AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I see her name and just know I’m about to read something vulgar, sexual, or annoying, possibly all three wrapped with a goddamn bow.
Natalia
I miss you. Your wedding looked nice. I couldn’t bring myself to come.
Natalia is a former fuck buddy of mine. Nothing more. The moment I realized it was something more to her, I cut her off. She was a good time but not a permanent thing. I told her in the beginning that the only way I would marry a woman who wasn’t through an arrangement would be if I had the capability to love.
Spoiler—I don’t.
So I had only one possibility left, and that meant marriage to Emelia. The stubborn, voluptuous, smart-mouthed blonde I can barely tolerate, all while simultaneously being unable to keep my hands off her.
Nico
Natalia.
It’s a warning. She knows me well enough to know what I’m trying to convey in that single-word message. She was grossly and annoyingly obsessed with me. Dissected all my actions, tried decoding all my moods, and questioned me beyond what I could fucking handle.
Natalia
What? Can we not talk anymore? Is that off limits?
Nico
I can talk to anyone at any time, but I like to pick those conversations wisely. If you’re going to message me about my marriage and missing me, it's useless. I don’t have time for this.
Natalia
A blonde? And I never pictured you marrying a fat girl.
Tilting my head, I crack my neck, clenching my phone while holding it as if it were her neck. How dare she talk about my wife in any way, but especially like that? I don’t care if I don’t love Emelia or if she is a pain in my ass; I won’t let anyone—anyone—disrespect what’s mine.
Nico
Jealousy is ugly. You should know I think it’s the most disgusting trait in a woman. Maybe you took me fucking you to mean you were more to me than just a hole. Obviously, since you now think it’s your place to disrespect anyone or anything that belongs to me. But you were very wrong in that assumption. She is my wife, and if you ever find yourself in the same room as her, I suggest you remember who she belongs to and what power she now has. Not only do I have the privilege of getting rid of problems permanently. Now, she does too.
Natalia
I'm sorry. I just don’t get it. Why wasn’t it me? You loved being with me.
If I didn’t need the phone, I’d toss it into the fucking deep. Between my eyes being stuck on it for hours at a time, multiple times a day, and hating the desperation and the false narrative she created, I’d love to be rid of the device.
I think of Emelia then. Her body. She’s not thin. She’s thick, and there is nothing about that fact that bothers me. I’ve never been one to discriminate. Most men in our world do, but to me, Emelia’s body is perfect. Artists have been drawing the female form for centuries, and I’ve never seen one that encapsulates the perfection of my wife’s. The thick thighs, covered in lines and dents. The extra pounds of flesh on her hips, and her stomach—that’s my favorite part. I can admit that biting that flesh and marking it has the potential to become my favorite pastime. Her insides might be my biggest hang-up, but her body? That’s art. That’s perfection made by God's hands.
I’d never admit this to her. Her ego is already big enough. But I’m a man, and I know what I like physically, and Emelia fits my desires more than just well enough.
Natalia messages me a few more times before I decide enough is enough and block the number. There is no place for her in my life, and she is a bother at this point.
A few hours pass, and I look to see Emelia still hasn’t messaged me, and the sun is now setting. Ricardo is setting up the table, and I nod when it’s all complete. Debating if I should eat alone and make her wait until I come back to our room for the night, I decide against that. Maybe she’s learned her lesson now.
I stand, button my suit jacket, and make my way back down to the bedroom. Taking the key from my pocket, I unlock the door. Either she will lunge at me, or she will be asleep; those are my two guesses. With this in mind, I prepare myself and open the door slowly.
I don’t see her at first, and the bed is empty. The room is dark, but the light from the hall behind me shines in, and I see her sitting in the corner. Emelia’s legs are pulled up in the oversized chair, and she’s wiping at her face.
I flip on the light and see she’s been crying, her face pink and marked with darker blotches. I place my hands in my pockets and eye her over, waiting for her to say something. But she doesn’t.
“Are you ready to show me some respect?”
She wipes at her last tear as if it’s a bother, her face turning cold.“Respect? No. I'm not even ready topretendto.” She stands and moves toward her luggage.
