemistry get the better of me.

I walk to the other side of the bed and step down. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking to see if my wife's doing okay."

"I’m well, thank you. You can leave now."

"Not before you tell me what you’re doing with these." He glances from the instrument in his hand to my open drawer.

"You’re infringing on my privacy again," I cry.

He pauses. His shoulders seem to swell. I’m sure he’s going to tell me off, but to my surprise, he nods. "You’re right; I’m sorry."

He eyes the vibrator one last time, then slips it into the drawer with the other implements I have there. He shuts the drawer, then straightens and turns to me. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I came looking for you, didn’t find you, then saw the open drawer and couldn’t resist. I didn’t mean to peek, I swear."

He apologized to me? His features are set in grim lines. His lips are flattened. He seems to mean it.

One week. I haven’t seen him for a week. He's always gone when I wake up in the mornings and comes home much later than me in the evenings. At least, I think he does, because I never hear his footsteps go past the doorway of my room, no matter how late I stay up reading.

I moved out of my role as his assistant to work on setting up the childcare facilities on the second floor of the office building. I threw myself into getting it up and running. Things went smoothly, not least, because of the generous budget he allocated for the project. Turned out, he’d already organized the permits, as well as the space needed to set up the nursery.

I wanted to refuse to lead on the project, but the childcare facilities will benefit everyone, and the children deserve only the best. So, I swallowed my pride and proceeded with my plan.

Today was the first day we opened, and already, we're full, and with a waiting list. We had to turn away parents from the buildings nearby, with regret. The facilities are only for the employees of the Davenport group of companies. It's a crying shame that more companies didn’t invest in such services for their staff. It only increases productivity, as many studies have proven, but big corporations still hesitate to invest in something so essential. Not Ed, apparently. I suppose I have our interactions to thank for that. If, because of me, children can benefit, then I almost didn’t mind the fact that he was spying on me before we formally met. Almost.

"I think you should leave now." I cross my arms about my waist.

He nods, then stalks toward the door, pausing only to retrieve my bag from the floor and place it on the bed. He reaches the exit, when I call out, "Did you see me… take care of myself when you had cameras in my room in my father’s house?"

He pauses, then nods.

Heat flushes my cheeks. That beat between my legs, which always flares to life when he’s around, amplifies. "How could you do that?" I burst out.

"How could I not?" He turns to face me. "I wanted you. I knew I shouldn’t; knew I was all wrong for you, but I couldn’t let go of you."

"So you trapped me in this marriage?"

He curls his fingers into fists at his sides. "I wish I could say I'm sorry for influencing events so you find yourself here, but?—"

"You’re not?"

"How can I be, when you’re more important to me than life itself."

"What you are is obsessed with me," I cry.

"I’d rather be obsessed with you than anyone else. I’d rather devote my life to taking care of you. All I want is to see you happy."

"So you’d release me from this marriage if that’s what made me happy?"

He flinches, his jaw tenses, and he seems to force himself to unclench his fingers. He straightens his shoulders. "Is that what you want?"

I run my fingers through my hair. Tiredness grips me. My feet seem to wobble, and I sit down on the bed. "I don’t know what I want."

He takes a step toward me, and I throw up my hand. "Actually, I do know what I want, for now. I need you to leave me alone."

"Have you eaten?"

"I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t want you to cook for me. I don’t…want to see you, is all."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Didn’t you hear what I said," I snap.

He holds up his hands. "I heard you." He turns and leaves, his shoulders slumped. The door snicks shut behind him. And of course, I miss him. Which makes no sense. After how he treated me, how he got me to marry him under false pretexts, I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t miss him. I shouldn’t go to sleep every night wanting to wake up next to him.

I'm sure it’s because he’s the first man I’ve slept with. The first man to bring me to orgasm, to show me it could be even better than my smutty books made it out to be. And for a while there, in that lighthouse, with the snowstorm raging around us, I was sure he was 'the one.' I thought I’d get my happily ever after. I didn’t realize I’d fallen for someone whose heart is morally grey, and whose past holds secrets I’ll never be privy to.

I climb into bed and curl up on my side. I should hate him. I do hate him… I think. But I also miss him. And there’s nothing keeping me here. I could leave, go to one of my friend’s places. But wouldn’t that be running? Would that resolve anything? Staying under his roof is a constant reminder of him, of how it could be with him. But leaving… Images of him and our time together would only haunt me more. No, I need to weather this out the way I’ve done the storms in the past. On my own. Me, myself, and I. I smile. That’s how I’ve always consoled myself. I have myself. And him. Not him. Don’t think of him. I close my eyes and drift off until a knock on the door awakens me. I sit up and realize it’s dark outside. I reach for my bag and pull out my phone. I’ve been asleep for an hour. I also have missed messages.

Summer: Haven’t heard from you since you got back. Are you ok?

Gio: Bitch, how was the honeymoon? Why no word from you?

Penny: Forgotten us already?

I haven’t been in touch with any of them because… What am I going to say? I’m not used to having friends, let alone ones I confide in, and I want to tell them everything but… Not yet. How can I, when I don’t know what to say? I drop my phone on the bed, head to the door and open it.

There’s a tray on the floor, with a bell-shaped cover on it, the kind they use in hotels for room service. I look up the corridor, but the door to Ed’s room is shut. I pick up the tray, shut the door with my hip, then walk to the bed and place it there. When I pull off the lid, my gaze widens. Vegetable lasagna, with a slice of chocolate cake on the side. There’s even a small bottle of red wine and a glass.

I glance at the door, again. Ed must have cooked it for me—or his housekeeper might have. He mentioned to me he has staff, although I haven’t seen anyone around. But someone's cleaning the house, and there are cooked meals in the refrigerator. So, maybe he didn’t cook it, but he took the trouble to bring it up to me.

Tears prick my eyes, and I wipe them away angrily. Why should I feel moved by that? He's not doing anything out of the ordinary. He also didn’t ask me where I was so late—I’d been working getting everything sorted at the nursery, and it was barely ten p.m. by the time I got home but the husband I know would have asked me where I’d been— No, he wouldn’t have allowed me to come home on my own. And I know he wasn't tailing me because he was in my room when I walked in.

Unless he has cameras on me in the nursery? There are the usual security cameras there, but I haven’t noticed anything else. Not that I'd know what to look for. I dig my heels into my eyes. Argh, I have to stop thinking like this. He promised not to do it anymore, but I'm still not sure if I can trust hjm. And I'm tying myself up in knots. Maybe I should just go and confront him? Yes, that’s it; I’ll just ask him the question. Otherwise, I’m not getting any sleep tonight. I glance at the food, and my stomach rumbles. Let me ask him and I can come back and eat afterward.

I march out of the room, then down the corridor. I tap on the door, but there's no answer. I knock more loudly, then wait.

When there’s still no reply, I push open the door to his bedroom and enter. A bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. The sound of the water running reaches me. I walk past the bed and toward the open door of the bathroom. It doesn’t even occur to me to stop. I should leave, but my legs don’t heed the warning.

I slip inside the bathroom, and the heat surrounds me, embraces me, seduces me…leads me to where he’s standing in the shower, fully clothed. One fist is pressed into the wall; the other arm hangs by his side. His head is bent. The water drips down his hair and plasters his clothes to his back, his butt, his thighs. I step into the shower, and he still doesn’t notice me. His shoulders bunch; a shudder runs down his spine.

Is he… Nope, not possible. He’s not… He can’t be crying, can he? As I watch, he raises his fist and smashes it into the wall. The muffled crack splits the air.

"Ed, stop."