I hoped Jacques was oblivious to the tension simmering between me and Crew throughout dinner. But he whispered Amore is not easy, ma cherie in my ear as we said our goodbyes, making me think you might have needed to be blind and deaf not to notice we weren抰 behaving like newlyweds. Jacques laughed at the scowl I answered his advice with.
After dinner, the driver drops us off back at the hotel. I stride across the marble lobby, not bothering to wait for Crew. I need some space. Unfortunately, his long legs carry him into the elevator mere seconds after me. The golden doors slide shut slowly, sealing us inside, and we begin to rise.
I expect him to talk, but he stays silent, leaning against the shiny metal wall and acting as though I抦 not standing two feet away.
We arrive at the top floor of suites a couple of minutes later.
揧ou have my room key??I ask when the doors open, annoyed I had to break the silence first. He was the one who checked us in. Unless I want to sleep in the hallway or pat him down like a police officer, I have no choice.
Wordlessly, Crew plucks a plastic rectangle from his pocket and hands it to me. I nod a thanks before I head toward the number emblazoned on the plastic. I hold the key against the sensor. It flashes green, allowing me inside. I shut the heavy door behind me and lean back against it for a moment. What a day. Parts梞ost梠f it were good, which is bittersweet. I抣l remember his pissed-off posture in the car just now when I think of climbing the Eiffel Tower side by side. My fault.
I head deeper inside the plush suite, kicking off my stilettos with a heavy sigh that doesn抰 release any tension. My bags have all been piled in the living room, next to unfamiliar luggage that should not be in here. I turn around at the same time as the door beeps again. Crew enters the room.
揥hat are you doing in here? I thought you had your own room.?
揟here were none available,?Crew says breezily, pulling off his suit jacket and tossing it across the back of the gilded couch.
揧ou抮e lying,?I inform him, crossing my arms.
揂m I??He gives me an infuriating smirk.
揧ou抮e not sleeping in here.?
揥hy not? Worried you won抰 be able to control yourself, Red??
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. 揑抳e controlled myself for the month we抳e been married. So no, I抦 not.?
I expect him to bring up how loudly I moaned next to my parents?pool. The only reason we didn抰 have sex that night was because he didn抰 have a condom and thinks I抦 sleeping with a surgeon. Rubbing up against him wasn抰 exactly the pinnacle of self-control. But instead of a reminder, all he says is, 揋reat. I don抰 see what the problem is then.?
揧ou抮e sleeping on the couch.?Fuck. I don抰 negotiate. Ever.
Crew抯 triumphant smirk is maddening. He untucks his shirt and starts unbuttoning it. Looks at the fancy Victorian-style sofa that appears about as soft as a wooden board. 揟he bed looks more comfortable.?
揑抦 sure it is. If you want a bed棓 Another suggestion to get his own damn room dies on my tongue as he discards his khaki shorts and strides to the bed in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. My mouth goes dry as he climbs in on the side of the bed I usually sleep on.
Golden skin rippling over defined muscles assaults my vision and hijacks my thoughts. He did most of the exploring the last time he was shirtless. I抦 ogling and he appears indifferent, climbing into bed and rolling onto his stomach. He tugs a pillow under his head, closes his eyes, and that抯 it.
No touching. No teasing. No taunting. No talking.
We feel like a married couple梖ifty years in. Not a loving one who cherishes every moment they share. A resigned one where time together is a chore and at least one person always has somewhere they抎 rather be.
I抦 completely off-kilter, but if I protest more, it will essentially be admitting I can抰 handle his proximity. That I抦 affected by being near him while he抯 unconscious. I am, but I would rather sleep on the floor than give him that information. Than give Crew the satisfaction of pushing me out of my bed梠f winning.
I stomp over to my bags to retrieve my toiletry kit and pajamas. I make sure to slam the bathroom door shut behind me, well aware I抦 acting like a petulant child. More than being annoyed with Crew, I抦 pissed at myself. If I really wanted to, I could make him leave. I抦 choosing to allow this because a part of me wants it. I can feel the cracks appearing in my walls. And I know it.
Worse? So does he.
I just won抰 admit it梩o him or to myself.
I wash my face and slather it with moisturizer. After I go through the rest of my evening routine, I slide out of the dress I抳e been wearing all day and pull a sleep set on.
Then I pad back out into the living room, tossing my white dress over the same couch where Crew abandoned his jacket. I continue into the bedroom. The lamp is still on, but Crew appears fast asleep, his back rising and falling steadily with each breath. I hover in the doorway, taking the rare opportunity to study him, the same as I did last time we shared a bed. Something I thought would be an infrequent occurrence.