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Foster leans over and runs his finger down my cheek. It comes away wet with my tears.
“You were crying. It must have been pretty bad.”
“It was nothing. Just my subconscious working overtime.”
“I can order room service.”
“How was your meeting?” I ask, distracted.
Foster gets up from the bed and takes off his jacket. “Long and not what I expected.”
“What was it about?”
“Black Industries is looking to purchase a chocolate factory.”
“Excuse me?”
“Chocolate. You know, the brown confection.”
“But why candy?”
“You haven’t familiarized yourself with all my holdings. I own three such factories. You’ve probably even seen our candy on store shelves.”
“I haven’t paid much attention,” I mumble.
Foster continues to undress, yanking his tie over his head and unbuttoning his shirt. I can’t take my eyes off him.
“You will,” he assures. “I’m thinking of having you travel with me more. As my wife, you should know everything.”
“Foster, that’s a waste. Eventually, we’ll be divorced, and I’ll be fired.”
“I wouldn’t fire you.”
“You would have no choice. How would you spin a divorce?”
He pauses, the says, “I haven’t thought that far in advance.”
“Eighteen months will be over before you know it.”
He pulls his white t-shirt over his head and drapes it on top of his other clothing on the back of the chair. Desire pools in my belly as he undoes his belt, slipping it through the loops and coiling it in a tight circle. This he places in his suitcase. Like all the times before, I watch the muscles in his back move and flex as he searches for something to wear, coming out with a red t-shirt which he pulls over his head.
I push the covers off and stand up before Foster turns around, and when he does, his gaze fixes on my legs.
Foster smirks suggestively, saying, “That shirt looks like a dress on you.”
Silently, I walk over to his suitcase and remove the belt he stowed there. Wrapping it around my waist, I buckle it on the last loop. “How does this look?” I ask as I twirl around.
“You’re beautiful in anything you wear.”
His words warm my body, and my face reddens with embarrassment. Casting my gaze down at my bare feet, I dig my toes into the plush carpet. Foster cups my chin and lifts my head.
“Why do you get embarrassed when I pay you a compliment?”
“It’s weird. We’re not married in the usual sense.”
“And what is the usual sense?”
“People in love.”
