Jessica and I exchange a look that tells me that we’re in the same boat. Neither of us has what the about to be newlyweds have. I swallow feelings of envy, which are stupid and unprofessional. I could add ten other adjectives.
When Mark and Brenda come back to earth, I take out my notes, and we discuss where the family will sit, where the musicians will set up, where the wedding party will stand, and other seemingly simple details, but which are crucial to the smooth running of the ceremony.
We finish up at seven-thirty, which is pretty late, but I’d already told Declan I’d be late. I drive home feeling a lot better than when I left Dr. Frost’s office.
I feel like a fraud when I get home and walk into Declan’s arms and he asks me how my day was. I tell him the highlights of everything that happened except that I saw a therapist.
“You look relaxed,” he says as we set the table for dinner. “The old you.”
“Thanks. I feel like old me,” I say, but I really feel as if I’m in a play, cast in a role that I’m not entirely comfortable in.
How do married people behave? I wish someone would tell me. Are they completely honest with their partners all of the time, or do they keep large parts of themselves hidden away?
I can’t wait for nighttime, which is my best time with Declan. When we make love, everything fades away. My secrets, my shame, everything disappears except the pleasure that he and I give each other.
“I feel bad,” I tell Declan when we sit down for dinner. “I rarely cook dinner. Tomorrow will be my turn.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says in his usual easy-going manner. “I like cooking, and I get home earlier than you.” He holds my gaze. “Besides, I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
Tears fill my eyes at the simple declaration. I feel like crap. I vow there and then to do anything I can for Declan. Anything to make our marriage work. The first thing I think of is his mom. Declan loves his mother. He hasn’t said it, but I feel it every time he talks about her.
I make a vow to do everything I can to get along with her. And the first thing I’ll do is to try to begin a relationship with her. I decided to call her and perhaps drive to Santa Monica for lunch.
“How did the venue walk-through go?” Declan asks.
I smile at how quickly he’s picking up the jargon in my industry. “It went well. Mark and Brenda are a delightful couple,” I say with a sigh.
“So are we,” Declan says.
I wonder if Mark and Brenda keep things from each other? I feel as if the secrets between Declan and I are growing by the day. Does he honestly believe that we are a delightful couple?
“Sure,” I say and plaster a smile.
Declan stares at me. “You’re perfect, Marian. How did I get so lucky?”
Guilt piles on and almost overwhelmed me. I’m the furthest person from perfect there is. Before Declan came into my life, I thought I had it all together. After we got married, his presence in my life has exposed holes in my heart I thought I had sealed.
Unable to meet his gaze, I busy myself carrying our used dishes to the sink to wash them.
Declan chuckles as I’m cleaning up. “Aren’t we the weird couple?”
“Why?” I ask.
“You have a dishwasher, and we always wash dishes ourselves. Why is that?”
I laugh as it dawns on me how right he is. “I love the feel of soap and warm water on my hands. It’s soothing.”
“I find it more satisfying when I see them stacked on the drying rack. I feel as if I’ve accomplished something, even if it’s just cleaning dishes,” Declan says.
After cleaning up, we snuggle on the couch to watch TV. It’s nice to lean against Declan’s massive chest and have him softly rub my arms. It’s so comfortable that I feel my eyelids growing heavy.
“Are you falling asleep?” Declan asks softly.
“No. Yes.”
He chuckles. “Come on, let’s go to bed. Mine or yours?”
“Let’s do yours today,” I say, my voice heavy with sleep.
We turn out the lights, and as Declan follows behind me as I go up the stairs, he pinches my butt. It soon becomes a game as he chases me up the stairs, and by the time we get to my room, my sleepiness is gone.
I pop into the bathroom to freshen up, and when I return to the bedroom, I’m in my nightshirt, and Declan is in bed staring at me. He opens the covers, and I slide in and he covers me up.
“Still sleepy?” he says, his voice husky.
“No,” I murmur, and I slide a hand between us to hold his cock. It’s thick and hard. “What did you have in mind?”