To survive the next month, I must treat our marriage as the black ink on the white pages demands. As if it is a business transaction.
I realize I lie to protect my heart when I say, “I was asking her advice on a last-minute frock.”
I lift and lock my eyes with Mikhail’s, scarcely breathing when I notice how much pain is in his hooded gaze. He looks hurt, and since I’m reasonably sure I am responsible for the darkening of his usually light eyes, it burrows a hole in the middle of my chest.
It is a struggle to keep emotions out of my voice while moving our conversation in the direction it needs to go. “Your father’s benefactor gala is this weekend, and I have nothing suitable to wear.”
He nods in silent understanding, but it takes an excruciatingly long thirty seconds before he adds words to his nonverbal reply. “Is the gala something you’re interested in crossing off our list?”
He sucks in a surprised breath when the briskness of my nod ripples through the air, and then he smiles.
I’m hit with an unexpected bout of jealousy when he announces, “I have someone who could help you find a dress. She’s?—”
“She?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
I know how to trigger Mikhail’s jealousy because my own neuroses surface whenever he receives attention from women.
That was every damn minute we dated.
I was a pro at schooling my annoyance within months of our courtship, but even the most stringent skill set can malfunction after a prolonged absence of use.
Mikhail’s teeth shine in the moonlight. “Yes,she…” Jealousy jabs him in the ass firm enough to steal his grin. “Though I will need to attend the appointment with you.” His rake of my body this time isn’t pronged with anger. It is lusty and sends my pulse racing. “You’re Nesy’sexacttype.” His eyes return to my face, exposing their honesty. “And I don’t care about the gender. I don’t share.Ever.Especially not you.” His last three words are whispers, and they have me bowing out of this fight as I should have when he displayed contempt about our reunion being solely about money.
My surrender makes Mikhail so envious that he gives up without a fight. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow morning and get you an appointment. You will have your dress for the ball, Cinderella.”
For the first time in hours, the heaviness on my chest lifts enough for me to take a full breath. “Thank you.” I try to hold back the rest of my reply, but I wouldn’t be me without some stirring. “It’s about time you used your magic wand for good, Fairy Godfather.”
His laughter takes care of the nerves fluttering in my stomach, sending them lower. As do the words he speaks next. “I can think of far better things to use my magic wand on than a hideously pompous dress you’ll only wear once.”
I should stop this train now, end it before it gets out of control, but you’re always more daring under the cloak of darkness. “Such as?”
Lust floods my veins as his teeth graze his bottom lip.
Once, a long time ago, a smirk like that would have seen my underwear ripped off my body with one firm tug.
Tonight, it sees me going to bed horny and unfulfilled.Again.
Mikhail’s breath floats over my face as he says, “Night, Ember.”
I take a moment to relish a nickname I haven’t heard in years before I reply, “Night, Coal.”
Even with the tension easing tenfold after a small stint of playfulness, a sleepful slumber isn’t easy to come by. I eventually find it, but within an hour of its delayed arrival, I’m awoken by a gentle tug on my shoulder.
After I roll to face Mikhail, an arm digs between the mattress and my body while another prepares to perform a hook-like maneuver between my legs.
If the move wasn’t familiar, I would startle at being craned across the mattress and positioned over a warm body.
This was a nightly event for Mikhail and me during our three years together.
I’ll never forget it.
As a child, Mikhail was starved of affection and touch. Not only was he uncomfortable when I suggested a quick spoon as part of a marathon romp session aftercare routine, he was wholly opposed to it. He didn’t understand how two people could doze comfortably cocooned together, and he was confidentthat we would sleep more refreshingly on opposite sides of the mattress.
As I did multiple times during our tumultuous three years, I pushed him out of his comfort zone.
He became an addict of spooning after only one night.
It doesn’t matter the setting. Mikhail will always find a way to snuggle. I cherished his need for comfort while sleeping as much as I did my next orgasm, and the memories it instigates find me drawing into his embrace instead of withdrawing from it.
