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She spoke, and I had to literally shake my head to get back to the issue at hand.

“I only wanted it for emergencies,” she said, breathless. My thumbs were rubbing the softest spot up high on her inner thighs. “Not like real emergencies, but if I had a question for you that I wanted answered, for plans or whatever. I just don’t want to communicate through Asha anymore.” I slid one hand higher, into the leg of her torturous little romper. My fingers teased the lace of her panties.

She gripped the edge of the table, her face flushed.

Our food arrived and I had to take my hands off her and sit up. I didn’t look at her again for a time, focusing on my food and willing my raging hard-on to go down. Finally when I had myself somewhat under control, I swallowed my mouthful of prime rib and spoke, “You don’t have to have an emergency to call or text me.”

She finished swallowing a tiny, sad, sad bite of her greens before responding, “You want me to text you?”

I was uncomfortable with the subject, but not uncomfortable enough to stay quiet on it. I had to clear my throat and swallow before I could choke my next words out. “I’d like that.”

She just stared at me for a time, food forgotten. I stared steadily back.

Finally she leaned forward, placing the back of her hand to my forehead, brow furrowed, expression thoughtful. It was adorable and it made me smile. “What are you doing?” I asked her.

“Checking for a fever.”

“A fever?”

“I’m just trying to find a reasonable excuse for the fact that my husband is suddenly being nice to me.”

I visibly winced, though her reaction was perfectly understandable. I had no excuse for the way I’d treated her, and no explanation for why I’d had such a sudden change of heart. Certainly nothing I was willing to admit to.

Instead I played it off. “Such a cynical eighteen-year-old,” I teased her. Attempted to, anyway.

“Nineteen,” she said and went back to eating.

I stared, dumbfounded. What did that mean? “Nineteen what?”

She took her time answering, taking another tiny bite of food and a sip of her water. My jaw was clenched impatiently as I waited.

“I’m ‘such a cynical’ nineteen-year-old,” she finally said.

“What? When did you turn nineteen?”

She looked thoughtful. She seemed to be calculating something in her head. And she took her fucking time doing it. “About seven hours ago.”

“It’s your birthday?” You could’ve picked my jaw up off the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her slowly. Perhaps she had a good answer for this.

Unfortunately, she did.

She shrugged. “I didn’t even think of it. Why would it concern you?”

Why did that make me absolutely livid? I couldn’t even understand myself. Who I was I angry with? I wanted to lash out, but who could I blame but myself?

Ah yes. That was who I was angry with.

I wanted to shout. I wanted to rage. Instead I answered her with every ounce of civility I could muster. “It concerns me because you’re my wife.”

Her mouth twisted into an unhappy smile. “Really, Calder. There’s no need for you to pretend when it’s just the two of us. I don’t want you to do anything for me out of obligation. I know your father forced you to take me to dinner tonight, so this is all for him, but you really don’t need to bother to go out of your way on my account. If he asks me, I’ll tell him you did everything you were supposed to. I’m not looking to get you in trouble.”

Each word was a barb that burrowed under my skin. They’d sting for a while.

And I deserved every one of them.

The worst part was that in her mind she wasn’t even being particularly pointed. This wasn’t coming from resentment on her part.

She was just that resigned to my poor behavior. That stung more.