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“Wow! Am I in the right apartment?” He says, with a playful tone, and I roll my eyes.
“Don’t be stupid!It’s not that different...” I disdain, pretending an unwavering interest in my own reflection, not wanting to look at it, not yet, because I know and don’t know exactly what it will feel like: a strong jolt that seems to become more intense every day and reach a greater number of parts of my body as well.
I don’t know what destabilizes me the most.First, there’s the way I just can’t stop myself from craving his body, whether he’s dressed in a suit and tie or half-naked, as Marcos insists on tormenting me pretty much every morning, strolling around the house in nothing but shorts or sweatpants.
It’s almost like he did it on purpose.Not the first few times, but since we got back from the island? Definitely.
Then there’s the way every day I’ve been more obsessed with him making mistakes to prove himself the asshole I knew he was when I accepted this marriage.
Spoiler alert: he still doesn’t make any.If there was a scoreboard, Asshole Marcos vs. Decent Marcos, Decent would be stomping Asshole, and that’s not good for my sanity.
Marcos ruins my plans to try to prepare me for the impact that is his vision when he approaches slowly.I follow the walk of his reflection, focused on his legs until he stops walking right behind me.I look up, meet his gaze in the mirror, and plunge into him in a way that would be easy to pretend it wasn’t my move, but it was.
The warmth of his body clings to mine as if a fire had been lit right behind my back, and I hate and love it at the same time.This attraction, this thing of not being able to get too close to each other is a blessing and a curse.
A blessing, because it makes the confusion of feelings and sensations that surrounds us seem complete.We’re not just unassuming discoveries of something we like in each other every day, we’re not just a crazy, unbridled desire, we’re not just silent mutual admiration.We are all of these, together, mixed and impossible to separate.
A blessing, because Marcos was the best sex of my life.A curse, because the same magnetism that made this possible, also makes it impossible to forget, engages with an ever-increasing desire to find out what we would be capable of together and turns me into a confused and runaway Antonella that I don’t like.
His eyes don’t spend even ten seconds scanning his own home.They seem to be in a hurry to analyze their own wife and, as with every time, they lose her the second they land on me.His gaze warms me, undresses me and licks me, all at once.And to my horror, he crosses the line he shouldn’t, touches me.Put an arm around my waist.
“You look beautiful...” He praises, I raise an eyebrow, he laughs.I feel terrified to be in his arms and at the same time, indisputably comfortable in them.
“You’re beautiful...” he admits, I shake my head, satisfied. “And modest...” I shrug, not at all worried about the fact that I know I’m beautiful.But very, very worried about the alarming proximity.His arm pulls me back, gluing my back in front of him, and my eyes close briefly.
“What are you doing?” Betrayed. That’s how I feel when my voice comes out hoarse.I stare at Marcos in the mirror and, therefore, I follow almost in slow motion the sinking of his nose on my neck.
I fight the shudder when he pulls a deep breath into a movement that shouldn’t be as damn sexy as it is, but becomes impossible to ignore when his body shudders as if, upon smelling me, he tasted a drug from which he was abstinent.His lips support a naughty smile, and he brings them closer to my ear.
“Rehearsing...” he whispers.
“We don’t need rehearsal, Marcos!”
“To make it look real?No... We don’t need... But if I spent another second not smelling you and not touching you, the Earth would probably stop spinning.” I’ll turn on his arms.My breasts rub against his chest and, goddamn it!The feeling is delicious.
I’d like to say I didn’t know I wanted it, but that would be a lie, because I knew.I’ve wanted it since the moment my eyes saw the man in front of me.And to feel his naked body, after seven days, which seem more like an entire eternity, did nothing to placate this desire, quite the contrary, it just increased it, and God is witness to the Herculean effort I have made to keep it just like this, just like a desire.
These were difficult days.These have been different days than any I have experienced in recent years.Those were days of company, smiles and conversation.Those were days when loneliness almost disappeared.Those were days when I saw someone besides me and Grazi give my daughter all the attention she deserves.
In each of them, in each of Marcos’ interactions with Isabella, there was a common factor.He was doing what she wanted.The most ridiculous?Have tea with the dolls.This man, this size, was drinking tea, tap water, with the dolls.
Those were easy days. These were difficult, very difficult days.
Days when I felt ridiculous, because I felt jealous of my daughter.The ease with which she accepted him in her life, with which she pulled him, absorbed him and has made him part of her without fear. Without worrying about who he is or was, without trying to measure each of his attitudes, applying impossible-to-resolve graphs and equations before deciding whether or not he is deserving of something she doesn’t even know if he wants.Without feeling guilty about lies and secrets told in a moment that seems to have happened a lifetime ago.Without feeling cowardly for continuing to keep the last of them out of fear, selfishness and whatever else might define my silence at this point.
“What are you doing, Marcos?” I repeat the question, now with my eyes fixed on his, and not just to their reflection, my heart rehearses a change in its usual rhythm, and I want to take my hand to my chest, squeeze it and tell it to behave.
“I told you, rehearsing.”
“Cut the crap!You’re deliberately teasing me, why would you do that?” The words would have much more credibility if my voice had a third of the usual firmness, it doesn’t.Marcos raises an eyebrow and laughs. “It’s a bad idea, Marcos... It’s a terrible idea, and you know it...” I want to accuse him, but the truth is, I sound whiny.
“I’m not exactly known for making good choices, Antonella...” The tone is whispering while his nose touches my skin lightly in an unnecessary, unreasonable and tasty, very tasty caress.I enjoy it with my whole body.
“Thank you for the part that touches me,” I ironize, dig my nails into his arms, rest my forehead on his and push myself slightly toward him, wanting more, just a little more.
“Oh no! You were definitely an exception... I’m not teasing you.” The head drops, leaving the lips dangerously — not dangerously, because it is dangerous for us to be so close — leaving the lips desperately close, very, very close. “I’m making sure you don’t run away...” His warm exhalation hits the region between my lips and nose, his hand tightens my waist, his mouth gets closer and closer.
My eyes beg to close, my mind begs to surrender, and my body decides to follow its own will.One of my hands runs up Marcos’ arm, groping the hard muscles covered by his jacket until it reaches the back of his neck.My fingers seep into his hair, and I grab them, pulling them.We stay like this, stuck to each other’s touch that is nothing and that, at the same time, is everything.
