Guilt. So much guilt.
Guilt about being gone long enough for Isabella to pull that stunt. Guilt toward not tending to her husband’s needs, one of the few things that gave her joy in the soul. Even if they weren’t a full-time kinky couple, Monica would feel guilty that her husband gave herthat lookwhen he brought up some intimacy and she rebuffed him.
“I’m going to draw you a bath, Princess.” He headed toward the bathroom, hands still in his pockets. “I expect you to come and enjoy it. Even if that’s all you do.”
She continued to fixate on her vanity, even when she heard the water burst to life in the tub and saw the reflection of her husband in her mirror. Henry took off his day clothes andchanged into his pajamas, the shirt left open as he walked into the room now full of steam. Monica was biting on her nail when she realized she needed to get up and do something besides stewing in her anxiety.
So she got up and took off her pantsuit. Freeing her body of clothing helped her feel more normal. More vulnerable.
When she stepped into the bathroom doorway, she was down to her underwear. Henry sat by the tub, looking expectantly at her.
“You’re a sweet man.” She unhooked her bra and let it fall to the carpet in the bedroom. “I don’t deserve you, Henry Warren.”
“People don’t deserve each other if you think about it. But I like to think I deserve you, Monica Graham.”
He called her by her maiden name, a name she hadn’t gone by – personally or professionally – in ten years. How serendipitous that it coincided with her dropping her panties to the bathroom floor as she entered the room, naked.
The water was the exact temperature she always set it to for herself. The bubble bath was the moisturizing kind that smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Her hair tucked to the nape of her neck as Henry sat behind her and rubbed her shoulders the moment she was submerged.
“Does it feel nice?” he asked.
Was he talking about the bath or the way he rubbed her shoulders? “Yes. Thank you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I just want you to know that I’m here. You don’t have to go through what you’re thinking about alone.”
Monica placed a hand on his and kissed his fingers. “Are you buttering me up?”
“Maybe. But I also mean it. I love you, Princess. I want you to be the happiest woman I know.”
“What about our daughter?”
“Don’t scare me like that. She’s not old enough to be a woman yet.”
His admonishment made her laugh for the first time all day.
“So, what’s been on your mind?”
“You need to tell him.”Ethan’s words said more than Henry’s, but Monica still couldn’t bring herself to talk about Jackson’s role in everything. She had gone so deep down the rabbit hole that she would have to start with him helping her find Abigail before she could mention Onyx Blue and Jackson’s attempt to become the dominant silent partner in her business. Never mind what happened in the Salon that day…
Could Monica go another day without bringing it up? For her sake?
“Do you remember that ballet we saw a few months ago? The one where there were twenty ballerinas on the stage at once in the finale? That’s how my brain feels right now. They’re all lined up on the stage, wearing uniform tutus, but the constant pirouetting and en pointe walking is overwhelming. I don’t know how to organize it all together right now.”
His hands slowed their massage on her shoulders. “But you’ll tell me soon, yes?”
Such a desperate whisper broke her heart. The man loved her. Still. This gentle giant of a man would move the earth if he knew how. All for his family.
“Yes. I promise. I’ll tell you everything.” There. She had fulfilled her promise to Ethan.
Henry kissed her again. “You relax here. I’ll be right back. Just need to do a couple of things in the bedroom. Ah…”
“What?”
“I want you to decide. Handcuffs or spreader bar?”
Her nipples peaked in the hot water. “Both.”
Henry went into the bedroom. Monica leaned her head back against the tub and closed her eyes, attempting to be present inthe moment. The same moment when her husband wanted to be her everything and nothing less.
