by Noelle Adams
My suite, made up of a large bedroom, a bathroom, a dressing room, and small sitting room, faced the front of the house. Edward’s was on the same wing but faced the back. His door was across the hall and farther down toward the stairs.
I’d made it down the hall and reached the top of the stairs when I stopped, seeing Edward coming up them. He wore a suit, and his tie was loosened. He had a slight five o’clock shadow, and his hair was rather mussed.
He looked incredibly sexy. I felt a rush of interest in my body as I gazed down at him.
I still couldn’t believe this man was my husband.
He’d been taking the steps two at a time, but he slowed down when he saw me. “I thought you’d be in bed.”
“I was. But I heard you drive up.”
He slowed even more as he approached me, and he paused on the step just two below where I stood. At this level, he was just at my height, and we could look at each other without tilting our heads.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said at last.
“I wasn’t asleep. Was everything all right with work?”
“Yes. Just a lot to catch up on. How was your day?”
“It was fine.”
“Just let me know if there’s anything you need—for the house, or... or whatever. Just let me know.”
He sounded slightly stilted, but I appreciated the offer. He was a generous man. Far more generous than I’d recognized before we were married. “Thank you. I will.”
We stared at each other some more.
I was very hard-pressed not to reach out to him, to kiss his agile mouth, to run my hands down his strong body. But he looked very tired. His eyes were slightly stretched. He’d just been working for sixteen hours straight.
I could hardly ask him to pleasure me, on top of all the work he’d already done today. If he’d offered, if he’d made a move, if he’d even said a word that implied he’d be interested, that would be different. But he didn’t do anything of the kind. He just stood there.
I wasn’t going to ask.
I wasn’t going to be the kind of wife who expected her husband to do anything she wanted, just because she’d been waiting for it all day.
I wouldn’t be the kind of woman who always threw herself at the man she wanted.
“You look tired,” I said at last.
“I guess I am.”
I nodded and finally realized I was blocking his way. No wonder he was just standing there. I stood between him and the door to his room.
I moved out of the way, and he took the final steps up.
“Well,” I said, my voice slightly cracked, “get some rest.”
“You too.”
I hid my disappointment as I turned around and walked back toward my own rooms. I glanced back once and saw he was at the door to his room, his head turned to watch me walk away.
I gave him a little smile, but he didn’t say anything.
I wasn’t going to beg for sex.
I wasn’t going to be that person.
We had plenty of time.
He knew what he was doing where sex was concerned. He was more than capable of letting me know he was interested. And surely he knew from my responses last time that I would be quite receptive.
He was tired tonight.
I would just wait until he made a move.
HE DIDN’T MAKE A MOVE. Not for the next two weeks.
Every day I got more confused, disappointed, and hurt by it.
For the first few days, I made an effort to spend time with him. We had dinner whenever he was at home, and our conversation was pleasant and mostly natural. But then he’d end up leaving and going into the room with the locked door on the first floor—the one I assumed was his office.
No sex.
Not even the slightest gesture in that direction.
I was determined to stick to my resolution. He was responsible for making the first move. If I initiated, I somehow knew he’d go along with it, but then I’d never know whether he was just being nice or if he really wanted it.
I’d thought he really enjoyed it when we had sex that night in Fiji.
But maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I’d been imagining it. As the second week passed, I started second-guessing myself so much that I began going to bed early or having dinner with my family. It was just too painful to keep wondering if tonight was the night and then be crushed when it wasn’t.
On the second Sunday, I was feeling so lonely in my own house that I invited Bryce over to spend the afternoon with me.
When he arrived, Edward was working in his office—had been for several hours—so I was waiting in the front living room alone. I was so glad to see a friendly and familiar face that I threw my arms around Bryce in a big hug.
“Well,” he said, laughing as he hugged me back. “That’s quite a welcome. And this is quite a house.” He gazed around at the lofty ceilings and comfortable, elegant furnishings of the chalet-style house. “Show me around.”
I gave him the tour, and we ended up in the main room again, where he asked, “And where’s the husband?”
I nodded toward the closed door to Edward’s office. “Let’s hang out outside since it’s such a nice day.”
We went to the garden in the back and sat on the bench swing. I made friendly casual conversation, asking about Bryce’s job and his (very private) boyfriend until he finally demanded, “Tell me what’s going on.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“What’s going on? Is your marriage already falling apart or what?”
“It’s not falling apart.”
“Then what’s wrong? From the texts you sent on your honeymoon, it sounded like things were going pretty well between you.”
“They were. They are. They were.”
“That clears it up for me. Thank you.”
With a rueful laugh, I gave him a broad-strokes explanation of how we’d started to get closer on the honeymoon but then had seemed to be drifting apart ever since we returned.
Bryce listened thoughtfully. When I finished, he asked, “So what’s different? Since you’ve returned, I mean.”
“He is. He doesn’t seem to want to... spend any time with me anymore.”
“Have you asked him to?”
“No! I’m not going to be one of those demanding wives who are always expecting their husbands to be at their beck and call. If he doesn’t want to spend time with me, then he doesn’t have to.”
“But you want him to?”
“Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Before you got married, you seemed perfectly content with the idea of the two of you living your own separate lives.”
I thought about that and realized he was right, realized how much had changed. I actually flushed a little.
“So that’s changed?” Bryce asked softly.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I mean, we don’t have to be best friends or anything. But we were getting along pretty well on the honeymoon. At least I thought we were. I don’t understand why he... why he...” To my great mortification, my voice actually cracked as I concluded. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”
“Maybe he does.”
“He’s sure trying hard to avoid it, if it’s something he wants.”
“It sounds like, on your honeymoon, you were the one who suggested you do things. Have you suggested things since you got back?”
“Uh... no.”
Bryce arched his eyebrows. “Well?”
“Don’t look at me like that. If he wants to do something with me, he can suggest it himself. Or just—I don’t know—come out of his office occasionally. I don’t want to always be begging him to do things with me. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“I get that. I really do. But you don’t have beg for it. I’m just wondering if it might be a little unreasonable for you to change terms on him so completely.”
“I didn’t change any terms.”
“You
were willing to initiate on your honeymoon, but you stopped as soon as you got home. Maybe he thinks spending time together was just a honeymoon thing for you, and you prefer to live your own life now that you’re home.”
“But that’s... that’s ridiculous.” Despite my words, I actually felt a little spark of hope at this idea. Maybe Bryce was right. Maybe Edward wasn’t actively trying to avoid me.
“Is it? Why are you so afraid to make a friendly gesture toward him anyway? Usually, if there’s something you want, you’ll try to make it happen. This reticence isn’t like you.”
“I know it’s not,” I murmured, staring down at my hands. “It would normally be easier. But I just feel... I mean, a girl doesn’t always want to feel like she has to do all the work if she wants to have dinner with her husband or take a walk with him or spend the night with—” I cut myself off as soon as I realized what I was saying, but it was too late.
Bryce straightened up, his eyes widening. “I see! So that’s what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on,” I mumbled.
“You slept with him.”
“Yes. What’s your point? We’re married. Why wouldn’t we?”
“But not since you’ve been back?”
I shook my head, embarrassed by the admission. What kind of marriage did I have anyway?
“No wonder you’ve tied yourself into knots. Sex does make it more complicated.”
“Yes, it does.” I glanced over at him and saw a slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes. I gasped and swatted at his shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me! This is serious to me.”
“I know it is. I’m sorry.”
“It feels like he slept with me and then never called me back. And he’s my husband.”
For some reason, saying the words out loud truly brought them home. My voice broke a few times, and I shuddered with emotion as I finished, trying to hold back a few silly sobs.
Bryce obviously recognized my reaction. He reached over and wrapped an arm around me. “Damn, I’m sorry, Victoria. I get it. I really do. Please don’t cry.”
I buried my face in his shoulder for a moment. “I’m not crying.”
“It feels kind of like you are.”
I composed myself and straightened up. “I’m not. I’m okay.”
He kept a companionable arm around me as I relaxed against him, feeling better, feeling like someone understood.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Let’s make a plan.”
“What plan?”
“A plan for something you can do, to start to make this better.”
“I don’t know what I can do.”
“I do. You said things were going well between you on your honeymoon, when you were initiating more. I’m not saying you need to show up in his room in the middle of the night in a sexy outfit—although that might just do it—but maybe you can casually suggest doing something with him.”
“I don’t want him to hang out with me just to be polite.”
“Did it feel like he was just being polite to you on your honeymoon?”
“N-no,” I admitted.
“So then. Stop worrying about that. Does he normally have dinner with you?”
“Yes.”
“So after dinner tonight, why don’t you just say you’re going to take a walk and mention he can come with you if he wants. That’s not a very big risk, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“If he says no, at least you’ll know he’s not interested, and it won’t be too embarrassing to you because it was just a walk. But I’m betting he won’t say no.”
“I suppose I can try.”
“Of course you can try. And then maybe you can ask if he’ll come with you to one of those dinners with the Spanish diplomats next week—so he’ll know you’re not trying to cut him out of your life and royal duties. Again, if he says no, you can shrug it off as no big deal since it’s just one of the normal functions, not anything special.”
“All right. I can do that. But I don’t want to always be initiating everything.”
“Of course not. You do those two things and then see if he reciprocates.”
I nodded and swallowed, feeling better about the world. “All right.”
“Try not to worry about the sex. If he’s feeling as awkward about the relationship as you are since you’ve been back, then it wasn’t likely to happen—even if he really wanted it. Sex doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Not good sex anyway. When things get more comfortable between you, it will come more naturally.”
I exhaled deeply and stretched up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. You’re pretty smart, you know.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
I giggled and hugged him and decided the world wasn’t quite as bad as I’d believed even an hour ago.
I WAS ALL PREPARED to go through with my plan that evening, but Edward didn’t come out of his office at dinnertime.
We didn’t keep a large staff, but we had a regular housekeeper who cleaned and prepared meals when we needed them. She didn’t come in on Sundays, however. I could have warmed up one of the meals she’d already prepared, but I felt like making something myself, so I’d made a pot of soup and cut some bread and cheese. I wasn’t any sort of gourmet chef, but I enjoyed puttering in the kitchen.
When Edward didn’t make an appearance, my excitement slowly sunk.
Instead of better, things were just getting worse and worse between us. Soon I’d never see him at all.
I was drooping over my pot of soup and considering just eating it myself, when I remembered Bryce’s suggestions and roused myself to action.
It would be perfectly normal to tell Edward I made some dinner and see if he was hungry. It wouldn’t be strange. It wouldn’t be too forward. Anyone would do it.
I wouldn’t be embarrassing myself by asking.
So I took a few deep breaths and left the kitchen, walking to his closed office door. I tapped on it lightly.
In just a few moments, he opened it, blinking at me as if I’d roused him from sleep or some sort of deep meditation.
“Sorry,” I said immediately. “Sorry to... to interrupt.” Maybe he’d just been working really hard.
“You’re not interrupting.”
Despite his words, it felt like I was, but I was already in this, so I pressed on. “I made some dinner. I just wanted to see if you... if you wanted any.”
“I thought your friend might still be here.”
“No.” My eyes widened in surprise. The way he’d said “friend” had been a little off, as if he didn’t really like Bryce for some reason. “He left hours ago.”
“Oh.”
“Would you... would you like some dinner?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I sighed in relief as he stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him.
I’d still never once seen in that room. It was a little annoying since this was my home now, but I wasn’t going to intrude on his private sanctuary if he didn’t want me to.
I was a Rothman, and I didn’t go where I wasn’t invited.
We ended up eating in the kitchen, and the soup turned out really well. At first we didn’t talk much, but I asked him a few questions about work, and he asked me about my family, and we ended up having a pleasant conversation.
He helped me clean up the dishes afterward, and I mentioned I was thinking of taking a walk since it was such a mild evening.
He looked at me without speaking, so I added, “You could join me. If you... if you want.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I sighed in relief.
Bryce had been right. I’d gotten myself all worked up about this for no good reason.
I needed to just be myself instead of always worrying about overstepping or being rejected and humiliated, and this marriage would feel a lot more natural again.
THE WALK TURNED OUT very nice.
We talked about our families and our plans for the next week. It led into a
perfect chance for me to invite him to go with me to one of the functions with the Spanish diplomats. He readily agreed, and then he asked if I could go with him to a business dinner on Wednesday evening—assuming I was free that evening.
I was free. I was happy to go with him. I told him that.
He seemed very pleased by my agreement.
Even the long stretches of silence between us as we walked didn’t feel awkward. They felt comfortable, almost intimate.
I was feeling really good and even better when he said he was thinking about watching a movie, if I wanted to watch one with him.
He liked old black-and-white films, just like I did, so we picked out one of our favorites to watch.
We sat on the couch together. We didn’t cuddle or anything, but I felt close to him again—the way I had on our honeymoon.
Not comfortable enough to suggest sex at the end of the night, and he didn’t suggest it either. But it didn’t hurt tonight the way it had on other nights.
Things were better. And maybe they could keep getting better.
Sex might happen again later.
For now, I was going to bed happy—for the first time in two weeks.
Six
On Wednesday evening, I went over to the Geneva apartment to meet up with Edward so we could go to his business dinner together.
The dinner was with an American business associate of the company and his wife. Edward and I met the others at the restaurant, and we all had a cocktail at the bar to the accompaniment of typical small talk about the weather and the traffic.
The couple was middle-aged and friendly in that typical, expansive American way, but it didn’t take me too long to recognize that underlying the social niceties was a nuance of something in their behavior—something that made me sense a current of resentment toward Edward.
I hate passive-aggressiveness. It’s always been one of those attitudes that riles me up. And the more I sensed it toward Edward—from this couple who were acting so friendly on the outside—the more bristly I became.