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But this isn’t on me. It can’t be.
Charlie never should have made me this ridiculous dinner. He shouldn’t have gotten me gifts that show how much he cares.
He’s a fake husband. When he acted like a real one, he fooled me. My body tricked me into thinking the touching, kissing, licking was all okay. That this was all part of the deal.
But it is specifically not part of the deal because fucking my husband will ruin everything.
“Damn it,” I mutter. I’m torn between waiting here to have it out with Charlie and retreating to my bedroom where I can pretend like this never happened and nothing changed. That nothing will change for at least another year.
But as I avoid looking at the area of the counter I just orgasmed on, my eyes adhere to the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. Remnants of the delicious dinner Charlie made for me. Some corner of my mind that wishes the world was fair informs me I can’t leave the mess for him to handle on his own.
With clenched teeth, I pull on a set of rubber gloves and open the dishwasher.
The appliance is full and I’m hand washing the remaining items when the sound of the front door opening tenses my muscles. Heavy footsteps approach the kitchen, stopping somewhere near the doorway. I’d have to turn around to find his exact location, but I decide to stick to the ignore-him tactic for the moment.
There’s a part of me that wants to yell, but I don’t know what words would even come out at this point.
I flinch as a tall body steps up beside me. Charlie slides a dish towel off the hook and picks up a large pot I just set in the drainer.
He’s helping. Of course, he is.
“I’ve got this,” I gripe, needing him and all his delicious smilingness to find another room to be in so he’s not here, looming over me.
“I don’t mind.” The sound of his voice starts up a new throbbing between my legs, which I ignore.
I continue through the task, moving robotically. Hating every silent second. The lack of noise is a weight bearing down on how big of a mistake I just let happen.
Encouraged to happen.
Maybe Charlie just went along because he felt he had to.
Ugh. The idea curdles my stomach.
Likely now my fake husband is trying to figure out the best way to let me know this agreement is over. To break this crushing tension, I decide to give him an opening. An easy door to step out of my life so we can end this awkward night sooner than later.
“If you want out, I get it.” With a more forceful push than necessary, I shut off the sink. Luckily, I don’t break the faucet with my heavy-handed moves.
“Want out? Of what?”
“Of our fake marriage. Hell, I didn’t even bother to tell you I don’t have any STIs! What we just did, it crossed a line. Broke the rules we set out.”
Charlie doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t respond for a long time as he places a dried glass into the cupboard.Why does shelving drinking glasses require so much of his concentration? Couldn’t he just say thanks and then we can be done?Tomorrow I’ll get up early to help him pack. And then I’ll go in the backyard, dig into my garden with a vengeance, and try to figure out some other way to save Leo from his thoughtless life decisions.
“I don’t want out.” His words fill the kitchen, unyielding in their certainty. “If anything, I want more in.”
“More in? What does that mean?”
Charlie turns his back to the counter, leaning against the granite and gripping it on either side of his hips. His searching gaze meets mine.
“I don’t like the idea of not being married to you. Ever.”
“What?” My volume increases tenfold, and I wait for him to laugh at his ridiculous joke.
Charlie blinks down at his feet. “I like you, Luna. What we did here, that wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment attraction thing. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
Needing to hold on to something, I grip the counter opposite him.
“A while? How long is a while?”
