“How would you like it if I was over here lecturing you on how much you need sex because it’s natural and biological... ”
I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself at how close those words come to the ones I’ve heard before. “You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry. That was really shitty of me.”
We drive in silence for a while. At last, King moves his hand from my knee to shift, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Maybe we can work through it.”
I snort. “I don’t think so.”
We’re quiet for another minute.
“Okay,” he says at last. “But if you want to work on it… I’m not going to be with anyone else. I want you to know that. Whenever you’re ready to try, I’ll be here. I’m here for you and only you, Eliza. I meant it when I said my vows, and I meant it when I said I’d wait.”
I want to argue, but I can see the man has his pride, and his word is part of that. Still, it seems a waste. He’s so fucking beautiful. When I remember kneeling in front of him, looking up at his body… It was like some kind of marble statue come to life. By the time I’m ready to be intimate, it could be years. He’s in his prime, and I’m holding him back, smothering him with my demons.
Shit. I’mhishuman chastity belt.
“Well, I don’t mind doing what we did last night,” I say. “You can teach me to be better at it. And maybe I can give you a picture to look at for when you need to do it alone.”
He clears his throat and glances at me. “I’d like that very much,” he says, his voice low as his long, warm fingers cover my knee again.
I turn to the window, hiding the smile that’s found its way onto my face. Maybe I can be a good wife after all. I don’t have to be his maid or his sex slave. I can be… Something else. Something more than a friend but less than a wife should be. Something… More like acumare,like I said I wanted. I know better than to think the feelings between a mistress and a married man aren’t real or deep, so I don’t have to pretend I won’t feel that for King. And maybe it’ll be okay.
Our families want us together. If Dad can forgive the Valentis, why shouldn’t I? It’s not like I’m forgiving the man who killed Jonathan. I’m forgiving my husband, a man who was only a child when that happened, who wasn’t even part of the Valenti family at the time. I’m not betraying my family. I’m doing my duty to them, just like Dad wanted. And one day, surely I’ll be ready to have a baby. If I can’t have sex, maybe we can have a doctor help out as if I really were unable to conceive naturally. For all I know, I am.
I know it’s not ideal, and maybe it’s even selfish. I know what people would say. It was a long time ago, I should just get over it. I should go to a shrink. I’m being selfish.
But it’s more than a memory, more than something that fucked with my head. I don’t even think about it that much, but it’s always there, as if it sank into my being, became part of me. It lurks inside me even when I don’t feed it with attention or conscious thought. It feeds off me like a parasite, like a cancer, living in every cell that makes up my body. I can’t just forget about it, can’t get over it and move on, any more than someone with a disease can get over it by willing it away. All I can do is ignore it, not let it control my life, and live hard and outrageously, prove to myself that it doesn’t define me.
It only defines one part of me, and that part is hidden and private, tucked away safely, never to be touched or awakened. That part made me a victim. If I don’t have those feelings, don’t acknowledge that part of me, it can’t hurt me, can’t make me a victim again. And I won’t be a victim. I’m strong now, coated in armor, dipped in the river Styx like Achilles. I have a chink in my armor, but luckily, it’s a lot harder to access than my heel. I’m stronger than Achilles, stronger than anyone knows. Strong enough that I don’t need sex, even if it is biology. I control my body, not the other way around. And no one controls me.
thirteen
King
“You’re going back to work today, right?” Eliza asks, sitting at the vanity, her hair tumbling to one side as she tilts her head to watch herself put in a big, gold hoop earring.
“Yes,” I say, standing behind her and adjusting my tie in the mirror above her head.
We don’t meet each other’s eyes. Things have been a little different since returning from the honeymoon a few days ago. I can’t tell if they’re better or worse. There’s a wariness in both of us, as if we’re both watching the other from the corner of our eyes, waiting to see our partner’s next move. We tiptoe around the ugly topics, but we haven’t talked since the car ride. I don’t want to keep bringing it up, but how can I not think about it?
What does she mean, it was taken care of? Did her dad find out and kill the guys? Or was he one of the guys, and she doesn’t want me to get myself killed?
I want the bastard to pay. I want to rip out his intestines and shove them back down his throat until he chokes to death.
“Does that bother you?” I ask Eliza, my voice sounding so normal you’d never know I was considering murdering her father.
“Of course not,” she says. “I know how much you men love your work.”
I don’t know what she means by that. Hurting people is not exactly a job I’d say I loved, but I am dedicated to my work, it’s true. I have to be.
“What about you?” I ask, lingering to watch her even after I’ve checked my reflection. Looking the part is important. Appearances reflect on a person’s character, family, and everything else. Eliza is beautiful with or without makeup, but I like that she puts herself together to go out in public, that I’m the only one who sees her bare face.
“I’m not sure,” she says, lightly.
“No plans?”
“Look, I’ve always done whatever I wanted,” she says flatly. “My mom followed her dream, and I’m following mine.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.