Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
When I talked to that woman on the phone to request that Violet have time off for our honeymoon, she was icy with me. Violet had previously said they bonded over her breakup with Raymond as Shara had gone through an ugly breakup also, so maybe she’s jealous she doesn’t have a break-up buddy since Violet’s now happily married. Jealous that Violet married someone with money. Whatever. My wife doesn’t even need that job.
She comes into the room, eyebrows jutting up at the sight of me looking at her phone. Her face goes red, her mouth tightening like she’s about to reprimand me. She says nothing. Instead, she reaches into the chest of drawers.
When we were here on the weekend, we brought a bag of clothes to leave behind, so we don’t have to cart clothes back and forth every time we come. She’s currently in a towel and pulling underthings out of the drawer that contains both of our underwear, which she joked about when she put them away, calling it the His and Hers Unmentionables drawer.
“Guess we’re staying here tonight?” I set the phone down.
She reaches into another drawer to fetch flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, then she leaves - too angry with me to change in front of me, I guess. Too upset to even answer me.
I decide to change, too. I undo my belt and take off my button-down before dropping my slacks. After I remove my shoes, I yank off my socks and then change into dark lounge pants and a gray Henley.
It’s cold in this house right now. I pull on some thick winter socks and as I rise, she’s coming back in. Her t-shirt has a cat on it giving the finger. I notch a brow at it as I’m lifting my clothing up off the floor and setting the pile on top of the chest of drawers.
Her eyes land on my face, then quickly bounce away.
“Wanna talk some more?” I jack the heat up on the heater in the corner and then head to the bed.
She looks wrung out. Like she can’t handle anything else. She’s also looking at me getting into the bed with an expression that tells me she doesn’t want me here.
“Or maybe feel like watching something?” I ask. “Table it all until tomorrow?”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot. And I feel like one for even suggesting she could forget all this even for a while.
We bought a television for this room last weekend, and I set it up with a streaming box because that’s what we’ve done when we’ve come here. Chill out and watch something at night in bed. Cuddled.
Though I’m not a betting man, I would actually wager a guess there won’t be cuddling tonight in front of the television. And I’m at a loss. In a short time, we’ve built up a routine that feels right. It’s not always the same, but it includes closeness that I’ve found addictive. I end my day attached to her and she’s receptive, always. At least before all this, and I want that now. I want it – no, need it – because I need to know we’re going to get past this, get back to where we were.
But judging by her reaction so far, I’ve got an arduous task ahead of me. I’m willing to put in the work, and it’s becoming apparent that I’ve got a lot of it to do.
And I’ve never before been in a position where I wanted forgiveness from someone. This is foreign.
“Come here. Let’s figure out how to move past this.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Come here, Violet,” I try.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” There’s fire in her eyes.
“Baby…”
“No. Not coming there. Not if you’re staying.”
“Not if… what?”
“I can’t… I don’t know how to even respond to you. I’m still reeling. I need to process this, figure out what to…” She shakes her head, leaving that hang. She swallows hard.
My temper flares a little. “Well, process it then and know that I’d do it again if it meant you breathing easy. Forget he exists. That’s how we move past this. Let me worry about him.”
“Stealing money from you isn’t grounds for…this. Not even with-”
“I’m not talking about the money,” I growl, “I’m talking about you.”
She huffs.
“He stole you from me!” I shout.
“You care more about vengeance than about what I think, clearly. It happened to me, not you.” She folds her arms across her chest.
“He hurt you. He fucked us both over repeatedly. I know what you wanted, and I already said I tried. Do you care about what I think, Violet? How I feel? About how I feel about what he did to us? Yeah, he hurt you for all that time, but he also took three years with you away from me. Do I not get a say here?”