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“Sean,” Olivia calls from the top of the stairs. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”
Damn it. He hoped she’d be asleep by now.“Be up in a minute,” he calls back.
“What are you doing?”
“Just reading up on Advert-X. Be right there.”
He takes a deep breath and pushes away from the table, experiencing an overwhelming wave of fatigue as he fishes for a mint in his pocket and pops it into his mouth, hoping to disguise any telltale hint of alcohol on his breath.
He mounts the stairs, each step feeling as if he’s walking through freshly poured cement, then peeks in on his three children, Zane and Quentin in their beds, side by side, Katie in her four-poster princess bed in the smaller room next to theirs. Still so sweet, so trusting, so innocent. Is he seriously considering saddling them with the stigma, the guilt, of his suicide? Would they grow up to blame themselves, or worse, to hate his memory?
Maybe it would be better for all concerned if he took them with him.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he whispers, genuinely horrified by the thoughts swirling through his addled brain, hoping it’s the alcohol that’s responsible.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?he hears his father whisper in his ear.
“The Shadow…” Sean mutters, the word freezing on his lips when he enters his bedroom and sees his wife.
She’s standing beside the bed, wearing makeup and a pink satin corset trimmed in black lace, the same black lace as her thong. A garter belt holds up a pair of sheer black stockings, her shapely legs disappearing inside a pair of open-toed silver high heels. Thick brown hair falls around her shoulders and a pair of long rhinestone earrings dangle from her ears.
“What’s this?” he asks, although the answer is obvious.
“You like?”
He feels a welcome stirring in his pants. “I do.”
“I thought that since your interviews today went so well, you deserved a treat.”
His erection immediately disappears.
Not that Olivia doesn’t work hard to revive it, doing all the things she knows he likes, the things that always helped before as well as a few new things, things that make him wonder where she picked them up. Is she having an affair? he finds himself thinking, as she continues trying to arouse him. Nothing works. Not her fingers, not her mouth, not her tongue.
“I don’t think it’s going to happen,” he says finally, pulling away. “Sorry, hon.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she says, her voice quivering. “It happens.”
“I’m just so tired. I guess I didn’t realize how much those interviews today took out of me.”
She smiles through the tears he sees forming. “No problem. I understand.”
“We’ll try again another time.”
“Absolutely.”
She retreats to their en suite bathroom, and when she comes out a few minutes later, her face has been freshly scrubbed, and she’s wearing a shapeless cotton nightshirt. She climbs into bed beside him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before turning away from him to lie on her side. He hears her sniffling quietly under the covers, pretending everything is all right, that it’s no big deal. Too polite to say what she’s really thinking: that he’s disappointed her yet again, that she will simply add his shortcomings in bed to his ever-expanding list of failures.
He waits until he knows she’s asleep before climbing out of bed, going back downstairs, and pouring himself another drink. He wonders again how long he can keep lying to his wife, and how Olivia will react when she discovers the truth. How understanding will she be then?
Although she bears at least part of the blame for his falsehoods, doesn’t she?
Maybe if she’d pushed more, told him to get his head out of his ass and face reality sooner, insisted he take whatever crappy job he could get his hands on, then none of these lies would be necessary. Instead, she encouraged him to take his time, dream big, not settle. And she’d looked so hopeful when he landed that initial interview at Advert-X. So, how could he disappoint her?
Except that’s exactly what he’s done, he knows, picturing her standing beside their bed in an outfit that, at one time, would have driven him wild.
He grabs his laptop from the kitchen counter and logs in to his favorite porn site, finding a buxom young woman who looks vaguely like his young neighbor, and quickly brings himself to orgasm. Feeling a fresh wave of self-loathing, he closes the computer, returns the bottle of vodka to the freezer, and goes back upstairs to bed.
He climbs in beside Olivia, his arm reaching across her waist to pull her close, his nostrils inhaling a trace of the perfume she was unable to wash away. “Forgive me,” he whispers into the nape of her neck. “There is no job. I’m a liar and a fraud.”
“Hmm?” Olivia murmurs, her voice coated in sleep. “Did you say something?”
A second of silence follows.
“Just that I love you,” he tells her.
He feels her smile. “I love you, too.”
