Page 69 of Till Death Do Us Part
“I’ve never had a daughter. If I become overbearing, please let me know.”
“Not overbearing.”
My concentration unsuccessfully went back to the book in my hands. It was difficult to think about the story when my own life was more twisted than the characters’. As I read a kissing scene, I found myself thinking about Aléjandro. The unexpected fluttering of butterflies flittering within my stomach caught me off guard. Closing my eyes, I rested my head as I recalled last night before I ruined everything.
It wasn’t wrong that I found my husband attractive. Then why did it make me feel guilty? My mind slipped back to the day at my mother’s pool, the first time we met. I recalled the heat of his eyes on me. Maybe Aléjandro made me uncomfortable because I’d never seen that degree of hunger laser focused on me. It was the same way he looked at me after our ceremony. For a moment, I believed he wanted to sneak away and consummate our marriage.
As I lay under the sun and felt the dampness between my legs, I remembered the ferocity of his kisses, the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed as he lay over me, and even the weight of his body. No one was more surprised than I was that the mere thought of him caused my nipples to bead.
If I gave it more thought, I might come to the realization that what frightened me last night wasn’t what Aléjandro was doing or could do, but instead, it was my reaction to our intimacy. I liked it. More than that, I wanted more of it. There was no denying that after he brought me to orgasm twice, I was a hot tangle of satiated goo. My mind was too overwhelmed to compute that I wanted what I’d grown to hate.
I still marveled at his reaction.
No anger.
No yelling.
No forcing himself or bruising my skin.
After our first few encounters, the last word I would have used to describe Aléjandro Roríguez was gentleman. However, after seventy-two hours of marriage, it was the perfect description.
Whenever Rocco would try to weasel his way into my thoughts of Aléjandro, I made a point to ignore him. Josefina was right. If in ten years of marriage, Rocco hadn’t earned a place in my heart, then he didn’t deserve a place in my head.
Aléjandro wasn’t him.
I’d made the decision. I was Aléjandro’s wife, and I was ready to move forward with our union. He deserved a reward for his patience. And I deserved to have pleasurable, consensual sex.
It was a liberating decision, making me happier than I could recall being—especially since Dario gave me the news of my nuptials. If I had a phone, I would give Giorgia a call to share my surprise.
Had she tried to reach me?
Had anyone from my family tried to reach me?
Did they know I was in international waters floating on an opulent Mexican island?
Gathering my things, I headed back to our suite. I stood staring at the bed with the knowledge that tonight would be different. In the bathroom, I stripped out of the bathing suit. My pinkened reflection made me glad I’d listened to Josefina about sunscreen. In the mirror I saw the paleness where the suit had been. Maybe I could sunbathe naked on our balcony to avoid tan lines.
As I turned on the shower, I half laughed. I’d gone from fearing a sexual encounter to wanting one and also considering exhibitionism.
Who am I?
My reflection also showed the sun’s effects on my hair, light caramel highlights streaked the brown. Stepping under the shower’s spray, I lifted my face to the warm water, feeling the prickle on my sunned flesh.
I took more care with my appearance than I did on our wedding day. Of course, I didn’t have the stylists on Bella that I had on my wedding day. By the time I was satisfied, I was cleaned, shaved, and waxed. My long hair was styled with the sides pulled up and the length curled. Tonight’s dress was the color of sage, making the hazel of my eyes greener and contrasting nicely with my new tan. With the cut of the bodice, wearing a bra wasn’t an option.
Nervously, I paced the length of the suite, afraid I would talk myself out of tonight’s plans. There was always the pros-and-cons approach. As I compiled the pros, the only con I could think of was my own fear.
“Don’t overthink it,” I said audibly.
Great, now I am a sex-craving exhibitionist who talks to herself.
I spun toward the sound of the opening door.
Blood.
I gasped at the sight and aroma of my husband. Crimson speckled his face, streaked across his light gray t-shirt and over his dark jeans. Before I could ask if Aléjandro was hurt, his expression stopped me in my tracks. It was as if he were made of stone, completely devoid of emotion. His penetrating stare skirted over me as he stalked to the decanter and poured himself a hearty drink.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice sounding weaker than I intended.