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His tongue wanders over his lips, moistening.Marcos crosses his arms in front of his chest, flexing his muscles.My eyes are immediately drawn to them, I exhale hard and, hidden by the counter between us, I squeeze my thighs against each other, suddenly hot, before I can look away.Great!At this rate, I’m going to break my dildo!
“I have an idea of other things I can be right...” he says, sitting on the stool, his knees slightly bent and his feet resting on the support.
“Of course you do. Good night, Marcos.” I get my potato chips bag.
“Don’t you get tired of running, Antonella?” My heart races in my chest with his question, because I made it myself just today.Will I be able to keep like that for the next two years? Because I’m pretty sure if he touches me, I won’t be able to say no.
It’s not like I said, before I knew exactly what it felt like to have him do every single one of my wills, even the ones I didn’t know I had.So what other option do I have but to run away?
“I have just started...”
“You know… I’m very resilient.” I smile. Of course he is.
“And why all the effort for a night of sex, Marcos? We both know you don’t need this.Half a message, and you won’t be short of options...” I don’t like the words I say, but they’re true, and I need more smoke.Besides, the question implied in them came out of my mouth practically without my permission.
Marcos gives me a crooked smile, lowers his eyes and, when he looks at me again, those blue pools are so intense, I have the feeling that I am drowning.I swallow dry and pull the air hard,delighted, alarmed that it has caught up with me, even if there is more than a meter between us.
“Sex?” He shakes his head up and down without letting the smile slip from his lips. “I thought your days pretending to be innocent were over, Antonella…” I gasp, wink and swallow, one thing after another, when my body seems about to collapse with his direct response.My reaction lasts two seconds before I force myself to pretend his words didn’t shake me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about...” I turn my back on him and start walking away.
“And the moon rises, the sky is green, and the sea, yellow...” I laugh softly. “You know...Dom João ran away, but then he came back...” he says, when I’m already at the kitchen door.I look at him over my shoulders and it is with a smile that I answer him.
“And it only took him thirteen years.” I leave him in the kitchen and I’m almost sure to hear a grumble that sounds a lot like “You’re better than that…” I ignore it.
?
I look around one last time, checking the space, today, thoroughly organized.There are no lost toys, misplaced socks or out-of-place shoes.It makes me laugh, because I’m sure that despite all my efforts, somewhere there is, yes, something out of place.I haven’t figure it out yet.And I hope I don’t find it in a picture printed in the most important legal magazine in the country.
Honestly, I think that would only make the happy family narrative even truer, after all, it is impossible that a house with a child is always perfectly organized.However, I very much doubt that people like my parents, for example, MBL’s straightforward public, will agree with this.No, to them it would just seem that I should change the employees responsible for cleaning and organizing the house.
After spending the entire week focused on creating the perfect space for the lie that Marcos and I need to make seem true, his penthouse barely looks the same.The sofa that used to have gray as the predominant color now has colored cushions.There are photographs scattered on frames throughout the house, as well as framed drawings of Isabella at strategic points.
I remember that morning more than a month ago when he talked about affective decoration and I told him that we would need much more than photos for that.And we do.Dark curtains were replaced by light blinds, men’s decorative objects were merged with casual items and even invented travel souvenirs.
The armchairs got blankets, the coffee tables, aromatic candles.The rustic carpet that occupied the entire television room gave way to a fluffy one, and now there are flowers scattered all over the sideboards of the house, from the entrance hall to the access corridors.I take a deep breath, looking for any hint of nervousness in myself, but find nothing.
The elevator rings loud, and I check my image in the hallway mirror.The dark green dress looks perfectly fitted to the body.The Sabrina neckline confers sobriety, as does its length down to just below the knees.It’s the kind of outfit I’d wear if I worked at Valente.
It’s definitely not the kind of outfit a mother would wear at home, but the magazine is definitely not interested in that side of my life.I turn my face, admiring the jewel in my ear.The diamond in the shape of a water drop is simple, however, it fulfills, and very well, its role of displaying wealth.
Apart from my new wardrobe and Bella’s, it was the first really expensive purchase I made using myhired wife purse, as I like to mentally call the credit card made available by Marcos to me.The truth is that although the idea of resuming my life was very attractive, with each passing day, I realize that I do not have a life to which I really want to return.
First, because the people I used to relate to are almost all in Rio de Janeiro or abroad, which would be a hindrance if I wanted to reconnect with them.I don´t want to.If none of them cared about my disappearance five years ago, there’s no reason for me to come to them now, and, frankly, their disregard years ago didn’t even surprise me.I have no friends in this social circle.Except for Grazi, I never did.
I had colleagues I went to parties with, but nothing else.I don’t have anything I really want to do either.I realized, too late, that Marcos’ words, on the day he proposed to me, might have been offensive, but they were also realistic.Living off shopping, he said.
And wasn’t that exactly what I was doing? Might not be for clothes all the time, but it was always something.Aesthetic procedures, jewelry, electronics, exclusive items, fashion pieces, party tickets...It was always about buying something and today I definitely don’t care about any of that.
I loved going into stores and choosing what I wanted without having to ask the price.I loved buying all the shoes I thought would look great on my daughter’s feet.It was amazing to give her almost all the plushies she saw on the shelves and just fantastic to fill three drawers just with bows for her hair.But it was also enough.I don’t need more than that.
After a few days of thinking about what I would do with my time, I realized that there was only one possible answer: seize every moment of Isabella’s development and use it to become someone my daughter is not only proud of, but also inspired by.
The first step? To be professionally successful and one day to waive the post-marriage pension without Bella having to have her now very high standard of living reduced.In fact, I made it a goal.
Which means that since we returned from travel, if I’m not involved in some activity with Isabella, I’m studying.Even though I had dropped out of college, I started a French course for fluent speakers since mine had been shelved for a long time. I also started a course for law students.Both from a distance.
I would be pleased to spend the next two years, or at least until this routine becomes insufficient, doing just that, however, I am compelled to acknowledge that Isabella needs more.She needs to get out of the house, she needs to see people.Her insistence on going back to day-care is just a confirmation, and I’m working on options.Besides her birthday party, of course.In two weeks. In a park. God, what was Marcos thinking?
