Chapter 6
Chapter Six
brISTOL
Blake is standing in a crisp suit, his ankles crossed, leaning back against the counter when I walk into the house from Amberwood. He immediately looks up from his phone, his hand dropping to his side as he stands up taller.
“Where have you been?” he snaps, making me flinch.
“We have reservations.” Confusion washes over me until I realize what he’s talking about.
So, Blake really expected me to accompany him to a schmoozing dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Douche-canoe after all.
Fuck my life. As if a bucket of ice water is dumped over my head, the high of my day is immediately extinguished.
It was a long week. Blake and I didn’t see much of each other, so I did my best to fill my time with work.
Every night, I went to sleep alone and woke up the same way.
Some days, I wasn’t sure if Blake ever came to our bed or if he just slept in his office.
A reminder of the plans for tonight would have been incredibly helpful, or I don’t know, telling me the plans were official to begin with instead of a mere suggestion in passing.
“I was at the shelter in Amberwood all day, remember? I can change quickly, don’t stress!
” I tell him, trying to defuse the situation, as I quickly kick off my sneakers and jog down the hallway to our bedroom.
I remove my scrubs and underwear, toss them into the dirty laundry hamper, and rush into the shower, not bothering to wait for the water to heat up.
With the speed of an F1 driver, I race through washing a day of being with animals off my body and quickly get out.
After drying, I slip on my favorite pair of denim jeans, wiggling them up over my rather voluptuous ass, and pull on a cashmere wrap sweater Blake got me for my birthday that I’ve yet to wear.
I reach for my Converse but know Blake would be appalled, so I reach back in my closet to pull on some wedges that don’t kill my feet.
I’m a casual girl through and through, and boy, does it show anytime I try walking for too long in a pair of stilettos. I look myself over in the mirror one more time, dreading every moment to come tonight, but feeling good in my outfit choice if I have to go.
“Bristol, you about ready? You know how I feel about being late,” Blake asks, his voice carrying through the house.
“Yeah, just about,” I reply as I turn to catch him entering our bedroom. It also gives me the unfortunate privilege of seeing his initial reaction to me. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I reach for my hands, threading my fingers together and twisting.
“Something wrong?” I ask nervously.
“I thought you said you were almost ready. You aren’t even dressed to leave. We need to go. How much longer do you need?” I look down at my outfit and then study his face. His eyebrows are pinched together as if he’s in physical pain, his lips pursed in annoyance.
“Blake, I am dressed and ready to go. I just need to change out my purse.”
“You aren’t serious, Bristol,” he chuckles, but I don’t miss the condescending tone of it. “Quit playing and change.”
I watch as he reaches into my closet and pulls out one of my dresses. This one is blush pink, with cap sleeves, and hits just slightly above my knee. I hate how I look in blush pink, and it’s why I haven’t worn it out yet; it washes me out with my fair skin tone.
“This one looks good on you. Wear this, yeah? This restaurant doesn’t exactly welcome jean attire.
And how about some makeup? I bought you that nice set and you haven’t used it.
” My fingers are probably white from how hard I’m squeezing them as I chew on the inside of my bottom lip.
I should have known this wasn’t going to be a casual dinner based on his suit, but then again, when is Blake not wearing a suit?
“Oh. Uhm. Sure. Just give me five, and we can go. I’ll be just a moment,” I tell him, but his head is already downcast at his phone, checked out of the conversation as if he didn’t just crush my confidence.
I never pegged myself to be the type of woman who would lose so much of her voice that she couldn’t even defend her outfit choices to her partner, and I honestly don’t know why I don’t speak up.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve shrunk myself to fit inside the box Blake created.
I hardly recognize myself because of it.
The fancy job, the huge, glamorous house, the unnecessary networking, and a life he feels proud to showcase, which brings no actual sparks of joy to me.
Yet here I am, conforming to his desires at the expense of my own happiness.
Had he told me this was a dressier dinner, I would have been better prepared, but there’s no need to demean me in the process of getting the last-minute information to me.
I’m not a mind reader. As much as that would probably help in situations like these with him.
But in an effort to avoid an argument before dinner, I put the stupid dress on, telling myself that it’s just to keep the peace, and he and I will be having a long-overdue talk when we return home.
I can’t continue to be treated like this, and he can’t be oblivious to it any longer.
I want to make this work, and the way through whatever rough patch this is, is to have open communication and talk about it all.
Blake sits down on the edge of our bed, eyes glued to his phone as I strip down to my lacy panties and matching bra.
Mustering some courage through the sting of his comments, I strut over to him and walk right between his legs, combing my hands through his hair.
Angry makeup sex is a thing, right? Maybe we just need to connect, and what better way for two people to connect than physically?
“Bristol, c’mon, now I have to redo it,” he says as he jerks his head to the side away from me.
“So let’s mess it up some more before you do, we can be a little late,” I jest, reaching for his face.
My breasts are large and practically spilling out of my bra, right into his face.
The man I knew a year ago wouldn’t have wasted a second before touching them, right?
It’s been so long, I wonder if my memory is failing me, or if my mind has fabricated our past to justify the present.
“Look, Bristol, I don’t want to keep our friends waiting.
I’ll make time for us when we get back, but I need you to get ready now.
” Blake stands and walks to our bathroom to fix his hair, leaving me gutted.
Nausea rolls through my stomach, my previous appetite completely gone.
Did he seriously just turn me down like that?
An image of Rhys from today flashes through my mind. The way his piercing green eyes slowly and unashamedly perused my body from head to toe before focusing all his attention on my face. I can say with the utmost confidence that I’ve never been looked at like that before.
Like the man was hungry, starved even, and I was his oasis. It almost feels like I imagined the entire interaction, desperate Bristol making things up in her head because she’s desperately craving the affection and love.
Deep down, I know I deserve to be looked at like that. Maybe not every day, because I’m a realist and I know life gets in the way sometimes, but at least when the situation calls for it. I should feel a glimmer of desire from the man I’m committing my life to.
I manage to pull the dress on with shaky hands and change out my shoes to a pair of cream pumps before Blake walks back into our bedroom. My hands nervously knead together in front of me while I wait for his approval.
“Why are you just standing there? Makeup, Bristol. Where is your head tonight?”
My mouth falls open slightly, shocked and fairly dumbfounded that those words just came out of his mouth. “Jesus, you’re in a real mood, Blake. I’ll meet you in the living room,” I say, rushing out the words as I walk past him and into our en suite with a slight stomp.
I pull out the extravagant makeup kit he purchased for me from some designer I can’t pronounce and quickly line my eyes with eyeliner, adding a bit of blush to my fair-skinned cheeks, and opting for a bold red lipstick. It’s not like I can count on him kissing me to mess it all up, anyway.
Grabbing a new purse, I walk into the living room slowly, unsteady on the pumps I’ve only worn once to a wedding.
Blake looks up from his phone, looking me over and nodding his head.
“Better. At least you don’t smell like wet dogs anymore.
Ready?” My head jerks back like I was physically hit.
I know my heart should be sinking right now.
I know I should feel heartbroken and hurt, but I find myself completely detached for the first time ever.
I’m not a business partner he’s taking out for dinner; I’m his fiancé, I know he should have some type of reaction to me other than irritation and passiveness.
But this has been par for the course since he started with this new company.
His work and his image are his full focus.
It’s hard not to wonder where I fit in all of this.
The ride to dinner was spent the way they usually are, quiet and awkward. Blake works on his phone next to me while I anxiously fidget with my fingers and watch the world pass me by through the window.
“Could you try not do that at dinner? It’s distracting, and it makes you look childish, rather than like the future wife of a respectable, successful businessman,” Blake snaps, his eyes looking at my hands in my lap with disgust. I can’t explain why he’s being exceptionally cruel tonight, but I decide to keep the peace. Again.
I smile brightly at him before speaking. “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you, Blake. I didn’t realize the movements of my hands would be so off-putting to everyone around us.” Blake huffs before his face softens slightly.