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“If you’re sure. I thought you’d want a romantic comedy or a show?”
“We have the rest of our lives for that right? I want a scary movie.”
I realize what I said and almost stop eating, but I don’t want to make things awkward, so I continue cutting my French toast, hoping he doesn’t notice the slip-up. I don’t want to make his more than he wants it to be.
A business transaction. It just so happens we get along for the most part now which makes this agreement much easier. Having sex is not only amazing but saves him money from having to go to a client to go through that process of embryo implantation.
He picks a movie then presses another button for the blackout curtains to darken the room. The light from the screen is enough for me to eat. When I’m done, I ask for more bacon.
“I feel like I’ve been starving you. You haven’t been eating enough,” he frowns. “I need to take better care of you.”
“You take great care of me. I’m only this hungry because you made me work out for so long,” I tease him, nudging his shoulder.
I swear, his chest puffs out with pride.
What a caveman.
We eat until I can’t stand to take another bite. “Is there a mimosa on your cart of never-ending possibilities?”
“There’s orange juice, but no alcohol. You could already be pregnant. We have to be safe.”
He pours me a glass of orange juice and I wait for the defiant nature to come out, to tell him I’m probably not pregnant and it isn’t up to him what I can and can’t drink until we know for sure.
But I don’t because I don’t want to fight for no reason when I know there’s a chance he could be right.
“And no drinking for you, means no drinking for me.”
“You’re very cautious,” I say, snuggling against his side before downing the orange juice and handing him the empty glass.
A scream comes from the speakers because a woman just got killed and even though it’s loud, I barely hear over his next words.
He nods slowly, tracing a wrinkle in the sheet that is pooled around his waist. “You’re right. I am. I suppose it comes from my childhood. You haven’t met my oldest brother Carmine and his wife, but my brother took the brunt of our father’s abuse to keep me and Matias safe from him. Everything we did to protect each other, every word we said, we were always cautious, and I suppose that’s ingrained in me in some way to be a little bit scared of what can happen if I don’t get ahead of the rules.”
I snuggle into his chest deeper, hating to know he had a bad childhood. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” he kisses the top of my head.
“For your dad. For Carmine. For how you had to be growing up. That wasn’t fair to you.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago, but I suppose some habits have stuck with me.”
“Besides the bad, is there a favorite memory of when you were a kid?”
“Hmm,” he ponders while staring at the movie screen, but I know he isn’t watching the movie. It’s more like he is staring into space. “I do.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and it’s almost sad. “So there was this one night, it was me and Matias’s birthday, and our father never had anything planned. Ever. It wasn’t a big deal. Matias and I had learned we couldn’t count on him, and we never needed anything, I guess. Anyway, my father was having a party one night. He invited all the drug dealers and murderers, and other mafia bosses to our estate. It was a black-tie event. Rich. Classy. The best of the best. He didn’t want us to get in the way so he locked us in the basement so we couldn’t get out.”
I gasp, wondering what kind of parent would do that to their child.
“It’s okay.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.
I clear my throat. “What happened next?”
“We hadn’t eaten all day. We were hungry. Cold. I remember Matias and I huddling for warmth. The basement wasn’t finished yet, so it was dark and almost wet, you know, the feeling?”
I nod, knowing exactly what that is like.
“I remember thinking I wanted to run away or die; anything was better than being with a man who hated us so much.”
“This is a horrible memory. I don’t know why you say it’s happy. It isn’t.” I wipe my eye.
