Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Bolton was passed out beside me, knocked out the second he hit the bed because he was dead drunk. He snored too, something he never did.
My phone lit up on the nightstand beside me.
It was three in the morning. And only one person would text me at that hour.
I just need to know you’re okay.
I glanced at Bolton beside me, feeling guilty for doing something I shouldn’t, but Theo’s message drilled straight into my soul. I’m okay.
The three dots didn’t return.
I stared at the screen and waited for them, even hoped for them. But nothing came. I didn’t tell him.
I know.
He asked what we talked about, and I said you just wanted to check on me.
You don’t need to lie for me, sweetheart. I’m not afraid of him.
I don’t want anything to happen to either of you.
His dots disappeared.
I wanted the conversation to continue, but there was nothing else to say. It was probably the last time we would ever speak.
The biggest mistake of my life was not taking that call.
My heart dropped.
I will always take your call, sweetheart.
It was a difficult week.
Bolton went back to work, but he didn’t leave for an assignment. He spent his time at the Brotherhood, where he met with his colleagues. He’d taken me there a couple of times, and it seemed like their meetings were just drinking while topless women served them.
I’d never cared about the girls because I trusted Bolton.
I went to work every morning like usual. The gallery used to envelop me in inspiration, but now it just crushed me with loneliness. Business was slow, and we didn’t get any new artwork to showcase.
I half expected Theo to walk through the door, but I knew that would never happen again.
I deleted his messages, and that made me feel like shit. I was a transparent person who lived my life truthfully. I never had anything to hide. Honesty was always the best policy. But the situation made me feel like I was having an affair even though I wasn’t.
I blamed Bolton for that, because he was the reason all of this happened in the first place.
Bolton was still pissed off. He seemed to be drunk whenever he came home. We hadn’t had sex since I’d come back and he’d tried to make it happen a couple times, but I wasn’t ready. He wore his impatience like a tattoo, and that seemed to make him angrier.
He came home the following day, and it was the first time he wasn’t drunk.
I made dinner since he’d stopped cooking.
He came into the kitchen and faced me at the kitchen island, seeing the casserole dish I’d just pulled out of the oven. He stared at it for a moment before he looked at me again. “I apologize for the way I’ve behaved this week. I’ve just been…unbelievably angry.” He released a sigh as he said those final words, like he was fighting the resurrection of his rage.
The old Bolton had returned to me, calm and collected, patient and warm. That other Bolton was someone I’d never met before. I hoped I never had to see him again.
“Are you in this with me, Astrid?” he asked. “Because I don’t want to waste my time.”
“I am.”
“Then I want effort. I want intimacy. I’m trying to be patient. I’ve offered to go to counseling. I’ve offered to do anything I can to be what we were. If it can’t be fixed, then it can’t be fixed. But tell me that now.”
I pulled off the oven mitts and set them on the counter.
He continued to stare at me.
“After the way you acted the other night…I’ve just been timid.”
“I was drunk.”
“I’ve never seen you angry like that.”
“Because I’ve never been angry with you. That’s a side to me I hoped you’d never see.”
“It was more than anger. It was pettiness and possessiveness—”
“You’re my wife. I have every right to be possessive of you. And if one of my old lovers continued to pursue me, I’m sure you’d be petty as hell. I admit I was irrational, but my love for you makes me irrational. I can’t promise I won’t get angry like that again, but I can promise you that if Theo stays out of our marriage, it’s unlikely to happen again. So, really, it’s up to you.”
My eyes flicked down to the casserole, thinking about the conversation Theo and I had had over text.
“I’ll ask again.”
I looked at him once more.
“Are you in this or not?”
“Yes…”
“That answer lacked conviction.”
“Yes,” I repeated more forcefully.
“Would you like to do marriage counseling?”
“No.”
“Is there something I can improve on?”
“No.”
“Then we’re going to have dinner together. Go upstairs and make love because it’s been weeks and I’m losing my goddamn mind. And we’re going to be happy together, husband and wife. Is that agreeable to you?”
I still felt a pull toward Theo, felt like my relationship with Bolton was somehow a betrayal when I’d made my choice as clear as red ink. But maybe that pull would always be there, no matter what I did. “Yes, that’s agreeable.”