“Your wife.”
Oh, fucking hell.“Youare my wife, Matilde.”
“Yes, but I thought you might think of her. You might still want Margareta. You only married me because you needed a mother for your children and you felt sorry for-”
I press my finger to her lips, but it doesn’t stop the tears that slip down her cheeks, washing away my lies and stupid excuses and making me feel about three inches tall. I have to be honest with her. I have to tell her, much as I hate talking about it.
“No, I don’t think of her or anyone else when I’m with you. The truth is, looking someone in the eyes during sex is a very intimate act.”
“I know. That is why I want it. But you do not want it?”
“No, I don’t.”
40
Matilde
Sex in his SUV was exciting, but, all afternoon, I kept thinking about our lack of closeness on an emotional level when we’re intimate and finally worked up the nerve to call Frankie.
“Nico has always appeared cold as ice around me, Matilde, but you know how our men act in public. I used to wonder if Carlo was really capable of romantic love. I’m happy to say he definitely is.”
I wanted to draw hope from her words, but Carlo and Nico are two different men, so I’d asked her about oral sex instead. Nico has done it to me so many times now and never once asked if I might reciprocate. I wasn’t sure why that was if men supposedly love it, and it added to my insecurities.
Feeling emboldened, I decided to act before I lost my nerve even if that meant interrupting him during a business meeting. I thought it was going well, and I’d felt a blooming sense of empowerment.
Then he turned me toward the desk for sex.
He doesn’t hold me close unless the lights aren’t off. He doesn’t want to look at my face during intimacy. Am I just a vessel for his pleasure, a nanny who’ll never leave his children, an added burden that he gave his last name? I want more than that.
All my uncertainties about our marriage and the buried feelings of powerlessness from my captivity boil over, leaving me teary and Nico looking like he wishes he could disappear. I’m scared he’ll withdraw after I drive a Margareta-sized wedge between us, but Nico doesn’t withdraw.
“No, I don’t think of her or anyone else when I’m with you. The truth is, looking someone in the eyes during sex is a very intimate act.”
“I know. That is why I want it. But you do not want it?”
“No, I don’t.”
My heart breaks with those three little words, and I curse myself for developing feelings for this man with ice in his veins. I knew the deal. Why did I push for more?
Naked and ashamed, I decide it’s time for me to withdraw, and I take the first step to retrieve my robe. “No.” He firmly refuses to let me escape.
“You are dressed. I want clothes,” I whimper, unable to stop the flow of tears.
He shrugs off his coat, helping me put my arms through the sleeves until I’m as covered as I would’ve been in my robe. Then, he sits down again, tugging at my hand. I want to resist, to pull away, but all the strength has seeped out of me, and I find myself sitting in his lap once more.
“Seeing you cry… my chest is caving in,” he murmurs.
His words prompt me to lift my chin, and he swiftly darts forward, surprising me with a gentle kiss on the lips. I’m incapable of saying anything more intelligent than, “My nose runs.”
He smiles, making my heart ache even more. Unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, he wipes away my tears and snot with his sleeve. “I don’t give a fuck about a shirt,” he promises when I look aghast.
Once my face is dry, he leans in again, more slowly, to give me another kiss.
“Eighty-two.” I’m puzzled by the random number until he continues. “That was my eighty-second kiss, but only the eighty-first that meant a damn thing.”
My eyes fly open wide. “You mean ever?” He nods, and my stomach flips. “How?”
“I kissed Margareta at the altar on our wedding day. Never again.”
