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When he confronted me, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and beg him to forgive me. I wanted to tell him how I think I feel about him. But I knew then, and I know now, that I could not do that. I can’t give in to these feelings, and I can’t let them grow. Somehow, though, I don’t think I am in control of that anymore.
For the first two days after finding out that I betrayed him, Kiril was right there—no matter where I turned or what I did. He was always hovering over me, telling me what to eat and making sure I was hydrated. Lunch was served at a scheduled time and he informed me that he would be booking regular health checkups for me. He would follow me from room to room, and I felt so confined and trapped, but I could not say or do anything against it, so I grit my teeth and dealt with it. For the sake of my friend. He has promised me that he will keep Lauren safe and I will do anything to make sure it stays that way. I will do anything he tells me to do—no matter what that might be.
I feel more like a prisoner now than I have since I arrived in his home. I am constantly worried about Lauren, and about my baby. Our baby. Kiril always corrects me. Ours. Not mine.
Actually, when he insists on calling it our baby it reassures me. It makes me think he is happy about becoming a father.
It lets me know that I will not have to do this alone.
But then, around the third day after he confronted me, he pulled away.
Suddenly I had a sort of freedom. He would tell me that I could just inform the chef when I wanted to eat, and I could choose my own menu. He stopped asking me every ten minutes if I had drunk enough water. He didn’t follow me around or hover over me, and suddenly I began to feel alone. Very alone.
After a week I knew I was really missing him. The idea that he has pulled away from me because of what I’ve done is causing me to panic. Maybe he doesn’t want me around anymore? What if he can’t ever find it in his heart to forgive me? Could I forgive myself if I was on the receiving end of that kind of betrayal?
At night I cry myself to sleep with the worry of it all. I don’t want to lose him, and that confuses me.
I know his life is wild. Crazy and spontaneous. He must be dealing with the most intense things on a day-to-day basis. I begin to grow concerned that this home life with me is much too bland for him. It must be so vanilla and boring compared to what he is used to. Maybe he likes going to clubs, and partying, and enjoying his evenings with friends. I don’t know. He does not strike me as being that type of person, but what do I really know about him other than how he treats me?
What if he is already bored with the idea of being a father, being tied down like that? I know he promised me he would take care of me and our baby, but perhaps he has changed his mind. He might not want to be locked into that responsibility—especially not with a woman who broke his trust in the way I have.
I lie in bed one afternoon, feeling miserable, wanting him to come in and check on me. But then I realize that I don’t have to wait for him to come to me.
He might be bored with me, but I just want to be close to him. He doesn’t even have to talk to me. I pick up my book and push myself off the bed, going through to his office where I think he is. I find him sitting behind his desk, working hard.
I walk over to the chair in the corner of his office and sit down.
He looks puzzled and asks me if everything is alright. I reassure him that it is and turn my attention to my book.
I don’t want to get in his way or interrupt him. I just want to be here. Near him.
I do notice, though, how he keeps looking up at me, and it makes me feel happy inside.
When he is done working, he stands up, asking if I am hungry. I want to spend more time with him, so I suggest we cook something together instead of having the chef make it.
Now we are both in the kitchen and I am feeling so much better than I have felt in a long time. Kiril is laughing with me and teasing me. He is teaching me how to make tacos, something I never imagined happening. So far, I have cut the onions wrong, dropped ingredients on the floor, and got more sauce on myself than in the bowl.
“The sauce belongs on the tacos.” He laughs that low, warming sound that rumbles from his chest.
I grin and turn my focus back to making the sauce. I really don’t want to mess it up. I am kind of trying to impress him with my cooking skills, which has not been going that well.
I feel him move behind me, his solid form pressing against me. I can feel his chest and stomach muscles against my back, and it is sending electricity through my body. The air around us is charged and I am biting back the sudden, intense lust that is increasing by the second. He is so close to me, and he smells amazing. His hands are on my waist and I am waiting for him to start moving them around my body. I lean into him slightly, almost asking him to take me. I know I won’t be able to resist him.
I want him to want me.
Then Kiril steps back, and my back feels cold where his body was touching me. There is an empty space behind me. I glance over my shoulder and see that he is busying himself with the food. He does not want me. He moved away.
For a moment, I feel the absolute horror of rejection. All of my worries come rushing back to me. He is bored with me. He is bored with the idea of having a baby with me. He doesn’t want this life—cooking in the kitchen at home—when he could be out doing something far more exciting. I was foolish to think I would ever be enough for him.
I fight back tears and tell myself to breathe. I insist on it. I lecture myself. I never needed him before, and I don’t need him now. Except I kind of do need him. I need him more than I think I do. I definitely need him more than he needs me.
I really, desperately, do not want him to see me crying.
“Kiril, I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I think I’m going to lie down for a moment.”
He turns quickly towards me, but I keep my face turned away as I walk around the kitchen counter.
“I can help you,” he says. “What do you need?”
