This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(5)

I turn away from the row of designer dresses to find his hard stare. “I love sex, Edward. I always have. You used to like it too.”

“Can we not do this right now?” His words are graveled with irritation. “I have enough on my plate without having to think about satisfying my sex-starved wife.”

“That’s unfair. Why are you trying to make me feel bad for wanting to save our sex life? To revive this marriage? I understand if—”

“You don’t understand a damn thing.”

“I understand if,” I resume, carefully laying out my next words, “you’re having trouble in that area. Sometimes as men age—”

“I’m forty, Sol,” he fires back. “Not eighty. You ever think maybe the problem isn’t with me, but with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Women’s bodies change.”

“I’m in the best shape of my life.” I hear the note of defensiveness creeping into my voice and start again. “I do yoga and Pilates a few times a week. If anything, I’m trying not to lose this.”

I grab my generous ass. A gift from my abuela, it ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. It is time-tested and exercise-resistant, and I like it that way.

“I don’t mean the outside.” He reaches for his suit jacket. “You have pushed out three kids. Things get loose down there. What’s that thing women do to tighten up? Vaginal rejuvenation or whatever? Maybe that’s where you start reviving our sex life.”

It’s a sucker punch that knocks the breath out of me. I go still, my hand hovering over the red dress. I can’t believe he said that, and with such deliberate aim.

“Your three kids,” I reply, making sure the wobble I feel inside doesn’t make my voice waver. “I pushed out your three daughters. They literally had to stitch my vagina back together after the last one. Until you’ve known the pain of a third-degree tear, don’t complain to me about my loose pussy. Go to this party by your damn self.”

I stride out of the closet and into the bedroom, snatching my robe from the bench at the foot of our bed. Slipping my arms through the sleeves, I sit, bracing my hands on the bench to hide their shaking.

When did Edward turn cruel? He wasn’t always like this. Maybe I was so fooled by his brightness, by the beauty of him, that I overlooked this ugly underside. He was ambitious, yes, and sometimes careless, but something is rotting inside him now. It’s only lately I’ve smelled the stench.

He walks back into the bedroom in bare feet and with measured steps. The look he angles at me from under his brows is careful, calculating. I know this man. He needs me on his arm tonight at this party and is wondering what he should say to get me there.

He squats in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Look, I shouldn’t have said—”

“No, but you did.” I hold his gaze, not softening mine even though he appears contrite.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You know I’ve been under so much pressure at the office—”

“That can’t be your excuse for everything, Edward. For being home less with me and the girls. For working all the time. For saying your assistant’s name in your sleep.”

His head snaps up. “I explained about that. Nothing’s going on between Amber and me. We’ve been working so hard on these projects that I—”

“Dream about her?” I cock my head to the side, snatching my hands away from him to fold my arms across my chest.

“No, I…” He shakes his head, his contrition and patience wearing thin. “We don’t have time to rehash this. Not right now. It only happened a couple of times. God, are you holding me responsible for my subconscious? I told you it was nothing. Can we just go?”

He reaches for my hands again, looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Sol, baby, I need you.”

I stand, glaring down at him, still not ready to release my indignation. “Then act like it.”

I leave him there and head back into the closet, flick through the clothes until I find what I’m looking for. The one-shouldered gold dress I wanted to wear shimmers among the blacks, grays, and other more muted colors. I’ve never worn it, but I remember how it cuts low over my breasts and rides high up my legs. Letting the robe fall to the floor, I wrench the dress from the hanger and yank it over my head, showing little consideration for the delicate material.

“I thought we agreed on the red,” Edward says with a frown.

“You like the red dress so much?” I shove my feet into the five-inch stilettos I coveted online for months before breaking down and buying. “You wear it.”

I leave the room in a flounce of gold and fury, taking the stairs at a breakneck pace, slowing when I realize I could literally break my neck in these heels.

“Wow, Mom.” My daughter Lupe whistles from the bottom of the stairs. “You look great.”

“Thank you, honey.” I pause to kiss her cheek. At fifteen, she already stands a few inches above me, but the heels give me a slight advantage. “I have a feeling I’ll regret these shoes, though.”

“There’s still time to change.”

“And waste all this glam?” I kick up one heel and force myself to smile even though I’m still seething from the confrontation with Edward. “No way. Looking this good might be worth losing my pinkie toe at the end of the night. Beauty is pain sometimes.”