“Well, you know I don’t like to chat in front of John, and the kids… it would just confuse them.”
“They obviously don’t know about me,” he says, and I can see in the line of his brow, in the downturn of his mouth, that this hurts him.
It does seem crazy that they know nothing about this person who is such a big part of my life. Something about it doesn’t sit right. He’s such a wonderful person — I’m sure they would love him if they met him. In about nine days from now, I’ll be ending things with Eli… just the thought of that feels so heavy. I try not to think about it.
“So,” I say, playfully changing the subject. “Do you want to see what I’ve packed?”
He smiles wide. “Sure, would love to.”
I set my phone against my headboard, and I pull out a red dress, and hold it up for him, followed by a cozy cardigan.
“Nice…” he says. “I can’t wait to see you in that dress.”
Next, I pull out the red shoes. “I know how you have a thing for red heels,” I tease. “Sorry, I don’t have a purple hat.”
He laughs.
I bite my lip. I’m about to be very naughty. I slowly untangle the nightie out of the hodgepodge of clothing. I hold it up for him to see. It’s pretty; black, spaghetti straps, lace trim, and silk.
His eyes darken. “Wow…” he whispers.
Warm heat travels through my core at the sight of him — I know he’s turned on. “Do you want to see the matching panties?” I ask. I’m teasing him, and I’m loving every second of it.
He bites his lip. “I do.” he says, his voice is different; huskier than, not quite as soft as it usually is. And the way he’s looking at me…
The panties are hotter than the top. They’re all lace, skimpy but not quite a thong. They’re sexy but tasteful. I stretch them between my fingers, and smile at him.
He closes his eyes and leans slowly back in his chair. A languid, mischievous smile curves his lips. “You’re killing me, Gabriella.”
His eyes are still closed when I tell him, “You’re killing me too. Just the way you’re leaning back like that. Your t-shirt is riding up, your jeans are low on your hips. Your tattoos are…” I run out of breath. Fuck, he’s hot, and I’m so damn aroused.
He finally opens his eyes. “Show me the shoes again.”
I grab the Mary-Jane red heels by the strap.
“I want you to wear those with the lingerie,” he says, suddenly very bossy.
I laugh. “Yes, Sir.”
I close my eyes. I’m definitely sleeping with this man. It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when.
* * *
The ride to the airport is long, and silent. John’s satellite radio plays in the background, top 40 hits, but I don’t really hear any of the songs. My mind is too full of everything; Eli, the kids... and John. I feel like I’m at a crossroads. Could I turn around and not do this? Or is it too late? I’m sure that John would be more than happy to drive me back home. Am I making the worst mistake of my life?
The kids were confused when I tried to explain why I was going to Europe. “I’m going to have an adventure,” I told them. “I’m going to take lots of pictures for inspiration for my paintings.”
“Do you need a break from us,” Emma asked. I smiled at her and told her that I just needed a little bit of time to myself. I hate lying to them. I hate keeping them in the dark, but they’re much too young to know the truth. I hate lying and telling Emma that Daddy is sleeping in the guest room because he has a cold, and snores too loudly.
But when I get back from this trip, I’ll invite John back to our bed. It might be a long time until we make love, but I’m determined to work on our marriage, for the kids. It is the least I could do for them. They never have to know that anything was amiss. They’re too young to know how complicated life can get. They’ll learn that soon enough, I’m sure.
When we finally make it to check-in, after much fuss, I fiddle through my purse for my passport and airline ticket — thankfully, everything’s in order. My life might be a complete emotional mess, but I typically have it together when it comes to this kind of thing. My fingers are shaking, and I feel like I might vomit. My colorful striped suitcase is handed to the friendly check-in attendant — it weighs in just under the limit. I smile at John. “Told you it was good.”
He grins. “I’m shocked.”
We walk silently to security.
Before I line up in the queue, I stop and turn to him. I know this is killing him. He rubs at the back of his neck and tugs at his short hair, runs a hand over his face. He’s restless and angry, but desperately trying to keep it together for my sake. He looks nice; dark jeans and a plain white tee. He’s been wonderful today; made homemade pizza for the kids while I finished packing, and took care of all the babysitting arrangements, and now he’s driven all this way to bring me here, so I could hop on a plane, fly across the Atlantic, and fuck another guy. How fucked up is that?
