I open my eyes to the unfamiliar view of full sunshine against the vaulted rafters. I have not prepared for him, an oversight that went unnoticed; Nathan’s morning schedule one that didn't include me. And I wonder, lazily, if this is the beginning of my end.
CHAPTER 33
I feel like I am a cocktail of sorts, different mixers and alcohol being added, the flavor and consistency changing with each new addition.
I can feel a break coming, my psyche sick of the rollercoaster of emotions it is riding. I can only harness rebellion and self-esteem for so long before my mind is going to say fuck you and kill everyone in the room. It’s only taken five weeks for me to realize I can’t be Anna Nicole Smith, unless Anna Nicole was a dominatrix who told the old man what the fuck to do. I am not good at being meek and mild and shutting my mouth. I can feel my body itching, feel my mind pushing against the restraints, testing for weak areas, searching for hidden passageways and loopholes to freedom.
But I can’t escape, can’t run, can’t ask Nathan for a divorce. First, I need to figure out what to do with my father.
His health seems to be in a limbo of sorts. He is healing, his color returning, his medication not as life-sustaining as it originally was. But his improvement is at a slow pace and is unpredictable in its path. One day he is smiling, the next week I am met by Pam with sober eyes and a tight mouth, his health taking a hard right turn into serious. The problem child was first his immune system, then his kidneys. His vulnerable spots seem to change, having no rhyme or reason in their locations or symptoms. Today is a bad day, in the middle of a bad week. His breath is labored, and he has been unresponsive all day. His drugs are at a level that keep him one step above comatose, his sleep heavy, his hand limp when I pick it up.
The responsibility for his care weighs heavily on me, slowing down and tripping normal brain functions. I should be able to figure this out. I should be able to have a clear, concise thought process and come up with a plan.
The truth of the matter is, I can avoid any heavy lifting of my brain. The correct path is smooth and well-marked.
Separate myself from Drew.
Follow the rules.
Stop asking questions.
Visit my father and support him in every way possible.
I can live my golden life, squash the ridiculous theories that my mind has been concocting, and listen to Nathan. Ride his cock, obey his rules, and deal with the minor items that separate this life and Happily Ever After. That is the unselfish choice, one that will guarantee my father the level of care that he needs.
I don’t feel the tears. They slide down my cheeks, salt paths through expensive foundation. I don’t realize it until I feel a soft hand on my shoulder and look up into Pam’s concerned face. She offers me a tissue, crouching beside me before wrapping her arms around my neck. The kind gesture breaks a dam of some sort, and a sob slips out, my own hands reaching around to return the hug. “It’s okay, Mrs. Dumont,” she whispers. “I promise, he’ll get over this little bump.”
I shake my head against the stiff curls of her hair. “Oh, Pam. It’s so much more than that.”
CHAPTER 34
I believe, with all of the rules involved in my life, my heart should have some. It shouldn’t be allowed to care for a man who is incapable of loving it back. It shouldn’t be allowed to care for a man who puts my father’s well-being at risk. And it shouldn’t fall for more than one man at one time.
My heart, like the rest of my body, doesn’t like to follow rules.
I have no reason to care for Nathan. Outside of sex, he is cold and distant—a dictator who has constructed this world of hateful rules. It is the glimpses that have done me in. Nathan in Napa, his soft words, loving glances, thoughtful gestures and carefree smile. The glimpses of compassion when he asks about my father, or the rare moments when I catch him in a genuine smile. Those glimpses have hacked the walls I’ve built between us to bits.
And if those bits are kindling, our sex is the blowtorch, held just above their sticks. Our long, hot fucks that have occurred in every part of the house, no matter who is around, or because of who is around—the raw need which he displays, the fever that burns in his eyes, the possession of his gorgeous face—every session is a new study in addicts who cannot get enough of each other. I am at the point of needing his body, craving its domination, the slick slide of his cock in and out, the delicious terse growl of demands.
I don't understand why Nathan is so cold, why he doesn’t let me stay in his bed. Has he ever been in a relationship? Has he ever been the happy, carefree man he so convincingly portrays in public?
I used to ask Drew those questions, though he’d never respond. Now, due to our affair, I have no one to ask.
Affair. It sounds so dirty. I am a cheating wife. I recognize the truth in the statement, but still attempt to justify this twisted triangle, if it can be considered one. The three points of us are all so badly contorted; our emotions and lives too gnarled to have something so simple as points.
I think of Drew, in his lonely corner of the triangle, and feel such confusion. The whispered words of Rick play in my mind. “They knew everything about you.” They. Drew included. He has been involved since the beginning. He is the one, when I tried to decide whether to sign my life away, urged me forward, spelling out my pathetic life and dire financial situation.
I have slept with the man, yet he has never shared why I am here, why they walked into Sammy’s and asked for me. He has never answered my questions, hinted into my situation, or looked the other way so that I could bend a rule. He is my jailor as much as Nathan.
He seems entitled to sample from my body—but, unlike Nathan, he offers nothing in return.
CHAPTER 35
Nathan has spent the day at home, working in his office. I’ve watched him through the windows, disguising my snooping behind a swim, then a few hours poolside with a book. Two men came at noon, going over documents with him and then leaving, Nathan returning to his seat, his hands running through his hair, frustration marring that beautiful face.
I feel like a voyeur, watching him from behind my sunglasses, marveling at how I still find him sexy, his loosened tie and rolled up sleeves, the darkness on his face when he barks into the phone.
I am getting turned on, a ridiculous side effect of boredom and Nathan’s presence, and I set down the book, stretching my arms upward, in the most attention-seeking move I have. I coil my hair into a knot and wander toward the edge of the pool, taking a long moment to adjust my bikini bottoms before I dive into the pool.