Page 102 of Reckless Vow

“Okay, so I saw the man, and oof…” She fans herself with her hand. “How is he, besides the obvious hotness?”

I snort. “Yeah, he’s hot, I’ll give you that. And extremely talented in the bedroom. He’s successful and a good businessman from what I’ve seen. He’s smart, brooding and aloof. I like it when he gets jealous, and he’s also really caring. Intense and hard to read, but confident in that silent, dominant way that makes your knees weak.”

Saar jerks the cotton pad away from her eye, cocks her head and studies me with a smile. Like she knows something I don’t. “Are you falling for him?”

I groan and rest my head on the backrest.

“God, no.” I’m not sure if that’s actually the truth, but I can’t let that happen. But then maybe I’ve been in love with Baldo for years. Or with the idea of us. I don’t know anymore. “He is the best lover I’ve ever had.”

She narrows her eyebrows, and I swear she can see my internal struggle. “Tell me everything.”

And I do. I tell her everything that happened since we spoke the last time.

“It feels like you’re together for real now. Are you?” Saar asks the big question and puts the cleanser bottle down, next to a pile of stained cotton pads.

“We haven’t talked about it. The man is like a vault. I don’t know what he’s thinking or planning. He doesn’t share. It’s like he uses his generosity in all the other areas, and there isn’t any left for words.”

“The conundrum of every woman—how to force him to talk without spooking him. Men are hopeless creatures.” She turns sideways and leans against the armrest, hanging her head backward, untangling her hair and massaging her scalp.

“And he hasn’t kissed me. On the mouth, that is.”

“What? He took care of your needs and had you thoroughly fucked, but no kissing?” She turns her head, her dark blonde hair cascading to the floor. “Well, I’m going to call it, but I think your dear husband is avoiding intimacy. Ironic, given all the action you guys have had in the bedroom.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

A knock on the door announces room service. Saar signs the bill while I remove the cloche from the steaming paella. The scent of herbs and seafood fills the room.

We open a bottle of Chardonnay, then settle down to eat the mouthwatering rice dish and sip the wine.

“I don’t know what to do with it all. I can’t even blame him for retreating. He needs time to process, and it’s probably best he does it away from me. But it’s like I got closure and he got the exact opposite, and somehow I feel responsible for that.”

“I know you do, but that’s not healthy. He chose to leave back then, and while it sucks that he has this delayed onslaught of shit dumped on him, it’s not your shit to clean.”

“You’re so poetic.”

She chuckles. “But the question is, once you sort through the painful effects of the events from ten years ago, where does it leave the two of you?”

I slump deeper into the seat. “I don’t know, because when I think about even a remote possibility of us, a real us, I want to pack my things and disappear.”

“But you can’t.”

“But I can’t.” Though the reasons are blurred now.

“And is it because you’re a good person who won’t let her inheritance support evil, or because you’re falling for the man?”

“Obviously I’m a good person. I think the girl in me never stopped loving Baldo. But the Baldo I married isn’t the same boy. I’m not falling for him. I don’t know him.” My chest constricts at the words.

“And yet…” She finishes her glass and stands up.

I follow, unzip my jeans, kick them off and crawl into bed. “There is no yet. I want to help him deal with the past, but if he’s going to be a stubborn prick… I would miss the orgasms, but I’ll just go back home and count down to the divorce.” I want to joke, but that loss would hurt.

Rationally, I know he’s not the only person to deliver orgasms, but he has been in my case. Am I healed now? Or forever dependent on Baldo’s skills? I groan inwardly.

“That’s still a year from now.” She sheds her clothes and puts on an old tee. It must have sentimental value, because Saar definitely doesn’t need to wear a threadbare shirt.

“Well, I literally survived worse. Whose T-shirt is that?”

I don’t want to analyze my life anymore, because more spinning in circles will just give me a headache. And I’m already suffering from the early stages of heartache.

Or rather its remains from ten years ago. That should heal soon, though. And then I can move on. And if Baldo opens up and deals with the trauma, he’ll be able to move on as well.

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