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I barely resist raising my hands into the air and shouting,Amen, sister.
“But I can tell it’s different for the two of you.” Kira smiles. I can almost see little cartoon hearts floating in her eyes. “In the five years I’ve known Arsen, I’ve never seen him be so… normal.”
“Normal,” I breathe. “Yep. That’s us.”
Kira laughs and slides the ice cream across the counter to me. “We should get this apple crumble out to the boys before my husband accuses me of letting it go cold. The Barefoot Contessa can kiss my ass if she thinks she’s stealing my man.”
Arsen and Dominik are stretched out on opposite sofas, a bottle of scotch on the table between them. Whatever they were talking about, it breaks off the moment we walk in.
“What were you boys discussing?” Kira teases. “How beautiful and perfect and heaven-sent your wives are?”
“Always.” Dominic drops a kiss on her cheek as she sits down beside him.
At dinner, we each had our own chairs. Arsen and I sat next to each other with a respectable amount of distance between us and, as long as I pretended he was nothing more than decoration—a lifeless, unsexy vase that didn’t smell intoxicating at all—everything was fine and dandy.
Now, though, we’re venturing into dangerous territory. Arsen has his arm stretched over the back of the sofa, and he nods for me to take the seat right next to him.
The empty armchair tucked into the corner by the window has never looked more appealing, but I’ve raised enough red flags with Kira tonight as it is. So, I sit down beside my husband.
Arsen lounges back, spreading his legs until his thigh presses into mine. Bizarrely, it does feel normal.
For the moment, at least, it feels normal. In an hour, he might disappear for three days without a word. That would feel normal, too.
No matter how much I fight for some kind of equilibrium, Arsen and I are always bouncing from one extreme to the other.It can’t all be for show, can it?
Some of it—the fake date nights, the events, even this dinner—could be just a cover story. But what about how attentive he is when my pain flares up? Or the way he reacted to Tyler and Kevin?
Is jealousy part of the performance?
And it hasn’t escaped my notice that I haven’t gotten a single call from my father since the first week I moved into the manor with Arsen.
I stare at his profile, watching as he talks to Dominik, carrying on a conversation I can’t follow because the puzzle of him is far too distracting.
Kira said she doesn’t feel like she knows Arsen, but he gave her this house and took care of her family. He expressed his care for his friends in the only way he knew how.
Is that what he’s doing with me?
“So, Laila,” Kira chirps, breaking me out of my thoughts, “how is your nursery coming along?”
“For God’s sake, Kira!” Dominik says. “Can you talk about anything but that damn room?”
“Says the man who spent an hour obsessing about whether the sconces we chose were more eggshell white or oyster shell.” She waves him off with an eyeroll and turns back to me. “It’s hard to stop thinking about it because there’s so much to get ready.”
“I doubt a baby cares about sconces,” Arsen mutters.
“No, only Dom cares about that,” Kira laughs. “But forget the room. There are still diapers, pumps, nursing pillows, toys, a bassinet…”
As her list goes on and on and on, Arsen stiffens.
Are those nerves I’m sensing? Is impending fatherhood starting to weigh on him? Before I lose my own nerve, I put my hand on his thigh. I feel a surge of confidence when my hand settles.
This is good.
This is a step in the right direction.
I can take care of him the way he’s taken care of me.
But almost immediately after that naïve thought, Arsen’s jaw flexes. He adjusts his position so my hand flops to the sofa between us.
