Chapter 7
Shannon
Those eyes.
Now that I’ve noticed them, I’d recognize them anywhere. I feel them on me as if they’re hands roaming my flesh.
Hudson is standing just outside the window of De Luca’s. He’s behind Gregor so my husband is unaware that another man is currently holding my attention.
It’s our anniversary. It’s also the one night a year I can count on a romantic dinner with Greg because everyone eventually asks, what did you do for your anniversary?
What did Gregor get you? He takes pride in being able to say he got reservations at the exclusive De Luca’s on top of whatever other extravagant gift he’s gotten me.
It’s a shame I only got to drive last year’s Ferrari once before he decided to trade it in for my conservative mom-mobile.
Greg and I have managed to put a Band-Aid over the bullet hole caused by his company dinner, but nothing has really changed. The life force of our marriage continues to bleed through the patch.
I’ve been trying to be attentive all night, but instead of a conversation, I’ve been listening to a monologue of active court cases ever since we sat down.
Now, I’m struggling to pull my eyes away from Hudson.
Dressed casually in a dark grey t-shirt that clings to his muscular torso, he has a silver chain around his neck that disappears beneath his neckline.
His black hat is on backwards, making him look younger than his delivery uniform does, and his jeans have fashionable rips on the thighs, but something tells me he didn’t buy them like that.
On his wrist is a leather band with some kind of bead in the middle.
Even under the glow of the street lights, I can see his tan from the summer.
Before I can stop myself, my mind wanders and I begin to wonder what would happen if I just got up from this restaurant right now and went to him.
If it weren’t for Serafina, I think I’d actually consider it, and remnants of my resentment nag at me.
Thankfully, the friend Hudson’s with grabs his shirt sleeve and yanks him away from the window since apparently, both Hudson and I appear to be too stupid to direct our attention elsewhere.
“Shannon?”
I look across the table at my husband, hating myself for the comparison, but it’s already taken hold.
Gregor’s skin is sallow from the fluorescent lights in the office.
His shoulders are beginning to round from staying hunched over paperwork all day, and his button-down hangs loosely off his thinning frame in direct contrast to Hudson’s mass.
“That’s great that something new has come to light that could help you get your client off,” I recite, letting him know I heard him—and also silently wondering if perhaps the people of this city wouldn’t be better off if most of his clients were behind bars. It sounds like this guy’s a real creep.
“Thank you. And I wanted to give you this.” He slides a Tiffany’s box across the table. His eyes dart around quickly and I know he’s looking to see if others are interested in what’s inside.
When I open the lid, my stomach lodges in my throat and oh how I wish it was because I’m so excited or swept away from positive emotion.
Inside the box is a necklace with a pendant of a mother cradling her child.
In the center of the child is Serafina’s birthstone.
Although she and I are slowly finding our groove and facing my day as a mother doesn’t elicit the same nauseating response in me that it once did, for our anniversary, I was hoping he’d pick something for me as a wife and not as a mother.
But not wanting to rock the boat, I smile. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
As if attempting to get on the same page for the first time in forever, Gregor grabs my hand across the table. “There’s one more gift, but I didn’t think it would be appropriate to open here.”
My smile stretches wide as hope blooms in my chest. Perhaps he has heard me recently.
After dinner, he and I come home to an empty house because my parents have Serafina overnight. Greg leads me upstairs and the butterflies that have been absent in my husband’s presence for so long make a comeback, filling me with hope as they drown out the indifference I felt earlier.
He pushes on my shoulders, encouraging me to sit on the edge of the bed before he retrieves a black box with a red satin bow and kneels in front of me, holding it out.
My excitement makes it hard to go slow and savor the moment. Nice lingerie is a guilty pleasure of mine. Peeling the lid back, I find a beautiful pink silk nightie. The fabric is luxurious and I’m so excited that he took the time to think of me…until he opens his mouth.
“I hope it fits. I gave Deana the sizes I found on the tags in the drawer for your other stuff.”
Disappointment floods my system, causing me to go from admiring the conservative, but beautiful gift, to letting it fall from my hands, on the verge of tears.
“Well, at least the firm’s secretary has decent taste,” I answer with a bite.
When I don’t immediately try it on, he says, “Well, let’s see it,” completely missing the fact that I’m upset.
I set the box aside, deciding maybe tonight is a good time to try a new approach, and head for the drawer of my nightstand.
“I’ll go slip this on and while I’m in the bathroom, I want you to get familiar with this.
” I hand my husband my very basic, pink vibrator.
He looks horrified as he holds it with two fingers like he’s going to contract syphilis if any more of his skin touches it.
“I was…hoping we could try something new tonight,” I tell him, wondering when I became so embarrassed to ask for what I want sexually.
“When did you get this?” he asks, clearly offended.
“I’ve had it a while. You work a lot of hours so...” I trail off, aiming for playful and seductive, trying to get him to imagine me using it on myself, but Greg seems genuinely offended.
“So, what? You sit around and get yourself off all day?” he asks, his condescending tone making a grand appearance.
Enter cold bucket of water.
I rip the device from his hands and throw it back in the drawer.
“No. I don’t sit around all day and do anything because I’m too busy cleaning up these seven thousand square feet and taking care of our daughter.”
“Come on, Shan,” he huffs as if I’m being unreasonable. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
How have I never noticed that he only uses my nickname when he’s trying to placate me?
“Yeah, you did. What do you have against using a vibrator? I’m trying to tell you what I need and you’re dismissing me as if I’m the opposing counsel in the courtroom, Gregor. I hate it.”
“You need this toy? Are you telling me you fake it when we’re together?” he asks angrily, turning the argument back on me.
A lot of the time, yes, I want to answer truthfully.
“Greg, everyone’s got to switch it up every now and then,” I say gently.
“I’m exhausted these days, but I don’t want to lose myself to being a mother and forget how to be a wife.
Using the vibrator will just help speed things along.
I crave the closeness with you, but I only have about three coherent minutes once I lay down in bed before I’m dead to the world and no one is good enough to get me there in three minutes.
” Am I really blaming myself for not being able to get off fast enough?
He nods slowly, still processing, but not shutting me down.
“Okay…fine. Let’s give it a try,” he says reluctantly on a defeated, lackluster sigh.
I appreciate his willingness to do so, but his unease is causing mine to rise. He pulls the vibrator back out of the drawer and I go slip into the new lingerie piece from Deana.
“Lie back,” he instructs with no compliment at all on how the lacey lingerie fits when I come back into the room. I can tell he feels awkward as hell, but he’s trying, so I do as he says with no argument.
He clicks the button twice which causes the device to go straight to the high setting.
I still his hand as he lowers it toward my body, knowing the thin strip of my underwear won’t be enough to combat the high setting with no warm-up.
I squeeze his thumb which is still resting over the button to slow the whirring down.
“Okay, now what?” he asks.
Refusing to let my frustration over his lack of enthusiasm show, I grab his wrist and slowly move the toy up over my clit, then back down, then in circles. When I finally hit the on-ramp of my orgasm, Gregor speaks again. “What role do I play in this? I mean is this just for you?”
I must be married to the only heterosexual man who doesn’t enjoy watching his woman get off without having to put forth much effort.
I’m frustrated that he thinks I would just let him to go to bed with a hard-on.
I’m about to tell him I’m more than happy to get him off, but when I open my eyes and take him in, there’s no sign of arousal in him at all.
His pupils aren’t dilated or glassy, there’s no tent in his trousers, his breathing hasn’t changed, there’s no flush in his cheeks.
I’m totally spread out for him and it elicits zero response. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt less desirable than I do right now. Sighing, I take the vibrator from him and toss it back in the drawer—it never even touched my skin.
“I guess that’s not really ever going to be your thing.”
“Probably not,” he agrees. “But I can get you there with this.” He rubs his still-soft shaft through his suit pants as if that’s supposed to put me in the mood.
My husband is attractive. He’s always put-together, has a full head of hair, a clean-shaven baby-face, and a decent physique.
He has sharp, deep blue eyes and his appearance screams money and intelligence.
But I’m noticing more and more, he’s lost the ruggedness he had from playing lacrosse in college—a passion we once had in common.
Even his natural swagger and confidence seem to be masked by insecurity these days, and in their place is a man who has become singularly focused on his career and his image… and I’m not even in the frame.
“Let’s just go to bed,” I offer.
I shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed, but when he simply shrugs a shoulder and kisses my cheek before turning into the bathroom with no argument, the petals of my heart wilt even further.
The next day, Serafina and I do the long trail at the lake because I have a plan for nap time today. I slept like shit and I hate how things went down between Gregor and I last night.
My husband seems to get farther away with each passing day, but he doesn’t even notice the rift growing between us.
So this morning, after he left, I pulled out one of my favorite pieces of lingerie and steamed it.
I purposely didn’t use the piece chosen by Deana because it’s time I take back some of the control, but I also want a redo.
I want what last night should have been.
I want to know my husband still wants me.
The fact remains I need physical intimacy in my marriage and I refuse to give that part of myself up.
I never thought I’d have to work so hard to entice my own husband, but desperate times call for desperate measures—and it’s growing increasingly clear that I’m desperate.
Serafina goes down easily and I’m getting more comfortable around her every day. Someone should tell new mothers how utterly terrifying it is to be alone with a kid this young all day. But I’m thankful that as she gets to know me and I her, we’re figuring it out together.
As soon as she’s asleep, I creep back down the stairs and into the kitchen where my strappy, satin lingerie awaits.
I’m too excited about the response I hope to elicit so I strip right here and pull the straps of the sexy bodysuit up my thighs and over my shoulders.
Thanks to the personal trainer I hired after Serafina was born, my stomach is almost back to where it was before pregnancy.
Although it’s a little tighter in some places and doesn’t sit quite as perfectly as it once did, I acknowledge that it takes time and am appreciative for how far I’ve come.
The crimson color is my favorite and I hope to brighten Gregor’s day while also reminding him of what’s waiting for him at home and hoping he’ll meet me in the middle and show me he’s willing to fight for us.