Chapter 16
Max
I always thought that sex on your wedding night sounded like a terrible idea.
If you’d been sleeping together for a while, surely you’d just be exhausted?
And if it was your first time, isn’t that the worst possible moment to do it?
But now I think I get it. Last night, sleeping with Hunter felt like the most natural thing in the world, the only way to capture the magnitude and intensity of the day we’d just lived through together.
I was so terrified to go there, so relieved when he turned the light off.
Still, if that’s what taking it easy is like with him, I dread to think how I’ll cope with anything more than that.
Everything I’ve done until now pales in comparison.
With other guys, fumbling around felt casual and inconsequential.
This was the opposite of that. Being so close, feeling his skin against mine, his breath in my ear, was intoxicating.
He was hard as a rock throughout. My hand barely fit around it.
A part of me wished I could see him in all his glory, but I also loved the darkness, how it allowed me to enjoy the experience without worrying about how it looked.
It felt strange to part ways after that, but it was also a relief.
It took me forever to get to sleep. My whole body was infused with the memory of what we’d done, not to mention the emotions of the day.
I thought when I woke up, the lust would have faded, but if anything, it’s stronger this morning.
I’m not lying here thinking about the fact that I got married yesterday.
I’m thinking about what Hunter and I did on that sofa.
And how I want to go further.
I want to do it with the lights on this time.
I want Hunter to teach me everything he knows.
I’m sure we can trust ourselves not to overcomplicate things.
It’s only sex. And it will be easier to fake being a couple if we’re actually sleeping together.
We might as well enjoy this process. In fact, I wonder if Hunter would be interested in picking up where we left off right now.
Everyone’s horny in the morning. But I can’t just jump into bed with him.
I need an excuse. Then it hits me: breakfast in bed.
I don’t think I’ve ever made anyone breakfast in bed, but surely that’s the kind of thing you do for your new husband?
I’m envisioning a beautiful tray with painted china, a bunch of wild flowers, maybe one of those cute honey pots with a wooden dipper.
In a house like this, I’ll be able to assemble something along those lines.
It’s the food part that’s the challenge.
I can’t cook. Famously. For the past few years, I’ve either microwaved meals or scrambled together some pasta and pesto, whatever it took to get the food in my stomach as quickly as possible.
Mr Peanut is a fussy eater, and I’m always having to prepare him raw liver or smoked fish to convince him to consume something.
By the time I’m done with that, I don’t really care what I eat.
But I’m married now. I’m cohabiting. And getting Hunter back into bed with me is going to take more than a Pop Tart.
I survey the contents of Hunter’s fridge.
It’s all very healthy – oat milk, grapes, courgettes.
The store cupboard is slightly more promising, and I realise I have everything I need to make pancakes.
Pancakes! Who doesn’t love pancakes? What a charming thing to make my husband the morning after our wedding.
However, once I begin this great culinary endeavour, admittedly for the first time, it’s not as easy as I was expecting.
I produce a batter the rough consistency of vomit.
I presume that won’t matter once the pancakes are cooked, but I somehow manage to burn them on one side and undercook them on the other.
That’s actually quite impressive if you think about it.
Let’s not talk about the pancake that ends up half stuck to the ceiling and half on the floor.
Listen – I tried. You have to start somewhere.
And what it lacks in taste, appearance, and all-round finesse, it makes up for in, um, a dandelion.
I can’t go into the garden without alerting Hunter to my plan, so I’m reduced to what I can find out front.
I recall seeing some yellow dandelions that would really brighten up a breakfast tray.
Unfortunately, the only dandelion that Doily hasn’t picked for the wedding has turned into its spores.
A dead dandelion, effectively. So really my offering consists of some lumpy half-cooked batter decorated with a dead flower. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.
As I walk into his bedroom with my tray, Hunter looks up.
‘I made you breakfast,’ I announce.
Our eyes meet, and I’m overcome with a desire to jump into bed and pick up where we left off. Hunter surveys the tray doubtfully. ‘Thank you.’
He sits up and takes a bite of pancake, making a noise of approval.
‘Well?’ I ask.
‘Delicious.’
My face lights up. ‘Are you serious?’
Hunter hesitates. ‘Do you really want to know what I think?’
‘Yes!’
Hunter frowns. ‘Honestly, they’re not the best pancakes I ever tasted.’
My expression crumples.
‘What?’ Hunter says. ‘You asked for the truth.’
‘I wasn’t serious.’
Hunter stares at me. ‘You were lying about wanting me to be honest?’
I shrug. ‘You could be honest without slagging off my cooking skills.’
‘How?’
I pause to think. ‘You could have said, wow, thank you for going to all this effort, this is such a lovely idea. I’m always going to remember that you cooked me pancakes the morning after our wedding.’
Hunter offers a guilty smile. ‘You’re right. I could have. Seriously, Max, I would love to live in your head sometimes.’
As he holds my gaze, I feel another rush of desire for him. That was definitely a come-on. Hunter turns and places the tray on the bedside table. Oh my god, he’s going to kiss me. I purse my lips in preparation. But when Hunter turns back, his expression is grave.
‘I think we should talk about last night.’
My breath catches. That doesn’t sound good.
‘Er, sure.’
‘I feel bad,’ says Hunter. ‘I should have been more responsible.’
My heart sinks like a stone, but I try not to let it show on my face.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘We were drunk.’
‘I know. I just think it might be easier if we don’t do that again.’
I try to look casual. ‘I agree.’
‘Really? Awesome.’
I feel like a fool. How did I let myself come skipping in here, thinking that a tray of disgusting pancakes would make him want to sleep with me?
I’m such an idiot. Once was clearly enough for him.
He doesn’t want to go there again with an amateur like me who couldn’t even bring himself to leave the light on.
My face flushes red and I look away. This is so humiliating.
What if he had my number from the moment I walked in here?
What if he saw straight through my ruse with the pancakes?
What if the honest feedback was a way of breaking it to me gently?
I want to run away and hide, but I can’t slink off now or he’ll know how crushed I am.
I need to act as if hanging out in bed together like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I reach for my phone and check my emails.
I barely use my personal account, since there’s little in my life that doesn’t revolve around work.
I cringe when I see the email from my dad with a copy of the pre-nup.
Then I see the next email, and my heart stops.
‘OK, don’t panic,’ I say to Hunter.
‘I wasn’t until you said that,’ says Hunter. ‘What is it?’
I can’t bring myself to tell him, so I show him the email. Our application for a marriage visa has been processed but not yet approved. Instead, we’ve been invited to an interview. And when I say invited, I mean summoned.
The interview is tomorrow.