6.Pamela

The next day it's as if we're magnets forced to bump into each other. It's as if the universe is conspiring against us. Every step I take around the house is met with him, and it's awkward and uncomfortable and makes me feel…hot.

When I walk into the living room to straighten the cushions on the couch, I almost bump into Hugo as he's coming out of the hallway. We both stop short, eyes meeting briefly before I mumble an apology and sidestep him. He nods, but there's a tightness around his mouth, a hint of frustration or maybe disappointment.

Later, when I'm in the library trying to figure out how to organize the bookshelves, Hugo appears in the doorway. I feel his gaze on me, assessing, but when I look up, he quickly looks away, pretending to be interested in the titles on the shelf.

"Need any help?" His voice is carefully neutral, but I sense an underlying tension, as if he's struggling with his own thoughts and emotions.

"I think I've got it," I reply softly, not meeting his eyes. The space between us feels charged with tension and I figure I better get some air, or I won't last much longer.

Besides, I should give the garden some attention anyway. The flowers look thirsty, so I grab the watering can and carefully water each plant, enjoying the cool splash of water on my hands. I pluck off the dead leaves, trying to revive the garden as best as I can.

Next, I move on to yanking up the weeds. The abrasive feeling against my skin makes me wince, and I let out a cry of frustration.

"You should've used gloves," I hear Hugo's voice behind me.

I turn around to find him standing there, his gaze focused on my palm. His presence sends a jolt through me, and I feel a flutter in my chest as he takes my hand in his. His touch is gentle yet firm, and I can't help but feel a rush of warmth spread through me.

"Go inside and apply some baking soda," he says softly, his eyes meeting mine. "I'll finish this up."

I nod, grateful for his concern. I'm about to head back inside, when I catch him rolling his t-shirt over his back in one fluid, masculine motion. The sight leaves me flustered, my cheeks heating up uncontrollably. I hurry back into the kitchen, struggling to calm down.

Standing by the sink in the warm kitchen, I spy on him through the window even though I'm married to him and could basically have him right now on the floor if I wanted to! The midday sun beams down on him, highlighting the lines of his back and arms, each muscle defined and glistening with sweat. Him being shirtless, does something to me, stirs something deep within me.

I grip the edge of the sink, feeling a flush spread across my cheeks. Is it normal to feel this way about your own husband? My heart races as I continue to watch him, mesmerized by the way he moves, so strong and capable. Each motion is calculated as he tackles the weeds, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he effortlessly tosses aside a large, cumbersome wheelbarrow that was destined for the garbage, I gasp audibly. My knees go weak, and I clutch the edge of the sink tighter for support. He's powerful, rugged, and this is getting all to intensity for me. I'm lusting after my own husband. If only my stupid body wouldn't react with giving me flashbacks of Raymond each time I'm about to be touched.

The kitchen suddenly feels stifling, the air thick with both the heat of the day and the heat rising within me. I need to cool down. I need to regain my composure. A shower. That'll help. Hopefully.

***

I dry myself off quickly, the towel rough against my skin as I step out of the shower. It did help. A little bit at least. I wrap the towel around me and glance out the window towards the garden, half-expecting to still see Hugo there, but he's gone.

Curiosity tugs at me, and without overthinking it, I decide to look for him. I pull on a loose blouse and skirt, my mind still lingering on the images from moments ago—the way Hugo's muscles moved under the blazing sun, his determination etched on his face.

I move down the hallway, my steps hesitant as I approach his bedroom door but to my surprise, it's locked. A knot forms in my stomach. Why would Hugo lock the bedroom door in the middle of the day?

Then I hear it—a muffled noise, almost like a groan of pain, coming from inside the room. "Hugo?" I call out, my voice tinged with concern and the groans abruptly stop.

"I'll be right out," comes his strained reply, breathless and hurried. "Just need a minute."

My heart skips a beat. "Are you hurt?" I press, worry seeping into my voice.

"Fuck no," he growls, his tone sharp and frustrated. "Said I'll be right out."

I wince at his response. Something doesn't feel right. I lean closer to the door, pressing my ear against the smooth wood, straining to hear more clearly.

There it is again—the strange noise, a low grunt followed by a stifled sound that could be pain or frustration. My hand hovers over the doorknob, unsure whether to demand he opens u or not

The silence stretches, broken only by occasional shuffling sounds from inside the room.Minutes feel like an eternity before the bedroom door finally creaks open.

Hugo emerges, his expression tight and guarded. I notice immediately that he's changed his pants, the ones he wore earlier now replaced with a darker pair. He tosses something—a crumpled bundle—into the laundry basket in the bathroom without a word.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly with a mix of concern and confusion.

He glances at me briefly, irritation flickering across his features. "No," he mutters, avoiding my gaze as he moves past me towards the kitchen. "But it will be. Fuck, I really hope it will be."

I follow him. "You seem... upset," I say cautiously, trying to tread lightly on the fragile ground between us.

He doesn't respond, his jaw clenched as he retrieves his keys from the counter. I reach out to touch his arm gently, hoping to break through the wall he's built up around himself. "Hugo, please talk to me," I urge, my voice pleading.

His reaction is immediate. He jerks his arm away from me when he catches my fingers lingering in the air, his eyes flashing with an emotion I can't quite place—anger, frustration, and an unwillingness to being tempted too much. "I'm fine. You don't have to force yourself to touch me," he clips, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "I'm going to the grocery store. Be right back."

Before I can say anything else, he turns abruptly and heads towards the front door. The slam echoes through the house, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

I stand there, stunned and hurt, watching the door where he just disappeared. Questions whirl in my mind, unanswered and unresolved.

But there are no answers, only the lingering sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. With a sigh, I make my way back to the bathroom to turn on the laundry. The crumpled bundle Hugo discarded in the basket catches my eye. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach for it, unfolding the fabric carefully.

It's a pair of boxers—his boxers stained with white. The realization dawns on me and my face burns. Oh…so that's what… That explains it and my fingers tremble when I drop the boxers. It's not that I'm shocked. It's just that I don't know what turned him on so much to that degree that he had to leave what he started in the garden in order to go to his room and relieve himself.

Flustered, I rub my forehead. I can't stay in the house anymore, I need to get my mind off of things. Besides Hugo's not home. And I'm free to go wherever I please. I don't have to be worry about getting lectured like I did when Raymond was alive. Then I always had to watch my back, always keep a low profile in case he'd accuse me of prancing around and acting like a…I shrug, myself and shake off the memories of him.

And what better way to that than some retail therapy?

The thought of doing something for myself feels like a small rebellion, a reclaiming of my autonomy. I decide I'm going to buy nail polish. Red! Bold, defiant, and a reminder to myself that I have the right to make my own choices now.

In town, the bustling streets and vibrant shop windows are a pretty good distraction from what just happened at home. After browsing through several stores, I emerge with a small shopping bag filled with ten nail polishes in various shades of red. An apron also finds its way into my bag to make Hugo happy. I think he'll like the housewife attire.

Walking through the park, I watch the sun filter through the canopy of trees, enjoying the fresh air and I'm feeling perfectly fine.

But then everything changes.

A jogger runs by, his appearance startlingly familiar. My heart hammers in my chest as he reminds me of Raymond. I shrug off the unease, trying to focus on the present, on the freedom I felt earlier.

Suddenly, a shout pierces the tranquil park. "Get back here, you bitch!" The words send a jolt of fear through me, freezing me in my tracks. Cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, but then I see it's just two teenagers chasing each other, their laughter breaking the tension.

I brush my hair off my face, trying to shake off the lingering fear. I keep walking, but my mind plays tricks on me. I see Raymond everywhere—at the hot-dog stand, near the fountain. Each glimpse makes it harder to breathe, my chest tightening with panic.

My vision blurs, and the world tilts around me. I struggle to catch my breath, the ground feeling unsteady beneath my feet. The panic intensifies, and I go lightheaded, my legs giving way. I collapse onto the concrete, the shopping bag falling from my grasp.

The world above me seems to sway as I lie there, tree crowns rustling gently in the breeze. I hear a dog barking in the distance, a comforting sound amidst the chaos in my mind. Voices murmur around me, growing more urgent.

"Someone call for help!" The voice seems distant, echoing through the fog of my thoughts.

I stare up at the swaying branches, the sky a patchwork of blue and green. Strangers lean over me, their voices merging into a single, indistinguishable hum.

"Get out of the way," a voice growls, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. I hear the urgency and authority in the tone, and the people around me part. I feel a rush of air as an imposing figure pushes through. Before I can fully comprehend what's happening, strong arms scoop me up from the hard concrete.

"What were you thinking going off on your own?"

Hugo. Relief crashes over me like a wave, my body going weak in his embrace. My hands instinctively clutch at his jacket, fingers digging into the familiar fabric. His scent fills my senses—clean, masculine, a hint of the cologne he always wears. It's intoxicating and grounding all at once, and I cling to him as if he's my lifeline.

"Are you hurt?" Hugo's voice is rough, his jaw clenched with worry. I can feel the tension radiating from his body, his muscles taut as he holds me. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

I shake my head weakly, trying to reassure him. "No," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "I just want to go home." The words come out in a rush, and a lump forms in my throat. I look up at him, my eyes pleading. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

For a moment, his steps falter. It feels as if Hugo is about to drop me, his muscles going momentarily slack. His face reflects a mix of emotions—surprise, vulnerability, something softer and deeper that I can't quite name. But then, almost immediately, he tightens his grip, holding me more securely.

His hold on me is firm and possessive, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his chest. His gaze, intense and searching, locks onto mine as if trying to understand the depths of my request.

"I know you're mad because I've been…distant," I whisper again, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes, "but I don't mean to be."

Hugo's expression softens, just a fraction, but enough for me to see the concern and care he hides behind his stern exterior. He nods, a silent agreement.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice softer now, filled with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. "And I'm not mad."

Back at the house and in his room, he gently sets me down on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. I lie back, the soft sheets cool against my skin, and watch as he moves to sit beside me, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

"Rest," he says quietly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "I'll stay with you."

"You're always there when I need you," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. "You never fail."

How? How's that possible?

"That's what husband's are for."

Hugo's eyes soften, the harsh lines of his face melting into an expression of tenderness. I reach up, my fingers brushing against his skin, and cup the back of his neck. The warmth of his body seeps into my hand. The hand that he healed when another man broke it.

"Will you let me kiss you?" he rasps. "I promise to pull away if you want me to." Something flickers in his eyes as if he doesn't believe what he's saying but I'm not going to say no.

"Yes," I whisper, my breath mingling with his. "Do it." For a moment, he hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. But then, his resolve solidifies, and he leans in.

His mouth crashes down on mine with a fervor that takes my breath away. The kiss is—desperation, passion, relief—all mixing together with an intensity that makes the air feel like pure steam. His lips are firm and insistent, moving against mine with a possessive hunger. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer and I pour everything I can't say into the kiss.

The raw power of his need, the way his hands cradle my face makes me feel like something precious that he still won't hesitate to break if it means getting to the very core of me. His kiss deepens, his tongue sweeping into my mouth exploring until I can almost feel it in my throat. Electric shivers dance down my spine, my senses are overwhelmed by him— the taste of his mouth, the feel of his strong arms wrapping around me, pulling me impossibly close.

When he finally pulls back, I realize he's going to have to kiss me like that every single day for the rest of my life.

I snuggle up against Hugo's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my cheek. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothes me, lulling me into a state of tranquility I haven't felt in a long time. His arms wrap around me protectively, his hand gently stroking my hair and that's how we fall asleep. Like a married couple. Like we belong.