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But as the day progresses, I find myself thinking more about him, and by the time I’m in the back of the car heading to our place (because he sends a driver now to bring me home, naturally), I’ve already made up my mind.
I cook him dinner. Back home with Jason and Nana, this was my usual job, and I’m humming as I put together a quick pasta primavera with lots of fresh vegetables. I text him to make sure he’ll be back for dinner, and I lose myself in the simple act of making a meal for the two of us. I’m not a chef and I didn’t have a family cook growing up to teach me, but I’ve had to learn because I’m the only one that could do any of this stuff.
“That smells incredible,” Saul says when he comes into the kitchen. I’m plating the meal as he pauses to kiss my cheek. It’s such a simple gesture, so normal and thoughtless, and it sends a skitter into my heart.
“Just something I used to make for Jason and Nana all the time. It’s nothing special.”
“Looks incredible.”
I try not to smile. It’s just dinner and not a huge deal, but he’s the first person outside of my immediate family that I’ve ever cooked for. His approval means something.
We eat together. He drinks wine and I have seltzer. He asks about my day, and even though my job isn’t exactly exciting, he sits there and listens to me talk about Marsha and Cathy and all the old guy regulars.
“Marsha calls them her geriatric harem.”
“Isn’t she married?”
“Yep, with five kids, but she says her husband is open to a poly relationship as long as his rivals are all over the age of eighty and don’t have easy access to Viagra.”
He laughs, his plate completely cleared. “Smart man, but you’d be surprised how vigorous some old guys can be. I knew this one ancient mafioso named Joey the Creep, used to pay for blowjobs from strippers at one of our clubs well into his late eighties and only stopped because he broke a fucking hip. Then he was trying to fuck his goddamn home aide.”
“Apt name,” I say, shaking my head. “What a character.”
“We get a lot of those in my line of work. Bunch of old, horny fucks.”
“Think you’ll be a randy old man?”
“Depends. If I’m still married to you, absolutely.”
I feel a strange, deep blush come over me. “You think this is forever?”
He tilts his head. “You haven’t thought about it, have you?”
“Not really,” I admit. “It’s hard to see past the next year or two. You know, since we’re going to be in baby hell soon.”
“Baby heaven, you mean. But from my perspective, you’re my wife.”
“Right. Forever.” The idea makes me uncomfortable. I shift in my chair. “I guess I should’ve negotiated an end date.”
“There’s no end date if you want to be coparents,” he says softly. “And why bother? We have all this chemistry.”
“Saul,” I say, warning.
“You can keep holding me at arm’s length, but I remember how worried you were last night.”
“Doubt it,” I grumble. “You’re too busy thinking about me riding you.”
“Damn right I am.” He stares pure, lust-filled fire at me. “You know, I’m still injured.”
“Go see a doctor.” I get up and clear the table as he laughs.
But what he said is bothering me. I fell into this relationship because of the money and because he promised to look after Nana and Jason. I hadn’t thought about what that meant for my future. I’ve been too busy obsessing about my present.
He’s my forever. There’s no divorce clause in our deal.
As I’m putting the dishes in the dishwasher, he comes into the kitchen and puts something down onto the counter next to me. I straighten up as he leans against the refrigerator, watching. I squint at the paper, and it takes a minute before it becomes clear.
The marriage certificate. “It’s signed,” I say, and I can’t decide how I feel about him forging my signature. Though that’s really the least of my problems, but I can’t get over it. My name just looks… wrong. Not mine, not really.
