I was so going to make the fiance pay for this.
"Don't ever refuse him," advised Audra, the oldest of the group, in her early fifties. She'd been married the longest amongst us--though she was her husband's second wife. It was heavily rumored that she'd been the home wrecker responsible for the demise of his first marriage.
I frowned. "Uh, you mean don't disagree?" Because I'd fail that one instantly. No wonder she was still married to her hubby. Why get rid of the perfect "yes" woman?
"No, I'm talking about sex." I almost spat out my coffee. "He'll come home late from work or a long trip and want some. You might be tired or you might not be in the mood, whatever. But don't ever reject him. If he doesn't get it at home--and if it isn't spicy and exciting--he'll find it elsewhere. And easily. Too easily."
I almost swallowed my tongue. There was a lot I could say to that. Like what about when I wanted it and he was too tired or not in the mood or jet-lagged or whatever? Equal opportunity sexual demands.
"That's the key," Trish inserted. "Finding the way to make him happy, keep him happy, and minimize conflict. It's a balancing act."
Not even fifteen minutes into this post-dinner girls' chat and my cell phone was burning a hole in my pocket as I willed it to ring. Please, goddamn it. Please. If I could send a Jedi-like mind message to Kat the way Luke did to Leia at the end of Empire, her head would be ringing off her shoulders right now. With no small despair, I realized that the prearranged time wasn't for another hour yet. Shit. One more hour of this.
"How old are you again? Twenty-four?" Sonya asked, refilling her coffee cup. "You have a few years yet. But definitely before you hit thirty, you should start. Don't you think, Julia?"
"Botox?" The redhead, whom I'd just met, perked up. "Oh God, yes. I started at twenty-five. Best decision ever." She smoothed a finger from the corner of her eye down across her cheek, as if to show off how much her muscles could not function of their own accord. She turned to me, stone-faced. "If you want a referral to my dermatologist, I'd be glad to pass along her number."
Botox? WTF? They couldn't possibly be serious...and I was sure my disbelief was all over my face, because Audra, who sat right beside me, patted my knee. "You don't have to start that young. You have perfect skin, but there's a lot to be said for preventative measures. You have to plan ahead, because otherwise, you'll be thirty-something and his eye will stray." Nods all around, except Julia, who sipped demurely from her cup. "Because it's everywhere. All the time. In their faces. It's really hard for them, you know. They constantly have to say no to what is openly offered to them, you know what I mean?"
Just nod, Mia. Nod. But no...I frowned, completely baffled as to what she was talking about. "No."
"Sex, Mia. Women," Trish supplied. "Women are all around, circling like vultures who can smell the death of a marriage from miles away. And sometimes--many times--they don't wait till the demise of the marriage to close in." Everyone avoided glancing at Audra during this speech.
"He'll get attention, that's for sure." Sonya nodded with a smile hovering on her lips.
"He already does," Trish cut in before cheerfully turning to me. "Your future hubby is very easy on the eyes." I gulped, suddenly feeling nauseated. "You know it's already happening, don't you? When he's gone on trips or whatever, he's getting sex offered to him on a silver platter every day."
At my stricken expression, she smiled. "You have nothing to worry about now. He's desperately in love. Make sure to keep it that way. Average guys cheat all the time. It happens even when they aren't constantly offered the golden opportunities that ours are."
Julia chimed in. "But sometimes giving a pass to a brief indiscretion is the easiest way to handle it when it does happen. Instead of blowing it all out of proportion."
Now I could barely swallow. Adam and I weren't even married yet, and already they had him cheating on me and me forgiving him for it. I was this close to barfing up my dinner.
"Unless you've got a cheating clause in the prenup, of course," added Audra, laughing. "Then you can take him to the cleaners." The women erupted into laughter, and that caught the attention of the men, who wandered over to join us. Naturally, the conversation shifted to a safer subject. Thank the Maker.
But I was left to stew on their words...on things I hadn't really thought of before. Like Adam being offered sex at every turn by dozens, scores of beautiful women with model-shaped bodies and perfectly maintained hair and skin. None of them would come home to him in baggy hospital greens and fall asleep exhausted before he could even strike up a conversation.
Adam had already had a semi-crazy stalker from work. Cari, an intern, had gone from crushing on him to harboring a whacko obsession. It had grown to a point where Adam had had to fire her for doing some horrible, cruel things. Things that had been motivated by her jealousy of me.
But to think that there were dozens or more where Cari had come from...and some not so crazy. And probably a lot smarter. Most of them wouldn't give a shit about his workaholic tendencies. They would like what they saw beyond even his monstrous net worth. It didn't help that Adam had movie-star good looks.
He really was the perfect package, and up until this moment, I'd had no problems gloating to myself that he was all mine.
Doubts, insidious with their quiet whispers, began to raise their voices. He was determined to get us married now. Why? I was completely on board with that plan. But what if, someday, I wasn't enough for him? What if, in a moment of weakness, he gave in to just one of those many, many temptations? No man was perfect, after all...
Thankfully, not long after that, Katya's phone call interrupted my mental stewing and allowed me to make quick excuses to my hostess. I told them I had to go home to check on Adam. One of the husbands joked that I should wear a naughty nurse's costume to cheer him up as I tended to him. None of them knew that Adam was at risk of a spleen rupture, so I laughed it off instead of sharing that personal tidbit about our imposed sex blackout.
I trudged back to our house, lost in thought. Pressing my thumb to the biometric lock, I entered, quietly shut the door behind me, and climbed the stairs. In our room, Adam was lying in bed, still playing on his laptop.
I was so agitated that I stalked straight into the bathroom to collect myself. As I removed my earrings and other jewelry, I stopped before wiping off my makeup. Frozen, I stared at the troubled brown eyes in the mirror.
Should I let him see me with the makeup on before I took it off? It still looked good. He mostly saw me barefaced around the house. What if he thought I was plain and shabby because of how I dressed?
A lump formed in my throat, hard to swallow, difficult to breathe through. My mouth went dry. I'd been unwanted before...knew what it felt like. My own father hadn't wanted me, and all that emotion had been dragged up fresh via my correspondence with Glen.
My stomach twisted, roiling with nausea.
Would Adam eventually reject me? I remembered the feeling again, from a time when he had rejected me. Weeks after I'd recovered from cancer, he'd sent me away to my mom's. We'd lived apart for months without communicating. It had helped us heal, but I'd been despondent. If he left me after we were married, it would feel like that multiplied times a thousand. Oh God.
And what would happen when he wanted a child? What if I couldn't give him one? Would he find a woman who could? I hadn't had a real period since the chemo had ended. Sometimes, I had a light flow or spotting, but nothing that indicated my fertility might return. There was a good chance it was gone forever.
In ten years, when he was pushing forty, he'd want a baby. And he could find some beautiful young thing who'd give him one.
And I'd be on the sidelines, standing by, watching him with his new family. Would I be the mature ex-wife, refusing to write a tell-all book about him or do interviews with the press? Would I be stoic while the world was watching, speculating on my humiliation as I suffered in silence?
Oh, God. I doubled over the sink, yanking on the fau
cet, feeling every single failure acutely, real and imagined, historical or present. In spite of earlier fears, I splashed cold water on my face. But it did nothing but make my mascara run. How could I face--
"Did you have a good time?" Adam interrupted when he poked his head into the bathroom. I stood there gaping at myself like a fool in the mirror, the water still running. Blinking, I switched off the faucet.
"Yeah, sure," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. "How are you feeling?"
He frowned. "What's wrong?"
I sighed. I didn't want him to see my turmoil until I got a better handle on what exactly I was feeling. But hiding things from Adam was ridiculously difficult. He was too observant, and I was too poor an actress. "I'm tired."
He stepped into the bathroom, moving up behind me, not taking his eyes off my face. "You seem...upset."
I opened my mouth to make an excuse. But inexplicably, this whole mess of emotion rose up, and suddenly, I was spewing out those feelings everywhere.
"You don't think I should do Botox, do you?"
He looked at me like I'd grown a unicorn horn out of my forehead.
My eyes flicked back to my reflection. "Or maybe I should wear makeup more often?" I smoothed fingers over my cheek. "Do you think I dress too much like a student still?"
His face scrunched up like he'd tasted a lemon. "Have you been watching Real Housewives of Orange County?"
I clenched my teeth and my fists, almost stamping a foot in frustration, demanding he take me seriously despite the nonsense coming out of my mouth. "I mean it. Do women offer you sex all the time?"
Now his eyes goggled. "Well, even if they did, I have a semi-explosive spleen, remember?"
"It's not funny, Adam," I whined. Then, inexplicably and much to my enduring embarrassment, I burst into tears.
"Whoa," he said, true concern written all over his face as he moved forward to pull me into his arms. "What the hell's going on?"
Without a word, I turned and sobbed into his shoulder, already mourning the demise of our marriage due to his infidelity with at least a half-dozen phantom women decades younger than me.
"Come here. Come on." He gently coaxed me out of the bathroom and guided me to sit on the bed beside him. "Did the Real Housewives get to you tonight?"
I shook my head, sobbing into my hands. "I don't know if I'm ready for this. I'm not ready for your world."
"Emilia!" His voice was firm as he pulled my hair back from my face. "Slow down."
"I don't want to quit medical school." I sniffed.
"What the hell? You don't have to quit school. You're not making any sense." He ran his fingers through my hair. "Who told you that you did?"
"But there are charities to run." My chest heaved as I gulped more air. "And--and benefits to organize, and your foundation--" I was sobbing so hard that it was difficult to breathe.
"Emilia," he practically commanded. "Slow down. Now."
I put my hands to my face, unable to control the agitation. "I don't want to be the starter wife, Adam."
"That's good. I only plan on having one."
He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a few tissues from the box, and pressed them into my shaking hands. "Take a breath and calm down."
I easily detected the worry in his voice as he watched me slowly gain control of my emotions. I wiped my face and sniffled. The entire time, Adam stroked my back and my hair.
"Now," he said when I'd been quiet--aside from my hiccups--for several minutes. "Let's talk about it calmly. Obviously, they told you a bunch of bullshit that's got you scared."
"They weren't being mean." I shook my head. "They were trying to be helpful in their own way, from their own experience. And it...opened my eyes to what it must be like for you. When you're traveling or out in the world--being a billionaire and everything."
"I'm still me." He frowned. "I'm still the same person whether I'm here or 'out in the world.' Still the same person you met three years ago. And yes, my bank account got bigger, but that doesn't mean anything."
I turned to him, my fist tightening in my lap, squeezing the tissues into a tight ball. "No, it's naive and simplistic of you to say that. Your world has changed. Maybe you don't see it yet, but it has." He stiffened beside me, and when he would have interrupted me, I rode over him. "You're in the one percent of the one percent and--and women are going to chase you even more now than they did before. And believe me, I didn't like what I saw before."
"So should I be worried because men are going to chase you? You're beautiful, young, brilliant. I've seen the way men stare at you when we go out, even when I'm standing right next to you and sending them death glares. Should I be worried, too?"
I shook my head. "It's not the same thing."
"No? Why not?" He put his hand under my chin, guiding me to look at him. "We're getting married. I have to trust you as much as you trust me."
I shrugged, conceding the point without admitting I was .
He picked up on that, pulling me closer to him. I relaxed against his chest. "Now, so you know, no one can chase me if I'm already caught."
I swallowed. "It's not that easy. A lot of women--probably most of them--won't give a shit that you're already married. Your wedding band might even encourage them."
"What does it matter whether they give a shit or not? I'll care about being married, about my vows to you. That's all that matters. A woman could walk up to me and drop her dress, and it wouldn't matter."
I scowled at him. "You're such a liar. You'd look."
He shrugged. "Yeah, probably. It's a guy thing."
"So is cheating."
He shook his head. "Not for me. I have some amazing self-control skills, if you'll recall. It wasn't easy keeping my hands off you all that time. But I did. And now...you and I together are more than that. More than the sum of our sexual attraction."
I thought he meant that as a compliment, but I was perplexed. And apparently, that puzzlement was on my face, because he elaborated.
"I mean, we're like an epic quest--this complex algorithm of experiences, memories, feelings, and promises to each other. Of shared parts of our lives that we've been through together. It's a bond that's way stronger than sex."
I pulled away to gaze up at him. "And the new and illicit thing is never going to tempt you the least little bit?"
Something about that apparently bothered him, because his forehead creased. "I'm not saying I'm never going to look. That would be stupid and unrealistic. And I'm not going to blow sunshine, because then you won't believe me on the stuff I'm serious about." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm always going to weigh what I'd lose against the worth of any heat-of-the-moment encounter. And every single time, that heat of the moment will never live up to what I have with you. Never."
How could he be so romantic and yet so calmly rational at the same time? I didn't know, but my smile had now grown along with my confidence. And my trust in him.
It appeared that he was going to say something, but thought the better of it. So I leaned forward and put my hand on his arm, urging him to say what was on his mind.
"And...maybe you should recognize that part of this fear is based on your personal experiences, too. And the things the Real Housewives said tonight played into fears that are already there."
He was talking about my father--the biological sperm donor. The original cheater in my life. Except my mom had been the poor, unsuspecting young woman that he had cheated on his family with. And then he'd deserted us and gone back to them.
"Okay." I nodded. "I acknowledge that some of the stuff they were saying triggered my own deepest, darkest fears."
He frowned. "Deep down, you still think I'm going to leave?"
I bit my lip and thought for a moment. "Not logically, no."
He smiled and smoothed a strong thumb over my damp cheek. "I've watched you puke and pee yourself--sometimes at the same time. If that didn't scare me away, what would?"
I shrugged, looking away.
"Gray hairs? Wrinkles? Saggy boobs?"
"You'll be more beautiful." He shook his head, sighing. "Most men that stray...they're doing it because of their own fragile self-image. They're flattered by the attention that feeds their ego. They're cheating to fulfill a bottomless pit of need."
"They're not cheating because they had a fight with their wife or she's too tired to get dressed up and be glamorous or hang all over him?"
He shrugged. "Some, probably, are unhappy at home. There might be times when it's hard for us. But we've proven we can get through the hard times, haven't we? You should believe in us more."
I straightened, suddenly worried that he thought I didn't believe in us. "I'm sorry. I do. I honestly do. This is completely born of my own insecurity."
He scowled. "Then stop it, because like men, women have those needs, too--to have their self-image reinforced. Maybe I should be worried you'll cheat on me."
I glanced up at him to note the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Well there is my sixty-five year old research mentor..."
The cocky smile vanished from his face, and I started laughing. His mouth dropped, and I fell back on the bed. As he had days of stubble growth on his jaw, I suspected he was going to close in for another whisker burn, but I held out my arm, barring his access as he rolled onto me.
"Wait--I do have another thing I need to ask you."
"Before I execute your punishment?"
I bit my lip and nodded, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes.
His gaze narrowed as he scanned my face, from eyes to lips, likely suspecting that I was working him over--which I was. "I don't trust that look."
"What look? I do have something else I need to ask you."
He kissed my neck instead of delivering the threatened whisker burn. I smiled, warmed by the familiar zing his lips evoked anywhere on my body. He was getting frisky now that he was feeling better. Unfortunately, despite the length of time since we'd last had sex, I'd have to shut this down. But I enjoyed it for the moment. He kissed a trail up the column of my throat.
"Well, the Real Housewives were talking about prenups..."
He froze. There was a distinct hesitation before he resumed kissing me without comment. "Are you absolutely positive my spleen is still too swollen? Because I can assure you other parts are swelling right now." He nibbled on my ear, and lust flared as my eyes rolled back into my head. Damn, this moratorium on our sex life had been murder.
Worth Any Cost Page 13
