“I don’t want to hear it, Christian.” Ana holds up her hand. “The time for talking was yesterday, but instead you decided to rant, and get drunk with the woman who abused you for years. Give her a call. I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to listen to you now.”
What?
Ana chooses a bra—the black lacy one—and slides it on and fastens it. I stride farther into the room and place my hands on my hips, glaring at her. She’s crossed a line.
“Why were you snooping on me?” I can’t believe she went through my texts.
“That’s not the point, Christian,” she hisses. “Fact is, the going gets tough, and you run to her.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“I’m not interested!” She stalks over to the bed while I gaze at her. Lost. She’s so cold. Who is this woman?
Sitting down, she stretches out a long, shapely leg, points her toes, and slowly eases one thigh-high up over her skin. My mouth goes from parched to desert as I watch her hands glide up her leg.
“Where were you?” It’s the only coherent sentence I can form. Ignoring me, she pulls on the other thigh-high with the same slow, sensual ease. Then she stands, turns away from me, and bends over to towel-dry her hair, her back in a perfect curve. It takes every remaining shred of my self-control not to grab her and toss her onto the bed. She stands up straight again, flicking her thick, wet mane of chestnut hair, so it cascades down her back below her bra line.
“Answer me,” I murmur. But she merely stalks back to the chest of drawers, picks up her hair dryer, and switches it on, wielding it like a weapon. The noise grates on my frayed nerves, unraveling them further.
What do I do when my wife ignores me?
I’m at a loss.
She rakes her fingers through her hair as she dries it and I fist my hands to stop myself from reaching out to her. I’m desperate to touch her and end this nonsense. But the memory of her hissing at me with such venom after the belting in the playroom comes to mind.
You are one fucked-up son of a bitch.
I pale. I don’t want a repeat of that.
Ever.
I watch her, wordless and mesmerized. It was only a few days ago that she let me dry her hair. She finishes with a flourish, her hair a riotous crown of chestnut streaked with red and gold that tumbles down over her shoulders. She is doing this on purpose. The thought revives my anger.
“Where were you?” I whisper.
“What do you care?”
“Ana, stop this. Now.”
She shrugs, like she doesn’t care, and my blood boils. I move quickly toward her, unsure what I’m going to do, but she whirls to face me like an avenging angel. “Don’t touch me,” she snarls through clenched teeth, and I’m catapulted back to that moment in my playroom when she left.
It’s sobering.
“Where were you?” I clench my fists to stop my hands from shaking.
“I wasn’t out getting drunk with my ex.” Her eyes blaze with righteous indignation. “Did you sleep with her?”
It’s like she’s punched me in the face.
I gasp. “What? No!” How could she think that? Sleep with Elena? “You think I’d cheat on you?” Christ, she thinks so little of me. A knot twists in my gut, and a memory, lost in a mist of red wine and bourbon, stirs.
“You did,” Ana continues. “By taking our very private life and spilling your spineless guts to that woman.”
“Spineless. That’s what you think?” Jesus, I thought I’d fucked up, but this is so much worse than I’d feared.
“Christian, I saw the text. That’s what I know.”
“That text was not meant for you!”
“Well, fact is I saw it when your BlackBerry fell out of your jacket, while I was undressing you because you were too drunk to undress yourself. Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me by going to see that woman?” She doesn’t pause for breath. “Do you remember last night when you came home? Remember what you said?”
Hell. No. What did I say last night? I was just mad at you, Ana. Shocked by your revelation. I want to say it, but I can’t find the words.
“Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you.”
My world grinds to an abrupt halt.
What does that mean?
“That’s what any loving parent does. That’s what your mother should have done for you. And I’m sorry that she didn’t—because we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now. You need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee, and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.” She’s on a roll.
I frown, and gape at her in all her glory. She’s naked except for sensational underwear, her hair a mahogany cloud spilling down to her breasts, dark eyes wide and desolate. The anger and hurt roll off her in waves, and in spite of all that, she’s stunning, and I am utterly lost. “You may not be happy about this baby,” she exclaims. “I’m not ecstatic, given the timing and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh. But you can either do this with me, or I’ll do it on my own. The decision is yours. While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing I’m going to work. And when I return, I’ll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs.”
She’s moving out. She’s leaving.
She is choosing the baby over me.
Panic overwhelms me. It’s like a knife in my guts.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed.”
My scalp prickles as I edge toward the abyss. She’s leaving. I step back. “Is that what you want?” My voice is a shocked whisper.
Her wounded eyes are impossibly wide as she scrutinizes me. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says quietly, and turning back to the mirror she smooths some face cream over her cheeks.
“You don’t want me?” There’s no oxygen in the room.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she says, as she opens and applies her mascara.
How can she be so cold?
“You’ve thought about leaving.” The abyss opens and yawns in front of me.
“When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign.” Her disdain drips from every word and pushes me closer to the abyss. Pursing her lips, she dabs on some lip gloss oh-so-fucking casually while I’m poised on the edge of this awful precipice.