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He came to the cupboard door where the dry goods were kept, lifting out the glass jar in which the rice was stored.
“Magic, was it, leaping onto the floor?” he scoffed. I risked a glance at his face and his blue eyes flitted from the jar to me.
I’d screwed everything up. Pressing my dry lips together, I didn’t dare speak. He ran his fingers through his hair, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and shook his head. His reaction destroyed any resolve I might have had for holding out with my lies. I didn’t need to lie any further. He unearthed my faults with ease.
“Feeling sorry for yourself. A little contrite about your behaviour today? I had hoped we could simply enjoy a quiet meal together. The nappy change—not a big deal, and I get that you’re tired and struggling. You made it worse with all this.” He pointed at the remaining rice grains. “You couldn’t wait to deal with this together?” His quiet tone was a
lmost lost under my thumping heartbeats. “Do you think choosing your own form of correction is the right attitude for a submissive? Who controls you, Gemma?”
“You do, Sir,” I squeaked.
He stepped closer, and I gripped the vacuum hose tighter. I flinched; I was that nervous.
Whatever my initial intentions were with my kneeling on the rice, they had been wiped out by my foolish act. Jason recognized topping from the bottom, even if he hadn’t said it out loud. I never planned for him to catch me. It was to be my own little act of penitence that would wipe out my sin of disrespect and make me feel better, not the absent Jason, but me. He was right. He didn’t mind changing Joshua. Jason never did complain about spending time with his son, regardless of the activity. He hadn’t shown any anger towards me. I’d inflicted that unwarranted emotion on myself.
His shoes crunched on the rice, and he looked down at his feet. “Finish what you’ve started.”
I sucked up the grains, tidied away the appliance, and had no idea what to do next. He took a shower and used it to regroup his thoughts, I hoped.
Once he’d changed into fresh clothes, he went into his study to work while I skimmed through a book, stretched out on the sofa. Still no sign of Jason. Tired and fed-up, I went to Joshua’s room, curled up on the guest bed to listen to my son’s light breathing, and joined him in sleep.
Jason woke me, shaking my shoulder. “Come to bed.”
I staggered after him. It hadn’t been my intention to sleep apart from my husband, and his summons gave me a glimmer of hope my stupidity had been forgiven. However, he rolled into bed, shut his eyes, and fell into an instant slumber, while I lay awake fretting at my inability to be submissive whenever we left the sanctuary of home.
In the morning, emerging from my grubby state of sleepiness, I discovered Jason giving Joshua his breakfast.
“Go and shower,” he told me. “Eliza will be here soon. We’re going for an early morning run in Central Park.
“Yes, Sir.” I turned on my feet and left them to it.
Eliza’s arrival triggered another spell of unbecoming attitude. I failed to cater for changes in my routine.
Eliza exuded a wonderful morning persona, which reflected Jason’s attitude but not mine. The banter between Jason and Eliza riled me. She made him smile and laugh with her wit while he put on his running shoes and they compared fitness levels—how long it took to run a mile, who could get their pulse back down the quickest.
“Jason, your resting pulse is ridiculously low. What do you do, meditate?” Eliza pressed her finger into his wrist. Watching her touch him, my own pulse spiked.
Jason shrugged. “I go to the gym regularly. I don’t need to be a Buddhist.”
She laughed. “I run a couple of times a week. It’s only when you visit I do it every day. You’re such a fitness freak.”
“It’s a good way to have a catch-up meeting.” He dropped his arm and patted her back.
The green goddess of jealous went rampant in my mind. They went running every time he came over to the States! He’d never told me. I pictured the pair of them jogging, laughing, japing, while I what? Mopped up Joshua’s dribble.
“Would you like a drink before you go, Eliza?” I asked in a feinted polite tone.
“No thanks, Gemma. Jason and I usually grab something from a vendor.”
Again, she reinforced the notion the jog was a familiar activity. Why did she get to spend quality time with my husband, didn’t she have her own?
“We’ll be back in half an hour or so, Gemma. Will you still be here?” Jason asked.
I slammed a cup under the coffee dispenser. “No,” I snapped. “We’ll be gone.” I didn’t know where. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“Well, have a good day out,” he said, but I ignored the words, the sharp tone beneath, warned me.
I rammed a few nappies in the messenger bag, a drinking cup for Joshua, and a map of New York. What had I planned, anyway? I couldn’t think straight. I kept seeing Jason and Eliza.
