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“Have you processed your grief?” Another pause in his soothing stroking.
“I’m dealing.”
“How?”
“In my own way.”
She gritted her teeth in frustration, it was like talking to a stone sometimes. She turned in his arms, and could barely make out his features in the dark.
“How?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed. “I’m fine.”
“You wouldn’t tell me even if you weren’t, would you?”
No reply, but the truth was there, lurking in his stubborn silence.
“I think about that night.” His words were abrupt, bitten off, clearly reluctantly conceded and she stared into his face, not seeing much more than the gleam of his eyes.
“That night?”
“I think about how it was between us. How you felt against me, your lips on mine… on me. I think about it all the fucking time. At the most inappropriate times. And I want to do it again.”
She swallowed thickly, as the memory of that night came back to her. The fear and the grief, followed by his intoxicating kisses and lingering touches. How he’d taken that fear from her and replaced it with wonder, excitement, and pleasure. She’d thought about it often too… wishing he would do that for her again.
Wanting him to.
But knowing that it could never be repeated.
“I don’t want that.” Her words were firm and her voice resolute.
“I bought condoms,” he told her. His tone was almost triumphant, as if he truly believed that was the only thing holding her back.
“You wasted your money.”
“Lilah, I really want this to work between us. I think we could—”
“Ben, I’m leaving,” she interrupted him, not wanting to rehash this same futile conversation again.
“No, you’re not,” he said with a scornful little laugh.
“I am. In June.”
Two months from now.
“What happened to one year?”
“You know I only stipulated that time frame for Gramps’s sake. With him gone, there’s no reason for us to put up any appearances.”
“There’s still the board.”
“You don’t care what they think.”
“Maybe I do.” She felt him shrug, his unconcern palpable. “And why this arbitrary two-month time frame? Why not right now, if you’re so damned determined to leave?”
“Because, I think it would be disrespectful to Gramps’s memory.”
“You’re making no sense. The year is off the table because he’s gone, but somehow not leaving right now is disrespectful to him? Make up your fucking mind.”
“I can’t explain it. I feel—"
“I can,” he interrupted rudely. “You want to stay and you’d use any excuse to do so. I’m guessing that come June, you’ll find another reason to linger. Stop playing these damned games. I think you’ve punished me enough for not loving you, don’t you? So why don’t we just call it even and start our married life together?”
“You think I’m punishing you?” Lilah scoffed. She sat up and switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with warm light. He sat up too and glared at her, his irritation plain to see. "Ben, I don't want to punish you. That would require too much damned emotion and energy. I just want to cut my losses and move on with my life. You’re right, staying for two months is a stupid idea. Gramps would want us to be happy, and neither of us currently are.”
“I’m fine. Don’t presume to know what the hell I’m thinking and feeling, Lilah. I’m just fine. I’m content. I want our marriage to work. I want us to be together. But that’s not good enough for Lilah Iris Beckett, is it? You want some impossible—Where are you going?”
She climbed out of bed and grabbed her pillow.
“I’m going to sleep on the sofa,” she said, her movements angry as she whipped a comforter from the blanket storage box at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lilah, c’mon, get back into bed.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable. I refuse to sleep next to your condescending ass for another night. I’m moving out tomorrow.”
“I don’t want that.”
“I don’t care what you want.”
He got out of bed too and loomed over her, a big, hulking man wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, his expression menacing.
“Get back into bed.”
“No.”
“Don’t make me carry you back.”
“You lay one hand on me and I swear I’ll scream the place down,” she threatened from between clenched teeth, not really concerned that he would force her to do anything she didn’t want to.
He glared at her, before taking a deliberate step back. “God, you’re such a fucking brat!”
“And you’re a prick.”
She sailed out of the room and slammed the door behind her with a satisfying bang.
Lilah woke to the sounds of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen. She blinked up into the brightness, a little disoriented. Why was she in the living room, staring out at the bleak sky visible through the floor-to-ceiling sliding doors that led out to the terrace and infinity pool? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up on the massive sofa where she’d slept buried beneath a marshmallowy comforter which currently puffed up around her waist.
