“All right,” he said, sitting back on his calves. “What do you want me to do? You don’t like foreplay.”
I heaved a sigh. I’d told him that once, because foreplay had grown long and tedious, a frustrating race to see if I could finish when I knew I wouldn’t. After all these years with Bill, I’d gradually given up the chase for my orgasm, only to have David Dylan find it in one night.
Fuck. What was wrong with me, thinking about David right now? “Never mind,” I said, getting up and righting my underwear.
“Seriously?” Bill asked. “What do you want?”
“I want you to know what I want,” I snapped. My tongue soured with the unfair words that had been rotting in me for too long.
“I thought I did.”
“I’m sorry. I’m drunk.” I backed away and stumbled over my dress. “It’s my thing. It’s not you. I’m really sorry.”
“Babe, the sex . . . I know it’s been a while . . .” He paused. “But you don’t mean that, do you?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed them. “No. No, of course not.” The world moved behind my lids, and my jaw tickled. “I’m sorry,” I repeated and took off for the bathroom.
He called after me. I scrambled to my knees and leaned over the toilet seconds before throwing up.
“Oh, shit,” I heard as Bill gathered my hair in his hand. “Did you eat anything at dinner?”
I shook my head into the toilet and released a stream of pink liquid. I sat back against the wall, closed my eyes, and repeated, “I’m sorry.”
He crouched down beside me. “It’s all right. You had too much to drink, huh?”
I nodded.
“I’ll get you some water.”
I let my head fall into my hands. I was awash with shame for spurning Bill and for letting the alcohol incite memories of David all night.
I just want it to end. I want to rid myself of David and of everything I’ve been holding inside. The guilt, the shame, the lust, the longing.
When I was hit with another wave of nausea, I gripped the toilet and vomited every last thing inside me.
* * *
I’m running, but I’m not moving. I’m being chased, but my legs are heavy. Impossible to lift. The leadenness rises up my arms and settles in my chest, strangling me from the inside out. And someone’s hands are around my neck. My chest is collapsing, and I am gasping, rasping for air . . .
I sucked in air suddenly, and my eyes flew open. When I couldn’t move, panic filtered through me until I realized why. Bill was holding me. It had been a while since he had, so I fought the urge to break free and move to my side of the bed.
“Liv?” he murmured sleepily.
“It’s all right, just another nightmare,” I said.
“Hmm? Nightmare? Must be the alcohol.” He pulled me closer, and I sighed, yielding to him.
4
Ipulled the zipper of my bridesmaid dress up over my ribs and wondered if I could get away with wearing a shawl. It was loose and revealed too much. Up until now, I’d been consciously disguising my weight loss. But I knew a shawl wouldn’t be approved. Lucy had worn a serious expression as she’d warned us about altering our bridesmaid dresses in any way, because she wanted us looking identical as we stood next to her.
“Where’s Liv?” I heard from the next room.
“In here,” I called.
At Andrew’s family’s behemoth of a house in Winnetka, we took up a few rooms in the “east wing,” as Andrew’s mother had called it. I leaned into the mirror and gave my makeup a once-over. Because my face had become thinner, my eyes looked even larger than normal. The deep Bordeaux gown perfectly complemented their shade of green and the dark honey color of my hair.
Lucy had hired professionals to transform the four of us for her big day. She was the glowing princess while Gretchen, Dani, and I were sultry triplets. We donned identical messy chignons and dramatic makeup, with wine-colored pouts to match our dresses.
