32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bourbon, Besties + Mind-Bending Sex
Aspen
Istare at my phone, the screen glowing with the latest lecture from my mother.
Bertha: I know you’ve seen how many times I’ve called. I know you saw that picture I sent of Leanna Thompson’s ugly baby. And I know you miss hanging out with me as much as I miss you.
It’s easily the sweetest thing she’s texted me since she found out about the “Vegas incident.” And the reality TV thing.
Every other message has been a cocktail of condescension and chastising.
They’ve done nothing but make me want to retreat further into my new life, no matter how much a small, traitorous part of me actually misses her.
Then, the three dots bounce for a second before the next bubble appears.
Bertha: I know you think I’m being hard on you, but I truly believe things would be looked at differently if you were to just get an annulment and do this the right way.
Have him come speak to your father and me.
We could even meet his parents over a nice meal.
I’m sure they feel the same way we do. We just want you both to be sensible, Penny.
Being drunk on television and married to a stranger is anything but sensible.
There it is. The “sensible” plea. I knew the sweetness was just a sugar-coating for the same old…her.
“You’re staring at that phone like you’ve just seen another episode of Black Mirror, Aspen,” Tatum says. “Spill. You’ve been vibrating since you walked in.”
I blink, forcing my eyes away from the screen. “It’s my mother,” I sigh, tossing the phone onto the velvet chair beside me. “She’s officially entered the ‘get an annulment and have a home-cooked meal’ phase of her grief.”
Tatum looks up from her laptop, one eyebrow arched. “Come again?”
We’re currently hauled up in her office at the Atlanta Strikers complex.
I’m not usually the type to be star-struck by architecture, but this place is a futuristic fantasy.
Since Luca has been coming in more frequently for training and physical therapy, and I’m his designated driver, I’ve taken to colonizing Tatum and Eslin’s office whenever I don’t have clients of my own.
“My mother is now suggesting—insisting, really—that I get a divorce or an annulment so Luca and I can do things ‘the right way,’” I explain, using air quotes.
Tatum frowns. “And what sense does that make? Even if you and Luca weren’t already planning to do that.” I don’t miss how she sounds like that’s a silly idea, too.
“It doesn’t make any sense at all! Regardless of what Luca and me are planning, she just wants a say in my life the way she has always had, and I won’t back down.”
“She really is having a hard time adjusting to your boundaries, huh?” Tatum asks.
Eslin walks in just in time to chime in. “That’s not a boundary,” she says, dropping her bag with a heavy, judgmental thud. “That’s immaturity and an inability to have hard conversations.”
I mean, I’m not avoidant to the point of total denial, but she really didn't have to go for the jugular like that.
She didn't have to point out the fact that I’d dropped a truth-bomb on my mother and then immediately sprinted for cover to avoid the fallout.
Apparently, “going off the grid” is only a boundary if you aren't doing it out of pure, unadulterated cowardice.
Who knew?
I stick out my tongue. “Seriously? You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“I’m on the side of whatever keeps us from talking about anyone’s family drama for five minutes,” Eslin retorts, though her eyes are teasing. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”
I raise a brow, a slow smirk spreading across my face. “So, you don’t want to hear about the mind-bending sex I’ve been having with my husband?”
Tatum freezes. “Hold please!” She practically sprints to her bar cart, rattling decanters until she finds the good stuff. She returns and hands us each a glass, pouring a healthy two fingers of the brown liquor that keeps us both hydrated and inebriated.
“Wait,” Tatum says, pausing before the glass hits her lips. “Nobody is going to pop out and say they’re pregnant, right?”
We all look around the circle, the only pregnant one among us, Marlow, noticeably absent. “Nope!” we say in unison.
“Good. Then drink up,” Tatum commands.
Eslin is the first to set her glass down. “Now, about this mind-blowing—”
“Mind-bending, I believe she said,” Tatum corrects.
I laugh, feeling the warmth of the bourbon and the company. “Yes. Mind-bending sex with Sir Luca Chidubem!”
The girls squeal.
And so do I. “You guys! I’m starting to think he might be exactly what I needed all along.
These past few weeks, it’s like he’s been peeling back layers of me I didn't even know existed. He’s opening me up to things, experiences, feelings…
” I pause, trying to find the words, but I’m a mess of confusion from falling in love with my husband.
“I... I’ve never felt this seen. Or this wrecked, if I’m honest.”
Tatum lets out a low whistle, grinning. “Look at you. The good church girl, finally getting corrupted by the big, bad striker. I knew he had it in him, but I didn't know he was a miracle worker!”
“Shut up! You make it sound like I was some stuck-up prude!”
Eslin and Tatum exchange a knowing look.
“What!” I yell.
“Sweetie, you can be a bit judgmental about the men you date, and you do tend to have... let's say, lofty expectations.”
I frown, defensive. “I do not! And why are you two making me sound exactly like my mother?”
“If the helicopter fits!” Tatum says, shrugging.
“I’m not doing this with you two. I simply know what I like and I refuse to settle. How does that make me judgmental?”
Tatum shakes her head. “Never mind, sweetie. We don’t have nearly enough time to unpack all of that right now.”
“And I’m definitely not getting paid enough for this, so can we please get back to the sex?” Eslin argues. “My fiancé has been traveling, and I could really use some secondhand tension.”
I shake my head, trying to sober my thoughts as I take another slow sip of my drink.
“It’s not just the bedroom,” I admit, my voice softening as the weight of it settles in my chest. “It’s the way he looks at me when the cameras aren't there. He’s becoming the man I fell in love with back in Vegas all over again.
The man who didn’t know my name but still couldn’t get enough of me.
But...” I trail off, the ice in my glass suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the room.
“But?” Eslin prompts, her therapist's intuition kicking into high gear.
“We’re going to his mother’s birthday party,” I say, the anxiety prickling at my skin.
“It feels like so much pressure—for both of us. There’s special attire, Luca has a personal seamstress and we’re actually getting fitted for traditional, matching outfits.
They even sent the fabric ahead of time!
Like, who are these people? What exactly am I getting myself into? Better yet, what did I marry into?”
“That’s all normal, Aspen,” Tatum chimes in. “Haven’t you seen the Nigerian celebrations on social media? Everyone dresses in the same colors to show they're part of the family.”
“It’s not the clothes,” I counter, shaking my head.
“It’s just...he makes his family sound so regal.
Proper. Deeply traditional. And here I am, the girl who introduced herself by burping in a Vegas pod while my own mother is currently trying to pray our marriage into non-existence.
I’m terrified they’ll take one look at me and decide I'm not enough.”
The room goes quiet for a second. Eslin leans forward, her gaze piercing. “Is that what you’re really afraid of, Aspen? Or are you worried that if they don’t like you, he won't choose you a second time?”
The question silences me. I let out a long, shaky breath. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
Eslin nods slowly, her gaze holding mine with a weight that makes it impossible to look away. “Then you need to talk to your husband, Aspen. It makes no sense to be having all this world-class, mind-bending sex if you can’t have a real conversation outside the bedroom.”
She reaches out, resting a hand on my arm, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. “If he’s man enough to handle you in the dark, he’s man enough to carry you in the light.”
I stare into the amber liquid of my glass, her words echoing against the sudden, hollow silence of the room.
The sex is the easy part—the blurring of lines and the surrender of bodies.
But as the afternoon sun glints off the expensive glass of the Strikers’ complex, I realize that the real challenge isn't the fitting or the fabric. It’s finding the courage to step out of the shadows and see if Luca is truly ready to hold all of me.