Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Now, I glance at Roman, who’s stirring the spaghetti sauce, remembering the hope in his eyes when we unpacked the first box of our things that night as he said, “I think this is what we really needed, baby. A fresh start in a place that holds no bad memories,” and my heart clenches. I gave myself to him that night for the first time in two months, wanting to christen our new home, wanting so badly for what he said to be true. It was filled with desperation and a wildness I’d never felt inside me before, like I was trying to claim him, mark him as mine, make it so no other woman could get near him again without my scent radiating off him, a territorial warning that said “Back the fuck off. He’s taken.”
And maybe it was a mistake for making love to him that way, because it might’ve given him mixed signals. Made him believe I was over it more than I actually was. Hell, I was probably trying to force myself to believe I was over it more than I truly was. As I told Doc, fake it till you make it. I’d pretend I was healing from that unbearable pain until I was numb to it and really did feel better.
Six months later, the numbness hasn’t set in yet. It still hurts like a bitch. And Doc could see I’m not well.
“You okay, sweets?” Bram asks low, taking hold of my wrist and giving it a gentle shake, my hand still clenching the breadbasket even as it rests in the middle of the table.
His touch reminds me to let go, and I stand up straight, pulling my hand away and rubbing at the spot where his fingers had been. “Yeah.” I let out a huff of a laugh. “Just a little out of it. Tired, I guess.”
“What, the stay-at-home housewife gig wearing you out? I’m still waiting for the day you greet me at the door in a feather-outlined robe and furry high-heeled slippers with a glass of champagne in each hand, like one of those Beverly Hills bitches,” he jokes, and the look on his face tells me he’s just trying to make me laugh. That’s the thing I like most about Bram; he’s always in a good mood, always smiling and carefree. The complete opposite of my broody and thoughtful husband. They balance each other out perfectly, which is why they make the best business partners.
“How could I do that when you don’t ever knock?” I reply, sashaying away to pull three plates down from the cabinet.
“Touché,” he calls through a mouthful of bread, and I shake my head.
After scooping out some noodles onto a plate, I pass it to Roman to cover in spaghetti sauce, and then he sets it on the counter beside the stove. We do that two more times, and then we carry the plates over to where we sit, Roman across from Bram at the square table, putting me between the two of them.
I smack Bram’s hand as he reaches into the breadbasket, narrowing my eyes. “Wait for your next turn. You already had one,” I scold, and he grins.
“Yes, Mommy.”
I pull two slices out and put them on Roman’s plate before grabbing two for myself, and then I gesture at the basket for Bram to take his fill.
Call it being a good wife, or maybe my submissive side is coming out in our daily life, but I enjoy taking care of Roman, always have. Small things, like what just happened with the bread. Or how I pack his lunch for him… and set out his vitamins with a bottle of water for him to take each morning. It started out as something I did because he would always forget, but then I realized I got just as much out of it as he did.
He needs me. Not in a way a child needs his mommy, but in a way that a man who works hard every day and has too much on his plate needs a gentle reminder and a little help to get through each day. Acts of Service, Doc tells me, is a love language, one I’m apparently naturally fluent in.
And it was during our pre-marital counseling Roman’s parents insisted we take part in before we exchanged vows that we learned about the power exchange in our relationship. We hadn’t known then what we’d been doing for years as a couple had a name, even a whole lifestyle based around it. I thank whatever higher power is out there that it was Doc who responded to my appointment inquiry first when I went down the list of local marriage counselors. Which really said something, with his last name being Walker. He knew exactly what I was looking for: the same type of counseling a couple might receive at church before getting married, but not religion-based.