“Financial investments, to keep it short. The truth—fuck people over for his own benefit.”
“Oh, well, isn’t that commendable.” My voice is laced with sarcasm.
“And there’s nothing that will stop him from getting what he wants, even if that means fucking over his own children.”
“What? Seriously?” I ask. “I mean, granted, my mom was never upstanding, but at least she knew she didn’t want to raise me and Arlo, so she passed us over to our grandparents and left to do her own thing. We were in better hands. They never hurt us, but I’m not sure they loved us, either. But to screw over your own children for your benefit . . .” I shake my head. “I can’t imagine.”
He forks some of his greens. “I believe he had children to use them as assets, not to love them, raise them, or leave a lasting impression on society.”
“Can I ask you what he did to you?”
His eyes flash up to mine, hurt deep within his pupils, causing his brows to droop. “There was a business he wanted to secure with someone he absolutely hates and has screwed over in the past.”
“Hence the ‘no loyalty.’”
“Exactly.”
I can tell he’s nervous talking about this subject because he pulls on the back of his neck, leaving his food to just rest on his plate as he speaks. I’m tempted to break the distance between us, to scoot to his side, but I also want to be able to look him in the eyes, and I know if I move to his side of the booth, I won’t have access to his expression as freely as I do now.
“So, he came to me,” he says.
“What could you do to help?”
“Date the daughter of the man he wants to be in business with.”
Color me shocked, because that was the last thing I expected him to say.
“Really? Wow, I thought that kind of thing only happened in TV and movies. I didn’t think it existed in the real world.”
“It does.”
“Did you date her?”
To my shock, he slowly nods. “For five years.”
“FIVE years?” I shout and then hush my voice. “You dated someone you didn’t like for five years?”
“It’s not that I didn’t like her.”
“Oh.” I straighten. “I just assumed. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude.”
“Iris is a nice girl,” he says, and for some reason, hearing her name blasts me with a rush of jealousy. It’s one thing to know that maybe in a faraway reality, he once dated someone so his dad could gain ground in his business, but to have a name to her, that puts a whole new spin on it. “Quite pleasant, actually. She never did anything wrong. She was . . . perfect.”
Yeah, I don’t like that.
Because Iris sounds like the antithesis of me. I’m a far cry from perfect. Not even close. I carry truckloads of baggage, some baggage that should never be opened. Iris is perfect . . . and he walked away from her. What chance do I have that he’ll stay with me?
He must sense my insecurity, because he says, “She’s not perfect in the way you must be thinking. Not perfect in my eyes, but just perfect in general. She never showed fault. Hair was never out of place, dresses were always pressed, skin flawless, makeup impeccable. It was as though she was a real-life porcelain doll that was never touched, never played with.”
“Did you . . . not play with her?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He glances away. “If you’re asking if I was celibate for five years, the answer would be no.”
He fucked her; how could you not? Five years with someone, you’re bound to strip down.
But did he fuck her like he fucks me?
Did he speak into her ear as he pulsed deep inside her? Did he use toys on her? Did he let her use toys on him? Did he bend her over in the shower and fuck her against the tile? Did he ever come so hard inside her that he collapsed on top of her back, unable to move for a solid two minutes?
“That mind of yours is working too hard,” he says, cutting through my sordid and unwanted thoughts.
I have no right to think of his sex life with Iris and compare it to ours.
He’s my husband, but that’s only a technicality at this point in time. We didn’t marry for love. And right now, we’re simply dating to see if we want to stay married. It’s so backward. It doesn’t give me the right to compare. And yet . . . all I can feel is a niggling fear.
“Was she good?”
“Coraline.” He pins me with a glare.
I pick up my fork and move some leftover sauce around on my plate. “I’m sorry, but I’m curious. I didn’t know you were in such a serious relationship with someone else. Five years . . . that’s on the fast track to engagement and marriage.”