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THE WEEKEND COMES, and at Sunday supper I’m struggling not to be jealous of Melissa.
I’m not normally a jealous person. I know everyone says that, but I think it’s actually true in my case. And my sisters are the last people in the world I’d ever be envious of since I want them to be happier than me.
But we’re sitting at Pop’s dining room table, eating fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and homemade biscuits, and Pop is being his normal self—which means half the time he’s genuinely jovial and half the time he’s making needling comments about things in the world that displease him.
At the moment, he’s aiming those needling remarks at Melissa, implying that her recent restructuring of a couple of departments in the company is just her on a power trip.
He never actually says the words, you understand. He just implies them.
But everyone at the table knows what he’s saying.
He’s been like this all our lives, even when we were just girls who’d lost their parents and suddenly had to live with our grandfather. You eventually learn how to deal with a person like this and recognize that even his manipulation is based in a core of love.
It’s not that the love ever excuses the hurt. But it does change something—knowing he loves us.
I’ve always known he loves us. I could see it even when my sisters couldn’t. Pop is like a Dickens character whose over-the-top cantankerousness is based on a helplessness at watching the world change around him.
He still hurts us sometimes—particularly my sisters. And tonight I can see he’s hurt Melissa.
Her husband, Trevor, has his hand wrapped around his water glass as Pop starts to needle. I watch his fingers, damp from the condensation on the glass, tighten, whiten, finally let go before he squeezes the glass too hard.
Trevor is a handsome, intelligent man who has a way with words and an ironic sense of humor. He presents a slick front to the world that doesn’t really reflect his warm heart. I watch him as he reaches under the table now and takes Melissa’s hand, holding it in his lap while Pop talks.
That’s when I’m jealous.
Not of Trevor. I like him a lot, but I’d never want him for myself.
I’m jealous of the gesture. Of what it means.
Trevor loves Melissa so much, and he knows how she’s feeling. He wants to comfort her, take care of her, show her that he’s with her. So he holds her hand under the table, assuming no one else will see it.
But I see it, and I want a man who will love me that way.
I want a husband who will love me that way.
And I don’t have one.
Hunter doesn’t hold my hand unless he’s trying to drag me somewhere. And he doesn’t hug me or comfort me unless I strangle up the courage to awkwardly ask him. With Melissa and Trevor it’s natural.
Not contrived.
Not arranged.
They just love each other.
And Hunter and I don’t.
There’s that part of Little Women where Jo acts stupidly with Aunt March and loses the chance to go to Europe with her, which is something she always dreamed of. So she has to stay at home and watch Amy live out her dream instead.
My heart has always ached for Jo when I read that part. I feel for Jo so deeply. That ache at watching someone else lay claim to your dream, live out what you’ve always wanted for yourself.
But Jo in the book feels even worse because she knows she did it to herself. Her own actions put her in that position.
That’s me right now.
I can’t complain. I can’t whine. I can’t even legitimately feel discontent with what I have.
Because I asked for it.
I made it happen.
I thought it was what I wanted.
It is what I want in a lot of ways. This marriage—Hunter—has given me experiences I wasn’t sure I’d ever have.
Experiences I wouldn’t trade.
But I still feel what’s missing. I can’t help it.
I’m not looking for a pity party, and I know I have it way better than most.
But no man has ever loved me the way Trevor loves Melissa, and sometimes it hurts to admit this.
What’s even harder is admitting that it’s possible that no man ever will.
Some people go through their entire lives without experiencing that kind of love. I may well be one of them.
Hunter hasn’t said a word all through dinner, but that’s not unusual. He’s always quiet at Sunday supper and only speaks if someone asks him a direct question. I don’t blame him. I’d probably do the exact same thing if I was thrown in the middle of a family that wasn’t mine.
We’re sitting beside each other but not touching in any way. He’s not particularly tense, as far as I can tell, but he’s obviously hiding his real self somewhere deep inside.
We all get up from the table before dessert and head into the living room where Pop turns on the television.
The first commercial in the new ad campaign that Trevor developed for Pop’s is about to air, and we’re all going to watch it.
Melissa and Trevor take the love seat, and Chelsea sits on one side of the couch, so Hunter and I sit next to her. Hunter is in the middle, and he sits closer to me than to her, which is a perfectly normal thing to do.
So I end up with my thigh pressed up against Hunter’s. Our hips touching. He puts his arm on the back of the couch, again a perfectly normal thing to do in close quarters.
It must look like we’re a couple, like we’re together.
Husband and wife.
But we’re not really. Not the way Trevor and Melissa are.
I have to admit that part of me wishes we were.
We all grow silent as the commercial comes on, and everyone watches it with rapt attention.
It’s brilliant. Funny and polished and compelling. We all clap when it’s over—except Pop, of course, who never claps—and Chelsea gives a loud cheer.
Trevor looks a little sheepish as Melissa wraps her arms around him, and I feel that pang of jealousy again, but I push it away.
I’m not going to be that person. The one who wants what her sister has, the one who isn’t content with the decisions she’s made for herself.
Hunter doesn’t have to love me.
He’s always fulfilled his side of our bargain, and I know he always will.
When Pop mutters, “Not bad,” we all know the commercial is a huge success.
***
ON THE WAY HOME, I try to make conversation about dinner and the commercial, but Hunter clearly isn’t in a chatty mood.
He’s in his brooding mood, the one where he’s pulled all his thoughts and feelings inside, hiding them from me, from the world.
I sit in silence for a while until I finally ask, “Is something wrong?”
He turns his eyes to me like he’s surprised. “No. Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You just seem... like something is wrong.”
“It’s not.”
I stare at him for a minute, and know he’s not telling me the truth. “You said you’d never lie to me.”
His lips tighten beneath his beard. He doesn’t say anything for a full minute. It’s like he’s having an internal struggle. Then he finally says, “I’m sorry I’m not like Trevor.”
I gasp. Literally gasp. So loudly it rasps in the quiet car.
Had he read my mind? Had he seen through my mood?
I’ve always assumed I’m fairly self-contained, but with Hunter it’s like I’m always wearing my feelings right there on my face. “I don’t want you to be like Trevor.”
“Don’t you?” His eyebrows are raised as he shifts his gaze to me again briefly before he turns back to the road.
I’m so, so afraid that he knows I want him to love me.
I might be stretching, changing, trying to be less perfect, more real.
But never in the world can I live with letting Hunter know I have feelings for him that aren’t returned.
“No,” I manage to say. “I like Trevor, but... no.”
“You don’t want a husband who’s made a success of his life? A husband your grandfather doesn’t always think is tainting his perfect angel?” Hunter’s tone is offhand, but it’s just a cover. He’s asking a real question, and one that goes very deep for him.
And I suddenly see that he hasn’t read my mind after all. He sensed something in me over dinner but misinterpreted it completely.
“No!” I’m urgent now, reaching over to touch his arm. “Hunter, no. It’s not like that.”
“Oh it is. I promise that’s what Pop thinks every time he sees me. I’m making you... dirty.”
“I don’t care what Pop thinks. It’s not what I think. I’m not an angel.”
He responds to my urgency with a dry little smile that at least is better than his angsty brooding earlier. “You kind of are.”
“I am not. I thought... I thought you understood that I don’t want to be that way, always trying to be perfect.”
His face changes again. “I know. You’re not one for real. But you’re still like an angel to me.”
He couldn’t have said anything that would have touched my heart any more. My throat closes up around the emotion.
Then he adds in that light, casual tone again, “So you really don’t want a husband you can be proud of?”
“No!” I’m responding to the root question, but I suddenly realize what I’m saying. “I mean, yes, of course, but I am proud of you.”
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m not lying. I’m not. I think you’re amazing. I always have. And I’m so proud of how hard you’re working, how you’ve turned your life around, everything you’re doing. I am. I don’t want any other husband but you.”
Okay, a little more came out than I’d intended, and my face grows hot in the dim light of the car.
Hunter meets my eyes briefly, and I see that my words have meant something to him.
It makes me feel different.
Makes me feel better.
“I’m trying,” he says at last. Very softly.
I reach out to touch his arm again. “I know you are. Both of us are. We’re not like Melissa and Trevor. All we can do is try.”
He smiles, and I let out a breath.
Evidently I said the right thing.
***
I READ IN BED FOR ABOUT a half hour before Hunter joins me. He doesn’t say anything as he climbs under the covers. Just reaches over and turns out the lights.
He doesn’t seem to be in a sexy, playful mood, so I’m surprised when he moves over on top of me. “You wanna have sex?” he murmurs.
“Sure.”
It’s dark in the room. I feel his breath. Feel his weight. Feel his beard. Feel an intensity that’s different than normal.
He kisses me, and he keeps kissing me as he strokes my body and takes off my pajamas. Soon I’m aroused, but Hunter doesn’t stop kissing me.
Even when he finally lines himself up and enters me, his lips are still moving over mine.
My head spins and my body throbs and my heart is doing something else, something stronger, deeper, harder.
Scarier.
This is different.
It feels different.
And I’m so afraid it’s going to make me think things that just aren’t true.
But I can’t tell him to stop. I can’t pull away. I don’t want him to.
I want this.
I want him.
Exactly like this.
He’s moving over me in a steady, sensual rhythm that’s rocking my whole body, my heart, everything.
It’s dark in the room, so I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to see him. I can feel him. All over. Inside.
“Sam,” he murmurs thickly, speaking the words against my lips. “Sam, angel.”
I’m not close to coming. It’s not even a possibility. I’m too full of far too much that’s far more important to me.
It feels like he wants a response so I whisper, “Hunter.”
“Can you come?”
“No. No. I want it just like this.”
“I can—”
“No. I want it like this. You come.” I squeeze my inner muscles around him, making his body tighten, making him grunt.
“Angel.” One of his hands is holding on to my bottom, lifting me slightly as his thrusts become more urgent.
I squeeze around him again. “Come, Hunter. Come.”
He lets out a raspy exhale as his hips jerk and roll. Then I feel the tension break in him, and it’s exactly what I want.
Exactly what I need.
Him to want me, need me like this.
He buries his head against my neck as his body softens. I’m wet from his release, but it’s not uncomfortable yet.
I stroke his head, his back. I feel the sated leisure of his body.
He’s my husband, and at this moment, he really feels like it.
My husband, even more than my friend.
***
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up feeling like everything has changed.
I’ve been waking up fairly regularly when Hunter comes back from his run around seven, which is much earlier than I used to. I don’t actually get out of bed then. That would be ridiculous. But I’m nearly always awake as he gets dressed and ready for work, and we talk about our plans for the day.
Today I wake up to discover that he’s already in the shower. I hear the water, so I stretch out under the covers and wait.
I wonder what he’ll say today.
I wonder if he’ll look at me the way he did yesterday.
I wonder if he’ll kiss me, touch me that way.
I want him to.
So I’m definitely disappointed when he comes out of the bathroom in just his underwear and barely gives me a second glance as he mumbles good morning.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask, analyzing his expression for some clue about his mood.
I can’t get a good read on him because he doesn’t meet my eyes as he pulls on a white T-shirt and then his trousers. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Good.”
I wait but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t continue the conversation.
My fluttering heart starts to sink. It might feel like everything has changed to me, but obviously nothing has changed for him.
“Do you have a lot going on today?” I ask, pleased when my voice sounds normal.
“Uh, no. Well, yeah, I guess. I won’t be home for dinner tonight.” He’s pulled on his blue Oxford and is busy with the buttons. He moved his clothes in here a couple of weeks ago since he sleeps in here all the time anyway.
“Why not?”
He looks distracted, unfocused. “Why not what?”
“Why won’t you be home for dinner?”
“Oh. I have plans.”
It would make sense for him to mention to me what those plans are. It seems like a normal thing to do—to tell your wife what’s keeping you away at dinner. Hunter doesn’t though. He’s tucking in his shirt and evidently too busy for a regular conversation.
“What plans?” Two months ago I wouldn’t have asked, but I’m getting upset and I can’t hold back the question.
He blinks at me for a few seconds. “Oh. Just with a friend. Nothing big.”
Who the hell is this friend?
If this friend is a female, then I’m seriously going to tear someone’s hair out.
Before I can follow up to get more information, Hunter finishes buckling his belt and heads for the door. “I’ve got an early meeting, so I need to get going. I’ll see you tonight.”
I stare at his back as he leaves. “See you.”
He has to put on his socks and shoes and then probably fills up a mug with coffee before he leaves. But it’s not long before he’s gone. It’s a minute before I hear the apartment door open and close.
And I have to wonder if I imagined last night.
Or maybe I took a regular night and transformed it into something unreal in my mind.
I lie in bed and mull over this for a long time and finally come to the conclusion that I did.
I didn’t imagine what happened, but I imagined what it meant.
And I was wrong.
Hunter was rushed and distracted this morning, but he wasn’t mean or rude. He was normal. I’m the one who wasn’t.
I was hoping for something that was never going to happen.
I’m not going to do it again.
I know I have feelings for Hunter. I had them way back in high school, and I guess they never really went away. They rekindled as we wrote those letters while he was in prison. Then for the past two months, they’ve grown and changed into something bigger, harder, more substantial.
But I’m not a stupid woman. I’ve never been a stupid woman.
And I’m not going to put my hopes in something that will never pan out.
So I’ll take what I get. A friend. A husband of convenience. Someone I can have fun with and who can help me do things I might not otherwise get to do.
But that’s it.
Being smart is the one thing I’ve always been good at, and I’m not going to lose it now.
I can be smart about this too.
Hunter is under no obligation to love me, so I shouldn’t expect him to act like he does.
It’s an emotional balancing act—this precarious pull between acceptance and expectation.
But I’m usually good at things.
I can make it work.
***
I KEEP UP THE EMOTIONAL balancing act for the next two weeks, and it seems to be working. We fall into a normal pattern of working, chatting, having sex, and living our own lives, and nothing feels too dangerously intimate.
Two Mondays later, in the afternoon, I’m lying on my bed reading a book.
It’s not a book for class. It’s a romance novel that just came out by an author I usually like. And it’s very sexy.
For the past two months, I’ve had more sex than I’ve ever had in my life. Very satisfying sex. Physically, I’m lacking nothing, but I still get turned on as I read.
The book is sexier than I expect, and I end up getting very turned on.
It’s only four in the afternoon. Hunter won’t be home for a couple of hours. I’m not going to lie around aroused and frustrated waiting for him when there’s something obvious I can do to take care of it.
I do have a vibrator, and I used to use it fairly often. I haven’t recently. I haven’t felt like I needed to.
It’s in the drawer of the nightstand where it’s always been, so I reach over to pull it out.
I’m aroused enough that I could use my hand, but the vibrator is easier and quicker.
I check the batteries, and they’re still working. I don’t need to take off any clothes. It’s plenty strong enough to work through my panties and yoga pants. I just bend my knees, spread my legs, and hold the vibrator over my clit as I turn it on.
The device makes a low hum, and it stimulates me pleasantly. In less than a minute, I’m rolling my hips and arching my neck as I gasp through a decent but unremarkable orgasm.
I keep the vibrator on for a little while to sustain the contractions even longer. Then I relax and flip the switch off.
I open my eyes, pleasantly relaxed, to discover that Hunter is standing in the doorway of the room.
I squeal and scramble up into a sitting position.
“What are you doing here?”
He blinks as he steps into the room. His body is slightly stiff, and his face is flushed. “I live here.”
“I know you live here, but it’s just four o’clock. Why aren’t you still at work?”
“They let us off a couple of hours early because we finished that big project.” He comes even closer to the bed, and I recognize the smolder in his eyes. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing.” I’m embarrassed. I admit it.
I know I’m not the only woman who gets herself off. I know it’s a normal, natural thing to do for women of all ages in all situations.
But still...
I don’t want someone else to see it.
Even my husband.
“Why did you need that thing?”
“Because I... I... what does it matter?”
“Am I not satisfying you?” His voice is low and hoarse now.
I gasp, my embarrassment vanishing immediately. “Of course you are! This has nothing to do with that.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. I was just... just reading a book. And it got me going.”
His face relaxes, and I can see his brief insecurity is answered. The smolder returns to his eyes as he reaches for my e-reader.
“Hey!” I try to take it from his hands, but he holds it out of my reach. “That’s my book. You can’t just—”
I break off my words because he’s already reading the page I left it on.
I see his eyes widen as he reads.
“It’s a good book,” I say, starting to blush again as I remember what happens in that scene.
“You like this?”
“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
He raises his eyes. “You want to do it?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You mean...”
“I mean we can do this if you want.”
I swallow hard. “It’s... it’s a pretty long sex scene.”
“Are you implying I’m not up to the job?”
I giggle, embarrassed and excited and strangely thrilled. “You mean right now?”
“I’ve got a free afternoon, and this evidently got you going. Why shouldn’t we try it?”
“Okay.”
When he meets my eyes again, we both smile.
“Let me find the beginning of this thing,” he says, scrolling back in my e-reader. It takes him a couple of minutes to find the beginning of the scene and then a couple of minutes to skim through it.
I just lay there, getting more and more excited.
“Okay,” he says at last. “It starts against the wall. So get your ass up and go stand against the wall.”
I frown. “You don’t have to be bossy about it.”
“Stand up, angel. Against the wall.”
I hate to admit it, but my whole body gives a hard clench. I roll out of bed and go to the wall with the most empty space in the bedroom, pressing my back against the hard surface.
Hunter is reading again, and it’s really quite cute how serious he’s taking it.
After another minute, he puts down the e-reader. “Take off your clothes.”
I freeze.
His eyes are smoldering again and his voice is huskier than normal as he says, “It starts with her already naked. So take off your clothes.”
I’ve been naked around him a lot since we’ve gotten married, but it seems different right now. It’s the middle of the day. It’s bright in the room. He’s fully dressed, and I’m... not going to stay that way.
“Take them off.”
“Bossy,” I mutter, but I’m already pulling off my T-shirt. Then I slide down my yoga pants and kick them off over my feet. I take my socks off too since it’s not going to look very sexy if I’m wearing socks with no clothes.
Now I just have my bra and panties on, and Hunter is watching me from a few feet away.
“All of them. Take them off.”
My body is already pulsing with excitement as I unhook my bra and let it drop to the floor. My breasts bounce a little as I move, and the air is cool against my flushed skin. I peel off my panties, and then I’m standing against the wall naked.
And Hunter doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything but stare.
I take it, since it seems like I’ll lose the challenge if I tell him to hurry up.
Then he finally takes three steps forward and sinks down onto his knees in front of me.
Then he parts my legs even farther and reaches to hold me open with his fingers.
His head tilts forward until he’s breathing on my hot intimate flesh.
I was aroused from reading and then more aroused from stripping for him, so I’m wet and hot and swollen already when he gives my clit a flick with his tongue.
I cry out and grab for his head, pressing my back against the wall.
His tongue is doing amazing things down there, and my body is responding quickly. My thighs and stomach tense up, and I dig my fingers into his scalp as he works me up to orgasm.
Then he sucks hard on my clit, and I fly apart, making an embarrassing sobbing sound as I shake and gasp.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles as he rises to his feet. “Now turn around,” he says.
I do what he says. This is what happens in the book, after all.
“Bend at the waist and brace your hands against the wall. Then wait for me.”
I move into position, feeling shaky from the aftermath of my climax and completely exposed, completely helpless.
This is what I wanted, but it’s not exactly what I thought.
It feels rawer.
Harder.
More precarious.
I’m so turned on I feel moisture leaking down one of my inner thighs, and I have no idea what Hunter is doing behind me.
When I turn my head to look, he says, “I told you to wait for me.”
I turn my head back to the wall and close my eyes.
“Your ass is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasps, closer than he was before.
I suddenly feel his hands there, running over the curves, squeezing the flesh, cupping and holding me there.
This isn’t in the book. He’s doing this on his own.
My butt has never been my best feature, but it sounds like he really likes the look of it.
Shivers of pleasure run through me.
“Are you ready for me?” he asks, running his fingers down the crack until he’s found where I’m hot and wet.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
“You’re so turned on.”
“Yes. Please.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this turned on before. Look how wet you are.”
I whimper. I know I just had an orgasm a few minutes earlier, but I need more. I need it so much.
“You like being on display this way. You like waiting for me to do things to do you. You think you’re vanilla, but you’re really not.”
There’s nothing in the world I can say. I just whimper again.
“Listen to you. You’re dying for me to touch you again.”
“Please.”
“Please what?”
I don’t actually know what he’s looking for me to say. I search my mind for scenes from books that might clue me in. “Please... sir?”
I hear a choking sound and realize he’s laughing. “Did you just call me sir?”
Despite my arousal, I’m having trouble not giggling myself. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to say.”
“Would you really have called me sir if I asked you?” It sounds like he’s even closer, and I realize he’s leaned over me when he presses a kiss against the side of my neck.
“I might have tried it out,” I admit. “But I don’t think I’d have done it more than a couple of times.”
“That’s what I thought.” He straightens up and caresses my bottom again. “I meant please, what do you want me to do?”
“Oh. I get it.” I close my eyes and let out a breath, quickly falling back into my previous mood. “Please, I want you to fuck me.”
“Then I will.”
I’m holding my breath as he pulls my ass cheeks apart and nudges me with the head of his erection until he’s found my entrance. He pushes into me, and he feels bigger and fuller in this position.
My back is stretched uncomfortably, and I don’t feel entirely stable. But I push against the wall as he pushes into me.
He fucks me hard and fast, shaking my body with his motion. The slapping sound of our bodies connecting is almost as arousing as the friction.
Hunter huffs as he thrusts, holding on to fistfuls of my ass. He fucks me until I come, and then he keeps going until I’m losing it again, grunting like an animal, unable to recognize the sound of my voice.
When I come the second time, my hands are slipping on the wall. Hunter pulls out—still hard—and wraps an arm around me to help me stand up.
My knees are weak, and my back is sore, and my body is feeling no pain.
I slump against him, and he hugs me for a minute, even though I can feel the tension of arousal all through his body.
“He ties her up next in the book,” Hunter murmurs against my hair.
“I know.” I hesitate, taking a ragged breath. “I don’t know if I want to do that.”
“You can trust me.”
“I... I know.” I try to imagine myself tied up in bed for Hunter to do what he wants to. Part of me likes the idea—the way I liked being exposed to him against the wall—but another part of me finds it terrifying. “Let’s skip that part.”
“Okay. Then go get on the bed. You know what position.”
I gulp. This is better than being tied up, but it still feels helpless and undignified. I chickened out on one thing already, however, and I’m not going to chicken out on this. I get on the bed, rolling over onto my stomach. Then I raise my butt into the air.
He stands and looks at me for a while. A long while.
I’m hot and urgent again from waiting for him, and I’m still so wet it’s almost uncomfortable.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “You’re the hottest thing ever.”
I feel hot. Sexy. Someone entirely different than I thought I was.
He’s finally getting on the bed and moving into position behind me.
Then he takes me from behind, bracing himself on the headboard. He fucks me hard, shaking the bed, shaking my body, shaking my entire world—until I’m coming so hard I’m almost screaming with it.
I never scream in bed, so this is definitely a noteworthy occurrence.
I think it’s over, but it’s not. He reaches behind him and grabs the vibrator I dropped on the bed earlier.
I hear the hum as he turns it on, and then he reaches around to hold it against my clit as he thrusts.
I come and come again and somehow keep coming. I lose track of everything except the sensations. I’m sobbing into the pillow, my body drenched with sweat and wracked with pleasure when Hunter drops the vibrator, grabs me by my bottom, and pushes into me hard.
He’s coming at last. He lets out a loud bellow as he falls over the edge, and he keeps pushing hard inside me as he rides out the release.
Then he collapses on top of me, which isn’t exactly comfortable because my butt is still in the air.
We manage to untangle ourselves a little. I’m stretched out, still on my stomach, and he’s halfway on top of me. I’m hot and panting, and I hear his gasps at my ear, feel his breath on my skin, my hair.
When I’m able to turn my head back to look at him, he raises his so he can kiss me.
“I think we did pretty good over all.”
“Yeah,” I gasp. “Oh yeah.”
“As good as reading the book.”
“Better.” I mean it, knowing he’ll understand as I add, “Realer.”
“Yeah.” He kisses me again. “That’s as real as it gets.”
I have to remember my emotional balancing act because my heart is breaking out in crazy flutters at his words, at the look in his eyes.
This is one of the good things I get from being married to him.
But it doesn’t mean he loves me.
I have to keep remembering that.