Chapter One June #4
“But if I don’t feel comfortable with it, especially since I don’t get to know what you do that’s so ‘secret,’ you’d stop, right?
Because you love me? Or find a way to include me that we discuss and both consent to?
Like healthy, sex-positive adults?” My voice is also businesslike.
It’s just another layer of toughness, and I realize I’ve got so many—and for so many months, I let them all slip away, little by little, comfortable with Daniel.
Trusting him. Believing that I’d finally found someone sweet, funny, loving, and, as a bonus, capable of spoiling me like I’ve never been spoiled before.
“Well... I’m sure we could come to some compromise. I’m not going to stop something I enjoy, obviously.”
“We’ve been together half a year, long enough to get engaged and for you to feel safe sharing your banking info with me. We moved in together last month! Jesus, Danny, if you planned to marry someone, wouldn’t you give them a little heads up about this in case they minded?”
“No! Because this is for me, not for you. I wouldn’t tell you if I wanted to get a pound of chocolate or a pack of cigarettes and have a little splurge every time I was away, would I?”
“Well, I don’t know. I kinda hope you would mention smoking since you know how I feel about that. Did I not make it clear that I also have a problem with you engaging in sexual situations with other people? I thought that was a given.”
“I’m not engaging with them.”
“You’re there with them!”
“This is just a battle of semantics. You’re overtired and stressed, darling. Why don’t you go have a nice glass of wine and stroll the grounds of the lodge? Oh, and why don’t you send me some pictures of the garden you’re doing up?”
“Why don’t you give me a very clear answer? Will you stop visiting these clubs and interacting with the performers until we’ve had a chance to talk about this? In person? I’ll fly over tomorrow. Tonight!”
“No. No, there’s not a need!” Daniel insists. “What don’t you understand about this? It’s perfectly simple. This is harmless fun, my fun, and it doesn’t concern you in any way, shape, or form. If there hadn’t been some overzealous banking bot, you’d have never known about it.”
I think I’m literally seeing red—or maybe I hit my head when I fell and burst a blood vessel in my eye.
He’s not upset that this upsets me; he’s upset that I found out.
That his guilty pleasure, his harmless fun, is now being called into question by the woman he supposedly loves, by the woman who was going to be his life partner.
I have to close my eyes to even be able to speak, to focus my breathing, and stop from just screaming.
“Oh, my God. You’re actually stupid right now.
Doesn’t concern me? Am I allowed to go to the same club, then, and look but not touch all the guys?
Maybe rent a playpen room or whatever rooms they have for horny wives that want ‘me time’? ”
“No. No, no, no. You don’t want that. You’re Junie! You’re not like that. You like gardening. I’m giving you that. You give me this. See, it’s an even exchange based on what we both like.”
“I don’t think you know what I’m actually like, or you wouldn’t have done this. I don’t know you like I thought—because I never, ever thought you’d do this to me,” I whisper, voice still strong—barely.
“Look, you need to cool off. We’ll talk more in the morning, but I’m going now. This isn’t solving anything. Your surprise will be there soon. I’m sure you’ll realize I’m right once you get it.”
And he hangs up.
The pretty, polished bastard, the man I trusted, the man I let my guard down for—hangs up on me so he can go play with some stranger he paid for.
And in one of those horrible, blinding flashes, it occurs to me that Daniel’s money isn’t the blessing I thought.
He just buys different categories of women.
He wanted a comfy, friendly, fun American wife to help put clients at ease, or a sexy, cute wife for companionship, and to help make a home—and so he bought one.
Yep. He bought me, in little surprises here, and little tokens of affection there.
Then he bought playmates, random girls on random trips—or maybe favorite regulars.
None of it’s supposed to concern me, because it’s all about his wants. They were never supposed to overlap. His acts of thoughtfulness are aimed at keeping me in my “happy wifey” compartment.
That makes him happy. Is it really so bad to be someone’s happy place, someone’s pampered princess? Daniel obviously loves so much about you, and he loves spoiling you, creating the life of your dreams.
I shake my head to clear it, still holding my phone, the laptop’s screen now flashing pictures of Daniel and me at a swanky gala, then flashing to us in our green goggles and Shamrock hats at one of Philly’s infamous St. Patrick’s pub crawls. Two worlds collided. Two people who were happy together.
But now? I’m not happy.
It’s not even about finding out there’s another side to Daniel. It’s the lying. The dismissal of my concerns and feelings.
The lack of trust, and realizing this is all a fantasy. An illusion.
I almost scream when a truck rattles past the window of the lodge, and a huge wooden crate sways on the back.
My surprise. The surprise Daniel thinks will fix everything.
Like I’m a thing he can buy, just like he buys an hour of company with a stranger—doing intimate things. Even if he’s not “touching,” he loves whatever he does so much that he wasn’t even willing to consider my feelings or discuss stopping. Not even compromising if it was about his enjoyment.
Tears are not something I let win very often. If I did, I’d probably cry every day at work, where injustice and frustration constantly attack. This is a whole different level of pain and misery.
“I’ll be right there!” I shout to the delivery guy as he steps out of the truck, and then I burst into sobs.
NIGEL, A BIG, BURLY brunette who grunts instead of speaking, already has my box down in the center of the lawn. I’ve mapped out a circle of bushes and flats, and the open box sits inside of it. Honestly, that’s exactly where I’d put it. That’s where I’d want a fountain.
I blink away the image of some pristine house on the mainline with acres of yard, and maybe a pool.
Damn it, damn him. Give me my crummy studio apartment back if you think I can be bought, or you think you can lie or keep secrets from me. Love doesn’t wipe out pride or the need for loyalty.
Okay, maybe a little—but only if it’s mutual.
Nigel is already back in the cab of his big work pickup.
“Undid it for you. Pry bar. Foam-lined crate. Figured it’d be useful.
” Nigel’s grunts form words, but he has a thick accent that makes it tricky to grasp at first. His voice is British, I think, but he sounds nothing like Daniel, thank goodness.
I don’t think I can hear that right now. “You all right?”
“I had bad news. But thank you. Thank you for opening it. Um. Is it heavy?”
He nods. “I can move it?”
“No. No, no. I like it where it is.”
Nigel touches his hand to his forehead as if he’s tipping an imaginary cap. “That’s me away, then. Call if you need any help. Promises Kept. Pine Ridge Community website has our information, and we’ve a website. Here’s my card. Ian Fenclan’ll vouch for me.”
“Thank you,” I manage a smile and take the green and white card from his outstretched hand. “I might call if I need it moved.”
“Create should just pull apart now. Loosened it up, but didn’t want to open your package. Garden statue, eh?”
“Yep. I love gardening.”
“You’re good at it. Ian Fenclan oughta give you a discount, making this place look so grand. You’ve only been here a day?”
“How’d you know?”
“We’re a little town, and I know Ian. And the Kane brothers.”
I manage a little smile. “That’s cool. It seems like a beautiful place to live,” I rasp.