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Jordan
I’m a ball of nerves by the time Rafael makes his way to the table.
Enzo and I have been here for a few minutes, and Kat has already brought the food out, but we were waiting to eat until Rafael showed. Apparently, his plane was late, which is why he’s late for dinner now.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but maybe it’s because this is a weird conversation to have with one person, never mind two. One who is my husband, and the other is my husband’s lover? Boyfriend? Partner? What are they to one another? Contractual obligation. That sounds so cold.
Maybe it’s that way for a reason.
“Sorry I’m late,” Rafael says smoothly, taking a seat beside me.
I cringed when I saw there were two plates set up on this side and one on the other. I thought Enzo wanted to sit next to me for once, but when he came in and sat across, it was clear who would be on the side of me. I don’t know if he’s doing this because he wants us to bond or what, but it’s only making me more uncomfortable. Though, maybe it is better not having to look this man in the eye while we talk. I’m not fully comfortable having these conversations with Enzo, never mind a stranger.
Who I slept with.
Multiple times.
Who gave me lots of orgasms by the order of Enzo…
Okay, so maybe this whole thing won’t be such a bad idea. I mean, how many women get a husband who is willing to allow them to sleep with another man?
But do I want to sleep with another man?
A flash of Enzo’s face at the club pops into my head. He was so turned on watching us. He loved telling us what to do. Loved that both of us obeyed him.
Maybe it’s like getting two cakes for your birthday.
One is amazing. But two? Two is even better.
Yep. I’m going with that. Totally two birthday cakes.
“How was your flight?” Enzo asks casually. Simply. So easily…
“Terrible,” Rafael answers, reaching for the bowl of sweet potatoes. He scoops some onto his plate, blindly reaches for mine and does the same. The gesture is polite, and I should be thankful, but it makes me feel weird. Totally throws me off guard. Why is he doing this? “The guy on the side of me had the worst case of body odor I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t think a man could smell so bad. It was a full flight, so there was nowhere else to sit. The only toilet in the plane's front stopped working mid-flight, and the turbulence was atrocious.”
“And this is why I told you to let Bernice handle it. You’d have sat first class, on a better flight, not had to worry about anyone bothering you, and had a separate toilet.”
“Do you have a remedy for the turbulence too?”
Enzo chuckles. “Can’t say I do.”
I blink a few times as their exchange sinks into my head. So easy and carefree, like they’re old friends. They aren’t sitting here and being all sexual and flirty and lovely. They’re talking like friends.
Rafael grabs the asparagus, gives some to himself, then to me. Why is he serving me food? Enzo usually does this and that’s normal, but why is Rafael doing it?
“I’ve told you a hundred times I don’t want your money and I don’t want you buying me things,” Rafael argues as he returns the dish of vegetables.
“And I’ve told you a hundred times I don’t care.”
Jesus, they fight like an old married couple.
Should I be bothered by this? Because I’m not. I’m entertained. Seeing them like this now is so extremely different from how they were at the club. How do they know when to be like that and when to be like this? Are the terms written in their contract?
“How’s your mom?” I find myself asking as Rafael puts a pork chop on my plate.
He sighs. “Not well. I’m glad I visited her when I did.”
“Rafael, I tol—”
