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“Not her specifically, but from the hardships, the dangers in life. Giving the day to day challenges to someone else to handle frees you to take care of different, more appropriate things.”
I didn’t think ordering food was a hardship, but who was I to say? “What more appropriate things?”
“Your husband, family, home.”
I smiled. “So this dinner,” I moved my hand to indicate the table, “isn’t really a date. You’re looking for more, a lot more.”
Oh, boy. I was way over my head.
“I admit, I’ve been with women and knew they were never worthy of being my wife.” He took my hands in his large ones. “But the moment I met you, I knew. I want you to be my wife.”
14
Holy crap.
“Are you proposing?” I squeaked.
He shook his head, squeezed my fingers. “I’m sorry, I admit, I’m not doing this very well. No, it’s not a proposal. I’m stating my intentions. Letting you know I’m serious about you, about us.”
I pulled my hands free. “I have a life, a job,children.” As I took a big gulp of my beer, I wished I had something a whole lot stronger.
“Yes, you do. But your job, you work for your mother-in-law. She would understand your need to care for your family first. And I’m sure your children are wonderful, just like our children will be.”
This got weirder and weirder. I actually thought it was funny, and I tried not to laugh. This was every woman’s dream! A man who stated his intentions on the first date. Who wanted to commit. To have children. To provide for them in every way. A man who had a job, who was attractive, had all his hair, and most likely would for years to come.
To top it off, out of all the women out there, he wanted me! This was not good.
I didn’t want to live out in the boonies. I didn’t want more kids. I didn’t want to be Suzy Homemaker. I didn’t want to behiswife.
“Before you said you would take care of things for me. Take care of me. What does that mean?” I wanted clarification and would I take mental notes for Goldie. She’d love to learn the inner workings of a pseudo-Dom—if she didn’t know already!
Dex smiled, leaned forward. “If you were my wife, I’d expect you to manage my home, raise our children, be the proper, respectful wife at all times, especially in front of others.”
I could only imagine what that meant. And he wassooonot a Dom. He was a faux Dom.
“Behind closed doors,” he continued, “obedience, the ability to recognize my needs and take care of them immediately.”
Um. Hunh.
“And you, as husband and provider, what would I get from you?”
The waitress brought our salads.
Dex didn’t touch his but looked at me, intently, seriously. “I will take care of you financially, emotionally, physically. I will make decisions for you?—”
“Like what to eat?” I interrupted.
“I would offer my suggestion about what you serve, what you wear, where you go.”
Finally. The good stuff.
“These would all be things you like. A rare steak, a revealing dress, things like that?”
He nodded. “That’s correct. Wouldn’t you want to please me by serving food I like, wear the clothes that make you attractive to me, go places I feel are safe?”
I took a bite of salad, chewed slowly, and swallowed. Stalled. “What wife doesn’t want to do that for their husband?” I had to admit, he had a point. When I’d been married to Nate, I wanted to cook things he liked to eat. I often picked clothes that I knew would turn him on. I called him when I would be out late so he wouldn’t worry. “I did that for mine.”
Dex pointed his fork at me. “Exactly. When you came to the ranch last week, you were nervous, skittish.”
