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5 years later
Baby food clings to my hair. I have spilled milk on my shirt—the same shirt I have worn for two days. I can’t get a single moment to be me.
In six years, Romeo and I have had three beautiful babies. Some would call them Irish twins, because they’re all less than a year apart from each other. I swear Romeo looks at me and I get pregnant.
But the passion.
The need.
We unnaturally crave each other.
I catch my reflection in my perfect stainless steel refrigerator. No one would want me this way. Romeo has been out of town on business more than we both would like. In the past two months, he’s been home for ten days off and on.
He gets to see me like this train wreck who doesn’t shower for days and who doesn’t have time to change her clothes. And he flops into bed exhausted. No wonder we haven’t had sex. For the first time in our relationship, that passion we share has taken a backseat. Between him being out of town, both of us exhausted, and children always being around, we haven’t had time to keep the passion in the bedroom.
It’s been over a month since he touched me last. We’ve never had a dry spell like this before.
Women talk about their passion dying. Is this the start of it? Have Romeo and I reached our plateau? The thought frightens me. I can feel us drifting apart.
I miss him.
I miss us.
Sighing, the guilt of these feelings wraps around my heart. We have three perfect children. Of course, it can’t be the same. But I desperately want us to stay the same.
Our oven clock says two o’clock. For the first time ever, all our babies are napping at the same time.
I sit on the stool at the counter, realizing I need help with the children. I’ve refused it this long. But it’s killing me.
Our front door opens and closes, alerting me to Romeo’s return.
I should have taken that shower.Not that it matters. He will be tired anyway.
“Gia?”
He stands in the kitchen entrance, looking as fresh and handsome as ever. I stand, conscious that I’m not put together like I used to be. My mom made it look so easy when we were kids. She raised five of us.
“You are beautiful.” He walks toward me.
I try to protest, but his hands land on my hips. “There is nothing sexier than you in my shirt.”
He’s looking at me like I’ve dressed up for him. My hair is in a messy bun on top of my head. His hand pulls the elastic out, allowing my hair to fall past my shoulders.
“Where are the kids?”
“Sleeping.”
His eyes light up delightfully. “I’ve missed my wife,” he rasps, still looking at me like I’m in sexy lingerie and just had my hair blown into sleek waves. It’s nothing of the sort.
His hand skims my leg, rounding to my behind.
“No panties, you vixen.”
I didn’t have time to put them on with three babies crying when I woke up.
“Do you know what day it is?” he asks.
“Thursday?”
