5. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
“Merci et au revoir!” the porter says, wheeling a trolly packed with our luggage to the private car idling outside the hotel doors. “I hope you have enjoyed your stay with us.”
“Yes, we have, thank you,” I lie, forcing a big smile as Luka presses a few euros into the porter’s gloved hand.
The truth is, I’ve never been so happy to see a limousine in my life.
Our honeymoon is finally over, and thank God.
I never thought I’d regret spending two weeks alone in Paris with my new husband, but this whole trip has been a nightmare, possibly the worst experience of my life.
I can’t wait to get back home to Chicago.
Even though I’m not sure what going home means for us anymore.
Luka has been nothing but distant and aloof.
He hasn’t touched me since our naughty moment by the window, except for the few times we stepped out to walk around our arrondissement and we had to hold hands to keep up appearances.
But as soon as we’d get back to the suite, he’d get all cold again and keep himself out of my way for the rest of the day.
We get into the back of the car and pull away from the hotel. Luka keeps plenty of space between us, his hands folded loosely between knees spread comfortably apart. He’s ensuring no part of him touches me while he does it. Always needing to be in control.
I’m learning so much about my husband’s personality, and not the kinds of things I thought I’d learn on our honeymoon.
He looks out his window, saying nothing, but I don’t let it sway the persistent hope that we can fix this somehow.
I caress him with a subtle look. He’s always so magnetic, and even with the constant tension, I can’t stop feeling drawn to him.
I know he still wants me too, and I need to nurture that and use it to narrow the divide between us.
Despite not touching me at the hotel, he often left his door open just wide enough to watch me dress.
One time he made me watch him in the shower, glistening and naked, jacking off into his hand just to torture me.
I admit, despite it being intended as a punishment, it was pretty hot.
That said, it’s obvious he still wants me.
And I may have tried seducing him a little, on my part.
Baring a shoulder, moaning with pleasure at our room service meals, walking around in my thong.
Slowly unclasping my bra while he watched. Not that any of it worked.
Not yet, anyway. But I know I can wear him down.
I’m not above using seduction to manipulate him, if it means fixing our marriage in the long run.
My plan won’t be that hard to pull off, really.
He loves sex. I love having sex with him.
He’ll cave. All I have to do is lure him back with my body.
Give him anything that he wants in bed until he trusts me again and lets me in enough so that I can explain myself.
Then he’ll remember how good we are together.
The worst part is, I can’t even talk to anybody about all of this—not even my besties.
Over the past few weeks, every time I’ve gotten a text from Mateo or a call from Tori or Emzee, I’ve upheld the lie that Luka and I have been feeding the rest of the world: that we’re enjoying the perfect Parisian honeymoon and we can’t keep our eyes (or hands) off each other.
Even my parents think we’re madly in love and having the time of our lives.
No one would ever guess how far from a fairy tale it’s really been, how fraught our time together has become.
I let out a sigh and glance out the window, perking up at the gorgeous view of the Seine.
There are boats out in the calm blue waters, and a picturesque bridge arches over the river.
I let myself soak up the last images of the city, and it feels like the first time in days my mouth hasn’t been in a hard line.
If only this trip had gone differently. I imagined so much more for us.
Soon we’ll be boarding our private plane. A plan starts to take shape. There’s no reason I can’t start the seduction game once we’re in the air. A blow job at thirty-thousand feet? No man in his right mind would turn that down. Especially not Luka.
I hold my head high for the rest of the short ride to the airstrip, ready for action. My middle clenches with excitement at the thought of stripping off his pants and taking him in my mouth. It’s been an eternity since he’s touched me. I need the release so badly, I could scream.
“Welcome aboard,” one of the flight attendants says by way of greeting.
I barely notice her as I contemplate where to sit, then make my way to the back where we sat on the way here. But Luka doesn’t follow me.
“Candy!” he says, pulling her in for a close hug. “It’s been ages! You look amazing.”
Instead of joining me, he stays near the front of the plane with Candy, his head bent low as they laugh quietly about something. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my gut churns with jealousy. Swallowing hard, I settle into my seat and pull out my phone.
The PA crackles and then the captain chats pleasantly about our flight path and the weather over the speakers.
We’re just about to taxi down the runway when Candy finally tells Luka he needs to take a seat and buckle up.
He does, his hand lightly slapping her ass as she walks away. My blood goes cold.
What the actual fuck is he doing?
“Luka,” I hiss.
He doesn’t turn to look at me. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge that I’m here at all.
The slow burn of jealousy and hurt starts to heat to pure anger in my blood and I try to temper it by scrolling through my social media pages with my jaw clenched hard.
By now I have a million notifications asking about the honeymoon, begging for pictures and details.
It’s a good thing social media is ninety-nine percent fake, because every photo of Luka and I together might show us smiling and in love, but behind those forced grins is pain and anger, and that’s not the kind of content my followers want to see.
We pulled off the happy couple image like pros, of course.
No one will ever know what went on—or didn’t—behind the closed doors of our luxuriously romantic Paris hotel.
Except maybe for Candy.
She’s back at Luka’s side now, bending low to hand him a drink.
Her breasts nearly spill from the unbuttoned top of her uniform blouse.
His arm twitches, as if he were going to touch her but managed to stop himself.
They laugh again, and this time he does reach up toward her.
My stomach drops as his fingers brush the dip of her back.
She leaves again, swaying her curvy hips and giving a coy glance over her shoulder.
This is a different flight attendant than we had coming here, and she and Luka obviously have history.
She’s also much less professional and way more brash, with her hair teased big, her huge fake lashes, her lips a seductive glossy pink.
I’m sure the cleavage on her uniform probably isn’t standard…
it’s almost as if she dolled herself up on purpose.
Well, if she’d hoped to get Luka’s attention, it worked. He tilts his head slightly and keeps his eyes glued to her as she works in the small galley area at the front of the plane.
She’s preparing a snack and making a big show of it, turning just right so her breasts are angled for Luka’s viewing pleasure.
Dropping something so she has to bend over and retrieve it.
While she’s at it, she fusses with a strap on her shoe, making slow work of it, running her fingers over her ankle and lightly up her calf while chatting with Luka in a low purr.
Now my face flames hot. Fuck this. I’m about to get up when Candy glides from the galley with a tray in her hands. Her friendly smile does nothing to hide the fire in her eyes. She knows what she’s doing and isn’t afraid to hide the fact that she’s after my husband.
“Sparkling water, cucumber sandwiches, vanilla cinnamon-coated dates?”
I don’t move. I simply look up at her. She bats her lashes and gestures at my tray table.
“Shall I just leave your plate right here, then?”
All I can do is glare. “Go ahead.”
She sets down the plate and glass and the folded cloth napkin with zero fanfare.
No giggling, no boobs in my face. With a final blink, she spins and heads back to Luka, almost immediately going low with her cleavage near his arm.
The plane makes a hasty bump and she grips the back of Luka’s chair, falling into him.
Of course, his hand goes around her waist to steady her, then runs slowly to the rise of her ass. And out come the giggles.
Enough’s enough.
He might have gotten away with fooling around in Paris, on our honeymoon of all things, but this is too close to home.
And who knows, Candy might even be the type of person who’s eager to sell their dirty celebrity gossip to the highest bidder.
We’re trying to improve our public image, not muddy it even more.
I whip off my seatbelt and go to Luka, coming up behind him and sliding my left arm over the back of his chair as I bend to speak in his ear.
He looks at me with a slight jerk, as if I’ve taken him by complete surprise.
Candy doesn’t have the good sense to get off my husband and I’m inclined to push her, but I don’t.
“Honey,” I croon next to his ear. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to stop now.”
He looks at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Time to stop what? We’re just having fun. Are you jealous?” His voice is pointed, hard and loud enough that Candy can certainly hear him.
“No.” I straighten up and cross my arms. “But you’re making a mistake.”
He grins with an amused huff. “Why do you care so much?”
I draw back and shake my head. I’ll never admit to him how I really feel. “I don’t.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Your image is the problem. You have a reputation to uphold. For DRM.”
Scoffing, he looks at Candy while he speaks. “No press here to see anything, Brooklyn.”
I can’t believe he’s being so blasé about this. “You really think messing around with an employee is a good idea? All hell will break loose if that gets out. You can’t trust just anyone.”
“That’s rich, you telling me who to trust.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his knees, beckoning the flight attendant to come over. “The thing is, Candy and I go way back. She’s definitely earned my trust.”
In one swift motion he pulls her onto his lap, his hand resting high on her thigh. She smiles, her arm around his neck as he gives me a lazy look, the glint of venom in his eyes.
“Should we tell my wife about all the fun we’ve had together? How I inducted you into the Mile-High Club? Maybe we should let her in on some of the things two people can actually do in a tiny airplane bathroom.”
Candy looks up at me, her eyes roving up and down my body. “We could always show her…” she says, and then she directs her next words to me. “Do you like to watch?”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest to hold back the rush of emotion that suddenly overtakes me.
I haven’t let myself cry in days. Not when Luka went out that night in Paris.
Not after he rejected me repeatedly on our honeymoon.
Not when I fake smiled in all of our vacation photos.
But now it’s like I can’t hold it back anymore.
He wants to flaunt his sex-toy flight attendant in my face, well, there’s nothing I can do about that.
But I’ll be damned if he’s going to see me crack.
I turn away without another word, grab my bag, and slip into the back bedroom where I shut and lock the door.
Then I drop down onto the bed, and cry.