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* * *
“Does Nathan talk to you?” I am tucked into the backseat of the Maybach, staring into eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s the first question I’ve asked him since the kiss. It’s funny how I now consider questions dangerous behavior.
* * *
His brow furrows. “Talk?”
* * *
This is new—an opening to discussion, something out of the ordinary for Drew. I lean forward. “You guys spend a lot of time together. With me, he is always quiet. Does he talk to you?”
* * *
“Yes. We’ve known each other a long time.” His eyes are now straight ahead.
* * *
A long time. That prompts a stack of new questions in my mind. I mull over them, trying to decide which is most important, which he is most likely to answer. Then he speaks, the question surprising me.
* * *
“What did he say to you? At lunch?”
* * *
I blink, the question so foreign and strange. I feel a childish urge to refuse to answer, to withhold the information until he gives me some. I look out the window. “Very little. We’re going to go on a trip to the Caribbean.” My mouth curves without prompting—a quiver of excitement lighting up my body. I had the entire meal to think about it: a trip, the island sun, cold frozen drinks, nights spent in Nathan’s bed, his hands on my body, mouth on my skin. I have never been out of the country, have only seen ads on television showing peaceful sunsets, steel drum music, and couples who are head over heels in love.
* * *
I snap out of my daydream, realizing that Drew has not spoken. I look up, my angle allowing me to see his profile, the tightness in his jaw alerting me that he is annoyed. The emotion baffles me. He keeps his face forward, then his jaw moves. “That’s interesting.”
* * *
This is the first conversation that Drew has ever instigated. My mind races. I’m searching for a question to ask him, wanting to grasp this opportunity before talkative Drew slips away. Since I married Nathan, the questions have stacked up, a teetering mountain of them in my mind. “Would you go?” The words jut out of my mouth, the question that I was too scared to ask Nathan, but one that I need the answer to.
* * *
He doesn’t respond, and the silence is uncomfortable, long, and thick. “Nathan mentioned it was a business trip, and that you’d handle the arrangements. I just thought that maybe …” I abandon the useless sentence. I shouldn’t have to explain my questions; he never bothers to explain anything. He is still mad, his jaw continuing to do that clenching thing, the tension stifling in the car.
* * *
“I don’t know if I am attending, but I typically don’t.” He flexes his hands and tightens them on the steering wheel. “When does he want to go?”
* * *
I don’t know how I should feel at his words. Elated that Nathan and I will have the time alone? That is the proper response. Certainly the response that a committed, doesn’t-look-at-other-men wife should have. I glance out the window, the city turning into suburbia, our Maybach catching the eye of ordinary life. I almost forget to respond, Drew’s expectant silence reminding me. “Uh … in a month. I need to get a passport.”
* * *
His reflection almost hides the darkening of his eyes, the scowl across that face, the temperature in the car cooling slightly. Anger. I have no idea where it is coming from, and no idea at whom it is directed; I didn’t even ask a lot of questions. I look out the window, pressing my body against the curve of the seat, wanting to put distance between me and the black cloud who is driving. Inside my mind, the questions scream for attention, their shrill shrieks causing my head to ache, building a pain in my temple that urges me to shut my eyes.
* * *
Blackness.
Road noise.
The soft sounds of music.
The headache fades, lulled to death by sleep.
* * *
I awaken in Drew’s arms, his face close to mine, his arms gently lowering me into my bed. I don’t think. I don’t speak. I reach up, and before my mind can say a word, pull his mouth to mine.
CHAPTER 28
There is not a moment of hesitation in his kiss, his hands releasing me, his mouth following mine as I fall the final inches onto the bed. He moves above me, our lips moving, tongues intertwining, mouths crushing, tasting each other fully.
* * *
My sleep-drugged mind slowly wakes as I move, alarm bells blaring at the implications of what we are doing. But the forbiddance, the risk of being caught, only makes it hotter. My hands scramble over his chest, fumbling down to tug at his belt, my fingers frantic in their quest to have him unzipped and exposed. I can feel him pushing out, his pants tenting, his readiness impressive.
