13. Tori
TORI
Why not just leave?
I could walk out of the hotel, grab a taxi and take my own tour of the city.
That’s what I was here for, wasn’t it? But I knew that if I disappeared like that, Stefan’s trust in me would be irreversibly shattered.
And my ultimate goal wasn’t to put a wedge even further between us, it was to figure this relationship out.
If I knew what he wanted, what he needed…
maybe I could figure out how I fit into all of it.
Another leggy model type walked past me.
I felt something like panic and anxiety rise up inside of me.
Even if he hadn’t been cheating on me yesterday, who was to say he wouldn’t do it now?
Or in the future? Like my father had said, Stefan could have his pick of any woman wanted.
We might have been married on paper, but it was clear that he considered it to go no further.
If I couldn’t convince him to take our relationship to the next level, did I really expect him to remain celibate, just to keep up appearances?
To calm myself, I let my brain drop into its usual defense mechanism. I thought about words. Words had meaning. They had history. You could break them down and understand them. I liked that.
Model. It was a wonderful word that could be applied to so many things.
Not just models like the women walking back and forth, but in the more scientific sense—it represented an object or behavior or system that aided understanding.
In that case, Stefan was my model. He was something I wanted to understand. Wanted to know.
Taking out my phone, I shot him a quick text with my request.
Still a little tired from the flight. Would it be okay to go up to our room and lie down?
Voila. It was honest, polite, and asked his permission to leave my post. Hopefully he would see it for what it was: an olive branch. A way to bridge the gap that was rapidly growing between us. A gap I didn’t want growing any further.
My palms were sweating as I awaited a reply.
My phone vibrated in my hand as his response came through.
Go.
That was it. One word. Was he too caught up in there to say more? Or was he still pissed?
I headed up to our room, tired and confused.
As I pushed the heavy door open, I saw a feast for the eyes.
The suite was just as gorgeous as the one we’d stayed at in Vienna, though it had a completely different feel.
This hotel, though ornate and historic on the outside, had a sleek, contemporary vibe inside.
I stepped into the room, soaking in the calm, minimal design.
Everything was sharp clean lines and white linens.
An ivory comforter and snowy white pillows covered the massive bed in the center of the room, looking just like a cloud.
The carpet was plush and I kicked off my shoes to wiggle my feet in the thick pile, so soft against my aching soles.
Gold geometric patterns were embossed on the wallpaper, gleaming in the light that flooded from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Peering through the gauzy curtains, I found a balcony with cushioned chairs and a wrought iron table.
I stepped out, taking in the view of the city.
It was incredible, even prettier from here than from the window up on the business floor.
Being able to observe it like this from the private balcony of our hotel was more than I had ever imagined.
All of this, all the luxury and excess, was something I’d never really experienced before.
I’d been lucky to never want for anything, but there was a difference between my comfortable life in Springfield and the extravagant world that Stefan inhabited.
My father had a driver—but Stefan flew exclusively by private jet. It wasn’t even the same ballpark.
And I wanted to be a part of his world. Not because I wanted his money or his connections, either. But I craved the experiences those things could provide. Adventure. Exploration. Excitement. That was something I could get used to.
I didn’t want to feel like I was constantly battling Stefan to get those things, though. I wanted us to enjoy it together. To find adventure together. I wanted to be the wife he dreamed of and fantasized about. If only he’d let me.
A breeze teased my hair away from my face and I closed my eyes, wishing that things were better.
That they were like they had been at the opera, with Stefan holding my hand.
I craved his attention. His affection. Beyond wanting sex, I had emotional needs, and getting them met was vital to me. How could I get him to want that too?
I imagined us out here together. It was the perfect place to have coffee in the morning, or champagne in the evening.
It would be such a dream to wake up and share a quiet morning with Stefan, taking in the gorgeous view of Budapest as we drank coffee and ate pastries before starting our day.
Or unwinding in the evening, with chocolate covered strawberries and cocktails.
The hotel was unbelievably romantic and it hurt to know that it was just a facade.
That we weren’t staying there because Stefan had hoped to spend a romantic honeymoon with me, but so he could work in the executive offices available on the upper floors.
And keep a close eye on me. The whole thing felt even more depressing in the face of all this beauty and romance.
My suitcases were already stacked neatly on one side of the room.
I felt a twinge of guilt when I noticed how much larger my pile was compared to Stefan’s modest set of matched luggage.
He’d brought a few custom-made suits and enough shirts to last a week, but thanks to hotel dry cleaning he hadn’t had to bring much else.
Maybe I shouldn’t have bought all those clothes in Vienna.
There was a settee at the foot of the bed, and I sat down there, wiggling my toes in the thick carpet. It soothed me a little bit.
The room was quiet and cool, exactly what I needed. I had a chance to gather my thoughts, to make a plan. But first, I needed to talk to someone who knew exactly what I was going through.
Michelle picked up on the second ring.
“Tori the explorer,” she teased, an old nickname from my childhood. “How is Budapest?”
No doubt both she and my father had received copies of our travel itinerary. There was something comforting in that. Even though I was married and technically not their responsibility anymore, my parents were still looking out for me. I was still their daughter.
“It’s beautiful,” I said truthfully. “Mostly I’ve only had time to see it from the window of a taxi, but there are pretty old churches everywhere. I saw shop windows full of hand embroidered tablecloths and doilies, and this gorgeous cut crystal they make here in every color of the rainbow.”
“How’s the food?” she asked.
“We just got here, so I haven’t had a chance to find out yet,” I said, purposely leaving out the part about my epic hangover that was still lingering. “But I read about these rolled up meringue pastries filled with oranges that I’m dying to try. I know this city is going to be really special.”
“Better than Vienna?”
I could hear the genuine eagerness in her voice. My father’s work hadn’t taken him out of the country often, and for all of Michelle’s homegrown southern roots, I knew she had an adventurous spirit and longed to see the world.
“Vienna was magic,” I sighed. “We went to the Opera House. It was like a palace. The singers had amazing voices. Every single person in the audience was enthralled. It was wonderful.”
It was nice that I didn’t have to lie about that. I held on to that memory, holding it up as an example of how things could be. Of how I wanted them to be.
“Lucky, lucky girl. How is…everything else?” Michelle asked, the real question obvious.
I was silent, struggling for the right words.
“Tori?” she prompted. “You still there? Everything okay?”
“Of course!” I lied cheerfully. “It’s just…all the running around. You know how it is. It’s just been exhausting. In fact, I should probably go take a nap.”
She let out a slow breath, and then said, “Tori, I’ve known you since you were two years old. You put on a hell of a happy face, but I can tell when something’s bothering you. Spill it.”
I paused, not sure how to explain that I still hadn’t consummated my marriage.
I trusted her, but the last thing I wanted was detailed advice about how to seduce my husband, especially since I knew exactly who she’d used all her tips and tricks on.
The mental images of her and my father were the absolute last thing I’d need while trying to lure Stefan into bed.
But the truth was, I did need help. And I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.
“Stefan’s not interested in sex,” I blurted out. “I mean, he is. Definitely. But not with me.”
This time the long pause came from her.
“Tell me what happened,” she finally said, spacing out her words carefully.
I took a deep breath, humiliated but desperate for advice.
“I dressed up for him in the lingerie, just like you said, and I was ready and everything.” I was babbling, the words like a breaking dam.
“Not just on our wedding night in Chicago, but again in Vienna too. But he was dead asleep by the time I came to bed the first night and I don’t think he even noticed the second time.
He’s been totally ignoring me. He says he’s ‘working.’ He’s always working. ”
“Oh, honey. You’ve seen what it’s like at home with your father and me.”
“Yeah, but…I thought it would be different with us,” I admitted. “At least at first. We’re newlyweds.” I could barely keep the hurt out of my voice on the last sentence.
I hated this. I hated feeling like a little kid in my own marriage. Hated feeling like I didn’t have any control over what was happening.
“You knew what this was going to be,” Michelle reminded me. “Stefan is like your father—his work is always going to come first. You understand how it goes. And you need to respect that.”