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Is this what our marriage will be like? He asked me to tell him what I was thinking and how I feel, but at the same time, he only kept to surface stuff during our meal. I’m so confused, and it makes me feel ridiculous and immature, and not even close to being ready to be a wife and a mother.
As he smiles at me, I’m questioning every decision, every favor I’ve asked of him. Is it fair to manipulate this man into being my husband, into raising my child as his own when I hate everyone for deceiving me, lying to me for nearly my entire life?
“You seem lost in your head,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing sweet circles on the backs of my hands. “Do you want to talk about anything?”
I shake my head, an immediate response. Talking could lead to confessing my doubts, and then he’d back out for my own good, and I can’t have that happen.
“I’d like to go to bed,” I tell him, my cheeks flaming with heat at the chance that someone else in the room may hear me say those words.
“Come on.” He helps me from the sofa, tucking me into his side. I keep my eyes on the floor as we exit the room. I don’t know anyone but Cara, and I can speak with her tomorrow.
“Kincaid has offered to let you stay in your own room.”
We’ve convinced them that we’re in love and having a baby. How many questions would it raise if we didn’t go to sleep in the same room?
“I don’t want to raise suspicions,” I tell him, keeping myself close to his body as we walk down the hall. He hasn’t attempted to pull away, and honestly, I’m reluctant to as well.
It doesn’t mean anything, I try to convince myself. Maybe I have mommy issues or daddy issues. It’s probably a combination of both. How pitiful is it for me to be in my current situation and thinking about how I wasn’t hugged enough as a child? I mean, Mom was around before meeting Charles. It wasn’t until then that things really changed and most contact just stopped. I would go days without seeing her, and since Cara was older, she stayed at a different location at the compound. I’d see both of them for meals because eating as family was part of the routine, but I couldn’t speak to them, couldn’t lift my hand to wave, or whisper a confession that I was feeling unloved and alone despite constantly being around other people.
I feel that way now, the urge to just reach out and touch, a reminder that I’m real and valued, like acid in my gut begging me to take action.
It’s that need, that sinful selfishness that has me pulling away from Nate the second he opens the door to his room.
“Do you mind if I stay in here with you?”
His plump lips turn down in the smallest frown, but he shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”
I nod, grabbing a change of clothes from my bags at the foot of the bed and shuffle quickly into the bathroom. I wash my face, use a spare toothbrush I find under the sink, and wait a little longer, just standing there looking in the mirror before gaining enough courage to leave the room.
I enter into mostly darkness, the room only illuminated by soft lamplight from the bedside table.
Instead of offering to sleep on the floor, Nate is in the bed, under the covers. Thrills I shouldn’t feel tangle with a pinch of fear. It’s not that I feel unsafe in here alone with him. I don’t think he’d try anything, and if he did, I can’t imagine him continuing if I asked him to stop.
What worries me is the chance I won’t be able to say no. It’s not that I want to have any form of physical relations with him. Those impure thoughts have no place in my head, but I don’t feel like I have any right to say no to him if he does make advances.
“Are we going to—”
“We’re going to sleep, April. Come to bed.”
Come to bed.
Has every word out of his mouth today sounded as husky as that demand?
I feel like my skin is being pricked with a million tiny needles as I pull back a small corner of the blanket and climb between the sheets.
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not,” I rush out.
“I’m not going to touch you. We’re just sleeping.”
I nod, turning over and pointing my back in his direction. This may not be the safest position, but I know I can’t risk the chance of him watching my face. I feel like I have a year’s worth of tears straining the backs of my eyes, and I know he won’t just let it go if he sees even one fall.
