But Gretchen gave her a weird look. “You haven’t seen The Cabral Empire? Seriously? And you married a Cabral?” At Chelsea’s headshake, Gretchen picked up a piece of bread and took a bite out of it. “The rock you’ve been hiding under called. It misses you.”
“I met his mother and an ex. They ambushed us when we got back from the wedding.” She stirred her spoon in her soup again, hoping it’d make it look like she was eating. It wasn’t that the soup wasn’t delicious. It was that she was a little too troubled to focus on eating at the moment.
“Oh, man, his mother.” Gretchen leaned forward. “The one and only episode I saw of that show, she was getting her asshole bleached. On television. Who does that?”
“His mother, apparently,” Chelsea said faintly.
“Everyone knows you get that shit done in private.” At Chelsea’s wide-eyed stare, Gretchen waved a hand. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Though I might get it done for the wedding.”
“Um.”
“Still kidding.” She took another bite of bread. “So, how’s married life? For someone that’s a newlywed, you don’t look all that content. Shouldn’t you be glowing and shit?”
Chelsea put her spoon down, thinking. She’d never told Gretchen about her . . . trauma. But she was dying to talk to someone about the awkwardness of her situation. Someone other than Sebastian. So she decided to share just a little. Just enough that she wouldn’t traumatize her friend on what was supposed to be a light and fun lunch. “Actually, I have a small issue. I have problems with . . . intimacy.”
Gretchen’s eyes went wide. She put her hand on Chelsea’s. “Oh, my god. Is that why you two got married? He’s impotent and wants to leave his fortune to someone?”
“I said I have problems with intimacy. Not him. Meeeee.”
“Oh.” Gretchen thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t understand. Sorry. Details, please. You can’t get a ladyboner?”
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m not . . . into it. At all.”
“None of it?” Gretchen looked shocked. Her fork went to her plate, salad forgotten. “But . . . but sex is so yummy. No orgasms? No kissing? You like kissing, right?”
Chelsea grimaced. “I like cuddling. That’s about it.”
“Oh, my god. This is tragic.” She leaned in and hissed. “Is it Sebastian? Is he a shitty lover? Because I could see that. The hot guys don’t have to try hard at all and—”
“It’s not him. He’s fine. It’s me. I just . . . can’t get into it. He’s being super patient and says he doesn’t mind, but I worry, you know?”
“I’m still stuck on the first part. What about masturbating? You masturbate, right?”
Not in three years. “Not really.”
Gretchen looked aghast. “Toys? What about toys? What about—”
“It’s all not going to work, okay? It’s me and my head.” She gestured at her hair and tried not to cry at the thought of being so messed up. “It’s all in my brain and I just can’t shut the thing off to enjoy myself.”
“That’s awful,” Gretchen said, and reached out and squeezed Chelsea’s hand. “I’m terrible at being sympathetic. That’s Audrey’s gig. But seriously, there’s got to be something you can do.”
“I wish there was.” She blinked rapidly. “I really like Sebastian and I trust him and I want us to go forward, you know? But I can’t seem to enjoy that part of the relationship.”
“Maybe if you had the right toys? There’s a place we can visit after lunch that sells all kinds of weird shit. We’re bound to find something to shock your chonies back into existence.”
“Maybe,” Chelsea said, feeling glum. Why had she brought this up to Gretchen? Now she felt like more of a freak than ever. “Let’s just forget I brought it up, okay?”
“Heck no,” Gretchen exclaimed. She scooted her chair closer to Chelsea’s and leaned in. “Look. You think Hunter is mister perfect in the sack? He was totally shy when we got together.”
“I don’t know if I want to hear this—”