“Light ‘em up, honey!” Scarlett yells.
With a brilliant, eye-searing flash, the oversized candles on my cake explode into flame.
My cheeks flush as everyone gathers around to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. I’ve seen most of these faces for so many years, their stories almost as familiar to me as my own. There was always a bit of a distance, though, a separation between them and me. Now though, their smiles are open, friendly.
“Make a wish,” Mom says, beaming proudly.
Looking at this magnificent cake, beautiful with the pink and lilac flower decorations and fragrant with almond and vanilla, I get an idea. Closing my eyes, I wish for a plan that will bring my mother happiness, and I blow out the candles.
“Thank the Lord there were only twenty-three candles,” Michael whispers, kissing me. “He nearly set our roof ablaze. Happy Birthday, butterfly.”
As Mom and Maisie cut the cake into generous slices, everyone grabbing a plate, I breathe in deep and hold it. It’s a habit from childhood that I’ve never been able to break. If I hold my breath long enough, nothing bad can happen. We can be happy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophie…
Michael didn't wear a condom.
It's the first thing I think about when I wake up the next morning, along with a vivid sensation of how it felt to have his piercing rub against me inside without the blunting edge of the condom.
That explains why I came so hard,I think wryly.
Then I remember him reaching down with his long fingers and pushing his come back inside me in some sort of wildly feral act, and if he was still in the house, I would climb him like a redwood right now. I don't initiate sex often because usually he is on me like a starving man the minute he walks through the door. But he always has a look of pleased surprise when I do.
As if just thinking about the potential complications from unprotected sex brought it on, I'm hit with a sudden bolt of nausea when I look at the omelet Davina created for me this morning. Fortunately, she's upstairs cleaning and doesn't hear me race for the bathroom, retching miserably. Wiping my sweaty face, I avoid looking in the mirror. I'm not hung over, I had maybe two sips of champagne during a toast last night.
Maybe it's a stomach bug.
Then I recall my other revelation from last night, and I text Michael.
I have a proposition for you.
He texts back within moments.Would that be a sexual one?
Well, that depends. This could be a multiple part proposition.
This is bantering. I’m bantering with my usually stern husband.
Did you say a multiple positions proposition?He texts back.
Oh yeah, we're bantering.
Okay, you're getting me off track here. It is a business proposition! Would you have time to talk to me about it today?
Of course, I'll be home early. You and I have a business dinner with a client tonight.
A business dinner? This is good, isn't it? First the gala, then the birthday party and now a business dinner with a client. He really wants people to see us for what we are, husband and wife.
“Tell me about your business proposition," I pause, mascara wand in my hand as Michael walks through the bedroom door that afternoon, looking unjustly handsome after a long day of breaking bones or breaking laws.
“I had the idea last night at the party,” I say, giving my lashes a final sweep of mascara. “Mom’s cake was incredible, right? This is a woman who can make dozens and dozens of desserts and they’re all perfect.”
His smile fades slightly. “Aye, we miss her dessert rewards at family dinner.” I’ve noticed that they haven’t had one since our fall from grace.
“Anyway,” I hurry on. “You told me that we would figure it out, how Mom fits into this new world order. Would you consider a business loan so that she can open a bake shop? I will, of course,create a business plan to show you. There’s even a couple of locations by the university that would be perfect, with enough foot traffic and population density to support it.”
Michael leans against the wall, curling his hand on the top of the door. The sheer enormousness of this man still amazes me every day.
