CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE PAST
It had been six months since I’d nearly destroyed my life.
Six months, and I hadn’t slipped up once.
I was conscious of my actions. When I got upset, I reminded myself that it wasn’t worth clinging to.
I went to therapy and talked through my emotions.
I told Dr. Carlisle that I had been unreasonable and that I had mistreated my husband.
I’d been…abusive.
There was no escaping that word. It haunted me. I had verbally abused him. It might have been physical if anything I threw had hit him. Sometimes I wondered if anything had and Oliver didn’t want to admit it.
The guilt never went away. If anything, every day it sat there, clinging to the edges of my vision. I was always blinking back tears and turning on myself.
I hated myself.
If anything, every day that went by that Oliver gave me love further cemented how much I didn’t deserve him.
June was right.
Dinner was on the stove and ready, and Rowe was in bed, sleeping.
Even though it was evening, I had on a nice red dress.
Oliver said red on a woman made a man’s head turn, and I wanted his head to turn.
He had been so busy lately, and I felt cooped up at the house.
My days consisted of taking Rowe to and from school and then to his extracurriculars.
I wouldn’t dare complain about it. Oliver had provided an excellent house for me to look after, and even though we had yet to conceive, I knew that logically this was the right move for us.
Emotionally, on the other hand, I still longed to go back to school and study. I had let the semesters slide by since my disastrous rejection letter, and I was starting to wonder about trying again.
I had worked on myself so much. I was present mentally. I maximized my time with Rowe and embraced being a housewife.
But I wanted more.
Had I proved myself worthy to try at it again?
I was pretty sure I had. I had written countless letters to Oliver apologizing for my actions and always thanking him for being with me. I brought up Rowe because I wanted him to know that he had not just filled a hole in my heart, but Rowe’s as well.
Food was on the table when Oliver arrived home at 7:00 p.m. sharp. It was beautifully presented. The chicken breast had been perfectly brined before cooking, and the risotto was soft and tasty. Since being homebound so much, I’d become an impressive cook.
“Wow,” Oliver said from behind me.
My heart burst as a smile stretched wide. I’d just settled his bowl of risotto down and turned to him, feeling my pride surge as he took in the dinner table and then my dress.
As he walked over, he settled his leather messenger bag down on the counter. A moment later, his arm was wrapped around me as he delivered a soft kiss to the tip of my nose.
“You look remarkable,” he whispered.
“You wanted me to wear my dresses.” He’d been imploring me to.
Had told me they would collect dust if I didn’t wear them.
When I told him there would be no occasion for it as I was in the house so much, he said he could be the occasion if it meant I would finally spoil myself, and now, here I was, dressed like I was about to have a night out.
I had to admit he was right. The dresses were going to good use, and wearing them made me feel pretty and feminine.
Plus, he looked like this: intense and wanting.
“I’m glad you finally listened,” he said. “I want this every day.”
“The dresses?”
“And the dinner. And you being here, in this home. Just knowing you’re here, in what used to be an empty house, does something to me.”
“If it makes you happy, I’ll do this for you.”
“Every day.”
I let out a laugh as he kissed my neck. “Well, I’ll try, but I don’t want to feel like a housewife all the time.”
It surprised me how deeply I meant that.
He must not have noticed because he chuckled easily. “Of course.”
His mouth remained against my neck, and I tilted my head to give him better access. His hand traveled slowly down my back, gathering some of the material of my dress in his fist.
I knew what he liked now.
I knew where to touch him, how deeply to kiss him, which sounds made his breathing change. I had learned to watch his face and adjust myself to whatever brought that hungry look into his eyes.
He turned me around and kissed me, harder this time. I slipped my hand between us and ran it over the front of his pants. His breath caught, and he immediately hardened.
I watched his face, waiting for that look.
When it came, relief moved through me.
That was what I wanted.
Not for myself.
For him.
I wanted him to come home and see everything he could ever need waiting for him. His dinner. His house. His wife.
He looked at me with glazed eyes. “I want inside that little pussy tonight.”
“Have I ever said no?”
He let out a soft groan. “That’s what I love, Daisy. You never say no.”
He kissed me hard. I knew what kind of mood he would be in later. The kind that would have me brace myself and remember everything he liked. Where to put my hands. When to make noise. How to keep up with him when he stopped being gentle.
I never minded.
Not really.
By then, I understood that loving Oliver meant anticipating him. Giving him what he wanted before he ever had to ask.
When he pulled away, his eyes moved over me with satisfaction.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
The word settled warmly inside me.
We sat down and talked. He told me about his day. I watched him, envying his interactions with students at the very school I spent so much of my time in. It felt like a good time to discuss going back to school. I wanted to know his opinion, but when I opened my mouth to ask, I felt nervous.
If he said no, I might cry, and if I cried, the mood would sour.
I didn’t want to ruin our evening because of my silly reactions.
When he asked about my day, I smiled softly and said, “I did some reading in my nook. I worked on food and washed laundry. I spent time with Rowe after I picked him up from school. Then I waited for you.”
That was largely what I did.
I waited for him.
I wouldn’t admit the extent of that. It would make me look pathetic next to his day.
“I’ll be doing a reading at the theatre this weekend,” he said next.
“Oh? What’s the occasion?”
“The philosophy club puts together a big function in the middle of the school year. They’ve been asking me to read my latest book for a very long time now.”
“You didn’t before?”
“I usually reserve my readings for when I’m on tour. I speak at their events, but it’s mainly to inspire the future generation of thinkers about the importance of philosophy. They view me as a mentor, and it’s a longtime pursuit of mine to mold the perfect student.”
I nodded, smiling widely. “That’s amazing, Oliver. You’re gifted with this wonderful ability to weave words together. They’re going to love it. They’re going to love you.”
He returned my smile. “I want you to be there with me.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. I’m a happily married man. Why wouldn’t I want my perfect wife present?”
“Well…” I paused, feeling my cheeks heat. “I don’t even have a degree, Oliver.”
Would I feel like an imposter standing there in a room full of intellectuals while I didn’t even have a finished degree, much less a certificate, to my name?
He leaned close to me, and his hand brushed against my cheek. The touch was intimate and sweet.
He whispered, “Who’s going to care, Daisy?”
I didn’t answer straight away. My heart pinched at the way he stared into my eyes. I wanted to tell him I just wanted him to feel proud of me. I wanted to be at his side and feel equal to him.
Instead, I swallowed and whispered back, “I would love to be your date, Professor.”