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The darkness surrounds me and the silence is too quiet as I lay in our bed, staring at the ceiling.
I look at the clock and it reads twelve forty-five. I pick up my phone and bring it to life to check for any texts or missed calls from Luna, but there’s none.
I put my hands behind my head and take a deep breath. I’ve been going out of my mind all night wondering what she’s doing. Are you guys hitting on her? Of course they are. Would she let them buy her a drink or dance with them? Would she let another man put his hands on her body?
Fuck.
Images of some jackass with his hands on my wife has me wanting to punch my fist through the fucking wall. Before my screw up, I could say, without a doubt that Luna would never let anyone other than me touch her like that.
But now…I don’t know. And that scares the shit out of me.
I scrub my hands over my head and yank my hair. This is killing me.
I fling the covers off of me and swing my legs over the side of the bed just as I hear the front door open and close. Insteadof rushing out to see her, I crawl back under the cool sheets and wait for her to come upstairs.
Her steps are quiet as she pads up the stairs. There is no clicking of her heels on the hardwood, so she must’ve taken her shoes off so she wouldn’t wake us.
The door is quietly pushed open and she tiptoes in. I calm down and remind myself to not fly off the handle and bombard her with questions and accusations.
“Hey,” I say with a croak. “Did you have a good time?”
“Oh. Hey. I didn’t think you’d be awake. I hope I didn’t wake you,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “No. You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep.”
She gives a quick nod then walks into the closet. A minute later she comes out holding a satin pink pajama set and heads straight into the bathroom.
I hear the shower start and ten minutes later, she’s walking out with wet hair and fresh faced. I sit up against the headboard and watch as she moves around the room.
She takes her phone from her purse and plugs it into the charger. Next, she walks out of the room and reruns holding a glass of water. She gets her birth control pills, swallows one down then walks out of the bathroom, shutting off the light and over to her side of the bed.
I hold the covers open for her to slide in. “Thank you,” she says softly.
I don’t say anything and wait for her to decide if she wants to talk or sleep.
“Roman?” She whispers.
“Yeah,” I say and turn my body to face hers.
I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at her, blinking my eyes to bring her into focus. Only a sliver of moonlight shines from the slit in the curtains.
She takes a deep breath in and out and chews her lips before continuing.
“I want to try.” Her voice is hushed as if she’s telling me a secret.
“You do?” I ask, jack knifing out of bed.
“Yes. But,” she stops me and comes to sit against the headboard. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”
“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.”
I sit like an eager puppy, waiting for her to throw me the smallest bone.
“I don’t want to keep telling the kids you’re on a work trip when you’ve never taken one before. So…you can move back. But there will be no more sex.”
“What? Why?” I snap.
“Because it makes everything too…too muddled. I can’t think clearly when you do things to me. And I want to go into this with a clear head.”
