It could be claimed, with some justification, that I often overestimated my acting abilities.
But not today.
I did something a little bad.
Okay, a lot bad.
I faked a tear.
What can I say? After Romeo chose a company he hated over SIDS prevention, it was a cathartic experience watching him fall all over himself because he thought I was distraught.
I wasn’t distraught. Not at all.
In fact, I loved it when he grabbed my throat, adored it when he bit my nipples, and got off on it when he thrust into me so hard, I felt him reach my belly.
And when he lowered to his knees, licked his own semen from my legs, and trailed his tongue further north until it disappeared inside me—licking, suckling, kissing my clit, and scraping his teeth on it until I came on his face—I was just about ready to donate both my kidneys and my liver to get a repeat.
Could goading Romeo with Madison for the millionth time be classified as immoral?
Sure.
Was guilt-tripping my husband into considering babies a new low?
Perhaps.
But did I feel bad about it?
Not in the slightest.
Hours later, I pranced around the house in Disney pajamas I’d bought on the Internet. No way would Romeo approve of them—an extra bonus that led me to purchase the set in all colors.
After dinner, which he’d taken in the dining room while I ravaged mine straight from the oven, Romeo tucked himself into his study, probably doing boring, grown-up things.
I gossiped with Frankie on the phone, munching on a sugar cane. Each time I remembered my agreement with him, a smile lifted my cheeks.
Sure, my first full-blown sexual experience was…weird.
I never orgasmed.
Well, not until he ate me out after.
And the too-tight fit pained me. But there was something thrilling about seeing my husband truly lose control for the first time since we’d gotten married.
“Is he still giving you a hard time?” Frankie cooed on the other line. “The hot, irritating bastard.”
I couldn’t very well tell her he’d given me a few other hard things. She wouldn’t understand. In fact, I didn’t understand what was happening between me and Romeo, either.
I knew a fat red line existed between love and lust, but what happened when you straddled it?
I didn’t want to find out.
“He’s horrible!” I said cheerfully, crushing the cane between my molars. “The absolute worst. I constantly do things to make him mad. Just today, I went on a lunch date with Madison. And invited the paparazzi.”
“Ugh. Madison.” Frankie gagged. “He was in Chapel Falls last week. Did I tell you? Went around moping about how much he misses you. The lying scumbag. Took both Deidre Sweeting and Jean Caldwell into his bed with his crocodile tears. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Frankie. Mean gossip is beneath us.”
“Aw, Dal.” I could picture her exaggerated frown. “But nice gossip is so boring.”
We both giggled.
“How’s school?” I changed the subject, from fear that if we spoke about Romeo for too long, I’d break down and confess that no matter how much I hated him outside of bed, inside of it, I was his number one fan. “Anything interesting happen?”
“I failed most of my midterms, which I guess is fascinating. At least to Momma, Daddy, and our nosy neighbors.”
I sighed. “You need to make an effort, Frankie.”
“Oh, but I am. I’m making an effort not to lose my V-card before marriage. And that’s plenty difficult.”
“Frankie. You know what happens if you give the milk before he buys the cow.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be bought. Maybe I want to partake in the goddamn twenty-first century.”
If only things were that simple.
We both knew we were products of our upbringing. That we played by the rules of the place we came from.
Human nature, for all the progress it had made, was still tribal by nature. Moving to Potomac had freed me, though I’d exchanged one cage for another.
“Is there anyone in particular that tickles your fancy?” I glided down the banister from the second floor to the first, just to see if Romeo would bark at me for doing so. To test whether he’d stopped watching me through the security camera.
The house remained eerily quiet. So far, he was fulfilling his part of the bargain.
My sister’s grin traveled through the line.
“There are lots of somebodies.” Her voice became somber at once. “Are you sad, Dal? That you might never have sex because you are married to a man you hate?”
I couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t tell her I’d already done the deed.
That it was primal and exhilarating and celestial.
That all I wanted to do was have sex with my husband—and the things that came with it.
I especially didn’t want to tell her how fun sex was when she toyed with the temptation of having it herself—and out of wedlock.
I was no prude, but I also knew what troubles awaited her if Chapel Falls deemed her compromised. Unfortunately, I knew it firsthand.
I froze by the kitchen’s entrance, barefoot. “I’m sure it’ll happen for me one day.”
“Yes. You’ll break him at some point, and he’ll give you a divorce. I’m sure of it.”
But that would mean no more life-altering, earth-shattering sex with my ridiculously hot husband. No more orgasms beneath his talented tongue. No babies with his gray eyes.
No. I didn’t want a divorce.
Not at all.
After I hung up and finished my third dinner for the day (Hettie’s bistek tagalog and fried lumpia), I retreated to my room to read my Henry Plotkin books, which Romeo had returned from exile. Time for a reread ahead of the fourteenth and final book in the series.
“Shortbread.” Romeo’s arrogant voice snarled from the jaws of his study. “Come inside.”
You mean…just like you did today?
Giggling to myself, I followed his instructions.
He sat behind a mahogany desk, working on his laptop, a library of literally every unreadable book I’d ever come across behind him.
“Yes?” I bent down to tug my funny socks up over my Minnie Mouse sweatpants.
“Is it Halloween?”
“No.”
“Then why are you dressed as a toddler?”
I swaggered deeper into the office and flashed him a sunny smile, knowing those, in particular, soured his mood. “Comfort first, right?”
“Wrong.” His fingers skated over the keyboard. “Comfort is what mediocre people strive for once they realize the currency of success is hard work.”
Naturally, I gravitated to his library and noticed the bottom row of fifteen or so books. Linen hardcovers, absent of dust jackets and any indication of the contents within.
I fingered one, teasing it out of its slot before poking it back in. “Are these for decoration?”
He didn’t even turn to see what I’d referred to. “No.”
“How can you tell which book is which?”
“By opening them.”
“Is this some weird aesthetic thing rich people do to keep paupers guessing what they read?”
“You are a rich person.”
“Yeah, but I’m an abnormal rich person.”
“You’re an abnormal person. Period. And no, this is not some weird aesthetic thing rich people do to keep paupers guessing what they read.”
“Then…the bookseller sold them like this? That should be criminal.”
“They came with dust jackets.”
My lips parted, appalled at the idea of trashing them. “What happened to them?”
“They’re now on the books I gave you.”
“What books?”
Surely, he didn’t mean those books.
“His Filthy Touch. A Lover’s Thrust. Blindfolded by my Professor. Dominated by Two Alien Alphas. Must I continue? I lose a brain cell for every second we discuss them.”
I tried to remember if I’d taken the time to peek past the dust jackets and see what the books beneath actually were. I hadn’t. Oops.
“Oh. Those books.”
Romeo’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Those books. Have you finished them?”
Oh, they’re finished, all right…
“You could say that…”
“What happened?”
I yawned, covering my hand over my mouth to obscure my next words. “I might have burned them.”
“You burned them.” His jaw ticked. The slightest movement.
If I weren’t paying attention to every painstaking detail of my husband, I wouldn’t have noticed it.
I toyed with the edge of my shirt, staring down at Minnie Mouse. Figured it was too late to apologize. Bygones and all.
“Yeah.” I waved a hand. “Happened ages ago. No need to revisit the past.”
“While we’re at it, we may as well ban history courses. K-through-12 education, too.”
“Mm-hmm. We should.” I nodded fast, beaming at Romeo. “Worked super well for women in the past.”
And nope. Still couldn’t bring myself to apologize.
Why was I like this?
Better question—why was he like this?
I boiled in his potent silence, fanning my cheeks with an unidentifiable linen hardcover.
Romeo continued to type on his laptop. He paused for a moment, unsheathed his old tin can, and fetched a white rectangle from within, popping it into his mouth.
His gum.
I wanted to inch closer. Dive into his past. Sneak a peek of the container, which I noticed for the first time did possess a single flaw. A tiny dent in the corner that marred the otherwise smooth matte surface.
Instead, I made a show of continuing my perusal of his shelves. My fingers brushed each naked spine. The books, I had no problem apologizing to.
In fact, I would’ve held a candlelight vigil, too, if I didn’t think it’d be poor taste, considering how their jackets had met their untimely demises.
I pressed my palms together and offered a silent prayer to each and every one whose skin I’d burnt to a crisp in the bonfire.
Please, Lord, wash me of my sins and find these books a better home in the afterlife. Preferably with someone with taste. The Vast History of Financial Statements? Really?
On the bright side, I’d finally discovered Romeo’s addictions, other than gum and my misery—money. His entire bookshelf consisted of rows upon rows of finance books.
It struck me as odd. I could’ve sworn, based on my stellar snooping skills, that he’d studied engineering during undergrad and focused on Entrepreneurial Management for his MBA.
I slanted my head, realizing something. “You memorized the books I picked up at that indie shop?”
He finally broke his silence and faced me, answering my question between bouts of drilling a hole into my head with his frosty grays.
“Nothing more than a byproduct of my superior memory. No need to revisit the past.” He pried the book from my fingers and wedged it into my mouth, right between my teeth. “Are you done?”
He didn’t wait for me to reply, returning to his laptop.
Spitting the book into my hand, I advanced toward him. “You should get into finance. I bet if you do something you enjoy, you would abandon your Mission Impossible: Getting Back at Daddy for Being a Meanie plan.”
“Great plan. Just neglect my entire career at Costa Indus—”
“It’s not a career. It’s a revenge quest. And it’s childish. It sucks the joy and soul out of you.” I waved the disrobed hardcover nestled in my palm, which was probably titled Generational Wealth: The Imperial History of Mediocre Nepo Babies or something equally snooze-worthy. “You love working with money. Life is too short to not do what you love.”
“Life is long enough that I might get to do both.”
The sudden urge to hug him seized me. “Oh, Romeo. You never know if your next breath is going to be your last. How foolish of you to not seize the moment.”
On the television mounted on the wall beside him, a news segment flashed across the screen.
Hacker Attacks Licht Holdings, LLC.
The rolling headline reported that an anonymous hacker had stolen and duly leaked key blueprints of a new technological weapon online, rendering the entire production worthless.
This had my husband’s fingerprints all over it. The man wouldn’t rest until he had Madison by his throat.
Pouting, I squinted at the segment. “Wow. I didn’t know Zach meddles with hacking.”
Where was he when Sav taped me stuffing my bra with Choco pies at Emilie’s sleepover and leveraged the footage for my limited-edition Jimmy Choos?
Romeo didn’t lift his eyes from his screen, still typing. “He doesn’t.”
I didn’t really expect him to confide in me.
“So, why am I here?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
My heart immediately did jumping jacks, expanding and contracting at record speeds. Pressure built between my legs.
“Can we do it on your desk? Oh! Can I go upstairs and dress like a sexy secretary?”
Finally. An opportunity to use all those pencil skirts Cara had gotten me.
And to think I’d almost taken them as Romeo’s subliminal message to get a job.
Those arctic-grays swung up from his screen, surprise and…was it delight? coloring them.
“I wasn’t talking about sex.”
“Oh.”
“But good to know I didn’t scar you for life after this afternoon.”
The look he gave me told me he knew I’d faked those tears, did not find it amusing, and would punish me later for it.
Hopefully, in the bedroom. Over his knees. As I wore the school girl uniform that I’d purchased in anticipation of this exact scenario.
I brushed his judgment off. Returning the hardcover, I parked my butt on the edge of his desk. “Okay. What do you have for me?”
He leaned back in his chair, gripped my outer thigh through my sweatpants, and ran his rough palm up my hip until he clutched my waist.
“Since I was foolish enough to buy your tears today, I donated two buildings in our family name. One to Georgetown and the other to Johns Hopkins.”
I blinked, not yet comprehending. “Are you going to turn them into libraries for me? Seems a bit extreme to rob so many students of their degree—”
“You can now take your pick at which university you’d like to complete your college degree.” His upturned chin told me he thought he’d done me a favor.
I, on the other hand, wanted to slap him silly.
What a horrid thing to do.
Didn’t he know me at all?
Maybe I’d gone overboard on giving him hell for plucking me midway through my degree.
Misinterpreting the surprise on my face for awe and gratitude, a wolfish smirk tugged at his delicious mouth. “I will take my thank you in the form of dick sucking, although I am partial to eating you out on the kitchen counter, too.”
I flung my hands in the air, groaning. “How could you do that to me?”
That wiped the smile off his face.
“You dropped out of Emory,” he pointed out, as if the detail had escaped me.
“Yes.” I stubbed an accusing finger into his chest. “And that was literally the only thing I looked forward to when you took me as a wife.”
“You don’t want a college degree?” The mask of indifference returned to his eyes.
“Of course not.” I shook my head. “Do you know anyone worth their salt who has one?”
He stared at me in a way that suggested I’d spoken in an entirely different language.
I sighed, listing the greatest minds of our generation, all degree-free. “Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, Jack Dorsey—”
“Shortbread.” He frowned. “I don’t think you’re at risk of depriving the world of a budding tech genius. In fact, when your phone freezes, you smash it against a hard surface instead of restarting it. I’ve seen you do it. Multiple times. You know nothing of technology and social media. Plus, virtually all of those people dropped out of Ivy League schools, which they did not require entire building donations to get accepted into.”
“Are you saying I’m stupid?” I added an insulted lilt to my voice, mainly to veer him off the topic of my unfinished college degree.
“No. You’ve proven to be incredibly smart.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
“I won’t be married to an uneducated woman.”
“You should’ve thought about that before kidnapping one.” I began moving things around—pens, stapler, paperweight—just to leave my mark on this usually untouched room.
Now that I thought about it, it could use some artwork. A splash of color, perhaps?
“You will finish your degree.” He clasped my wrist, gently drawing me from further messing up his workspace. “And that’s that.”
“Or else what?” I slid from his desk, straddling him in his chair now. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, peering into his face. “You’re going to kick me out to the Hamptons? To Chapel Falls?”
We both knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
I didn’t know why or how, exactly, this had become a silent agreement between us, but I think in some messed-up, completely unhealthy way, whatever was brewing inside this mansion was better than the reality we both had lived before.
He grabbed my ass, grinding me against his erection.
His jaw muscles jumped, eyes hooding. “Fuck it. I’ll buy you a degree.”
“I’ll burn it,” I countered. “I want people to know I’m self-taught.”
“At what? Sitting on the couch and licking Oreo cream?” His hard length parted my slit through our clothes, colliding with my clit. “At least become the chairwoman of a non-profit.”
I shook my head. “I’ll continue giving to charity behind the scenes.”
He examined me, perplexed. “Why?”
“Because I don’t need to impress anyone, and neither do you.” I leaned down to kiss him. He caught my lips in his, drawing me into a deep, tongue-filled kiss. “Now, should I get naked?”
“Certainly.” He pushed me off him, returning his attention to his work. “But only because what you’re wearing is an eyesore. I’m busy.”
Even though he low-key threw me out of his study, I was actually quite happy when I swaggered my way outside. This was our first non-toxic interaction.
How pathetic that it made me elated.
But alas, it did.
I went back to the kitchen to get a water bottle—I always got extra thirsty after our encounters—strolling past his office again on my way upstairs.
I halted, noticing he no longer had his eyes trained on the screen. His elbows now rested on his desk, and he cupped his head, staring downward.
He looked exasperated.
Dissatisfied.
And no longer in hate with me.
