Page 81 of It Destroys Me
The only decision.
The waitress brought our dishes then walked off.
We ate in silence, sometimes drinking our sangria between bites, exchanging looks across the table. Bolton stared at me constantly, wore his wedding ring the second I told him I would try again. He never took it off, not even when he worked out or showered. We slept in the same bed, but I always stuck to my side. If he spooned me from behind, I let it happen, but I never initiated affection.
“Do you still think about him?”
I stilled at the question because Bolton hadn’t mentioned Theo since we left. We’d started our new lives in Madrid, got swept up in the humidity and the culture. Bolton had always been a master of languages, so he spoke Spanish, French, and Italian. This place felt like home to him immediately.
I looked at him across the table.
He took a drink of his sangria as he waited for an answer.
“Sometimes, I guess.” All the time. Every morning when I first woke up. Throughout the day. When I lay there at night and tried to fall asleep. In my dreams. In the shower when I touched myself.
There was no anger in his look.
“Do you still think about Carson?” In case he was angry, I wanted to cancel out the rage and subtly remind him of his long-term relationship that he’d carried on behind my back when I was his wife.
“Not really.”
It was a cruel answer. “I know she passed away.”
He gave a slight shrug. “I warned her it would be dangerous, but she wanted to stay.”
“It sounds like she loved you.” That woman was so in love with my husband that she was willing to die for him. That should make me angry, but I felt nothing. I pitied her for giving her heart to someone who couldn’t care less about her.
“She did,” he said simply. “But there was only one woman I ever loved.” He looked at me as he said it, as if he expected me to melt into a puddle on the floor because it was so damn romantic.
Instead of hitting back with a scathing retort, I let it go. I’d tried to escape from this man so many times to no avail. Even the infamous Skull King couldn’t save me. I was tired of running. Tired of trying to change an unchangeable circumstance. So, I accepted it. Accepted that I’d had a great love that had only lasted months—but would burn in my heart forever.
“My guys tell me he’s spending time with a woman named Laura.”
It was like trying not to laugh at the funniest joke you’d ever heard. Trying not to scream even when you were so scared you pissed your pants. To keep a straight face and pretend that meant nothing to me was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Maybe she was just one of his favorite whores. Maybe he assumed I was already in bed with Bolton. Maybe he was trying to move on as quickly as he could so it would hurt less. Whatever the reason might be, it hurt. “I loved him, but he didn’t feel the same way.”
Bolton’s eyes locked on my face as he grappled with that piece of information.
“So, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”
“If I could go back in time, I would take it all back.” For a man who said and did horrible things, he could seem so genuine in his apologies. He seemed sincere and full of contrition. Maybe he really meant what he said, but he could still flip on you a moment later. “You wouldn’t have met him, and none of this would have happened.”
I kept the pot of water at a simmer instead of a boil by validating his words, accepting his apologies when he gave them, even though they were bald-faced lies. But it seemed to work. Seemed to sheathe his anger. “I know.” At some point, I would run out of time and would have to get on my back and consummate the marriage. That would be a lot harder than accepting his apologies and making small talk over dinner.
I wasn’t sure how I would do it.
We watched TV on the couch together, enjoying a bottle of wine as we snuggled close. His arm was around my shoulders, and I placed my hand on my thigh. Whenever this happened, I would think about Theo and the way we used to do this very same thing on his couch.
Now, I wondered if he was doing it with Laura.
When I got tired and started to fall asleep against his shoulder, he turned off the TV and scooped me into his arms. The house in Madrid was a two-story palace on several acres of land. It was behind an iron gate with its own pond with swans that would stop by for a visit. He carried me upstairs and set me on my side of the bed before he moved to his. He dropped his sweatpants and got into bed beside me before he tucked me in.
He’d never tucked me in before.
He came close to me, our heads on the same pillow, his warm flesh against mine.
“I love you, baby.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before he grew still.
I kept my eyes closed and pretended to be asleep just to avoid the situation. I hadn’t said it back to him and he hadn’t pressured me to say it, but I knew that was inevitable too. There were only two options for me.