“Except, it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He searches my face. “It’s your side hustle. Whatever you make, your aunt sells, which means that what you make is good enough.”
My stomach tightens at the thought of quitting my safe, albeit mind-numbing, job and jumping into the unknown.
“I can’t make a living with my craft, Antoine,” I say.
“Your aunt does.”
“It’s different.”
He cocks his head. “How?”
“She’s…” I realize I’m about to prove his point and let out a frustrated sigh. “Gutsy.”
He stares at me for a moment, my hand still in his, and then says, “Let me start with a caveat. When I urge you to put your needs first and to be less of a pleaser, I’m scoring my own goal.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m being selfless.”
I frown. “I still don’t understand.”
“How do I explain this?” He takes both my hands and brings them to his lips. “Your desire to please, combined with your curves and your extraordinary sexual responsiveness is every man’s fantasy, Laura. You’re a wet dream made flesh.”
What?I blink at him.
“And here I am,” he continues, “telling you to learn to say no. In our context, this is me showing extreme altruism.”
“Aah,” I say, finally catching his drift. “Right. Of course.”
“So, my question is, are you ready to do something bold?”
“Maybe…” I tilt my head. “What do you have in mind?”
“Quit your day job, even if it upsets your parents, and make your art your main occupation.”
“No can do.” I make a sad puppy face. “Got to pay rent.”
“Your art will take care of it.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I stare at him. “What if I don’t make enough?”
Part of me is hoping he’ll point out that we’re married, which means we’ll be renting together and paying the bills together.
“You’re right,” he grumbles, after a moment’s reflection. “Perhaps that was too radical. Give me a sec to hatch a better idea, something that forces you to be assertive without risking your livelihood.”
I withdraw my hands from his and fold them over my chest.
“Off topic,” he says, “can we switch sleeping sides? I prefer the one where you put your pajamas when we unpacked.”
“No problem.”
“Don’t you want to know why I prefer that side?”
“Why?” I ask, a little surprised.
“It’s closer to the window.”
“OK.”
