“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. “How are you feeling?”
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
I sighed. I didn’t want him to see my turmoil until I got a better handle on what exactly I was feeling. But hiding things from Adam was ridiculously difficult. He was too observant, and I was too poor an actress. “I’m tired.”
He stepped into the bathroom, moving up behind me, not taking his eyes off my face. “You seem…upset.”
I opened my mouth to make an excuse. But inexplicably, this whole mess of emotion rose up, and suddenly, I was spewing out those feelings everywhere.
“You don’t think I should do Botox, do you?”
He looked at me like I’d grown a unicorn horn out of my forehead.
My eyes flicked back to my reflection. “Or maybe I should wear makeup more often?” I smoothed fingers over my cheek. “Do you think I dress too much like a student still?”
His face scrunched up like he’d tasted a lemon. “Have you been watching Real Housewives of Orange County?”
I clenched my teeth and my fists, almost stamping a foot in frustration, demanding he take me seriously despite the nonsense coming out of my mouth. “I mean it. Do women offer you sex all the time?”
Now his eyes goggled. “Well, even if they did, I have a semi-explosive spleen, remember?”
“It’s not funny, Adam,” I whined. Then, inexplicably and much to my enduring embarrassment, I burst into tears.
“Whoa,” he said, true concern written all over his face as he moved forward to pull me into his arms. “What the hell’s going on?”
Without a word, I turned and sobbed into his shoulder, already mourning the demise of our marriage due to his infidelity with at least a half-dozen phantom women decades younger than me.
“Come here. Come on.” He gently coaxed me out of the bathroom and guided me to sit on the bed beside him. “Did the Real Housewives get to you tonight?”
I shook my head, sobbing into my hands. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I’m not ready for your world.”
“Emilia!” His voice was firm as he pulled my hair back from my face. “Slow down.”
“I don’t want to quit medical school.” I sniffed.
“What the hell? You don’t have to quit school. You’re not making any sense.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “Who told you that you did?”
“But there are charities to run.” My chest heaved as I gulped more air. “And—and benefits to organize, and your foundation—” I was sobbing so hard that it was difficult to breathe.
“Emilia,” he practically commanded. “Slow down. Now.”
I put my hands to my face, unable to control the agitation. “I don’t want to be the starter wife, Adam.”
“That’s good. I only plan on having one.”
He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a few tissues from the box, and pressed them into my shaking hands. “Take a breath and calm down.”
I easily detected the worry in his voice as he watched me slowly gain control of my emotions. I wiped my face and sniffled. The entire time, Adam stroked my back and my hair.
“Now,” he said when I’d been quiet—aside from my hiccups—for several minutes. “Let’s talk about it calmly. Obviously, they told you a bunch of bullshit that’s got you scared.”
“They weren’t being mean.” I shook my head. “They were trying to be helpful in their own way, from their own experience. And it…opened my eyes to what it must be like for you. When you’re traveling or out in the world—being a billionaire and everything.”
“I’m still me.” He frowned. “I’m still the same person whether I’m here or ‘out in the world.’ Still the same person you met three years ago. And yes, my bank account got bigger, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
I turned to him, my fist tightening in my lap, squeezing the tissues into a tight ball. “No, it’s naïve and simplistic of you to say that. Your world has changed. Maybe you don’t see it yet, but it has.” He stiffened beside me, and when he would have interrupted me, I rode over him. “You’re in the one percent of the one percent and—and women are going to chase you even more now than they did before. And believe me, I didn’t like what I saw before.”
“So should I be worried because men are going to chase you? You’re beautiful, young, brilliant. I’ve seen the way men stare at you when we go out, even when I’m standing right next to you and sending them death glares. Should I be worried, too?”
I shook my head. “It’s not the same thing.”
“No? Why not?” He put his hand under my chin, guiding me to look at him. “We’re getting married. I have to trust you as much as you trust me.”
I shrugged, conceding the point without admitting I was .
He picked up on that, pulling me closer to him. I relaxed against his chest. “Now, so you know, no one can chase me if I’m already caught.”
I swallowed. “It’s not that easy. A lot of women—probably most of them—won’t give a shit that you’re already married. Your wedding band might even encourage them.”
“What does it matter whether they give a shit or not? I’ll care about being married, about my vows to you. That’s all that matters. A woman could walk up to me and drop her dress, and it wouldn’t matter.”
I scowled at him. “You’re such a liar. You’d look.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, probably. It’s a guy thing.”
“So is cheating.”
He shook his head. “Not for me. I have some amazing self-control skills, if you’ll recall. It wasn’t easy keeping my hands off you all that time. But I did. And now…you and I together are more than that. More than the sum of our sexual attraction.”
I thought he meant that as a compliment, but I was perplexed. And apparently, that puzzlement was on my face, because he elaborated.
“I mean, we’re like an epic quest—this complex algorithm of experiences, memories, feelings, and promises to each other. Of shared parts of our lives that we’ve been through together. It’s a bond that’s way stronger than sex.”