Page 42 of Broken Bonds

Not only that, it turns out I had a profitable hobby since a little over a year ago. I started to make handmade soaps with honey and natural essential oils. At the time, I was only selling them to people around town, but I was sure they would love them and want to buy more. Soon, other people beyond my county’s borders would follow.

All I needed was for Lionel to help me pay the rent on the house for a couple of months and support me in starting my process of going to college. The only option would be to tighten our belts. I was even willing to go back to living with my mother. After all, most of the time I was alone in this house. I had gotten used to the idea of having him from Friday to Sunday, sometimes until Monday, that’s how it was since the beginning and, unless we bought the vineyard, that’s how it was going to continue.

And when I started making money, I could help him, everything was coldly calculated.

And I was willing to do whatever I had to do to get away with it. A good dinner, a couple of drinks.

A blow job.

Whatever it took, I believed that Lionel really loved me, so helping me meet my goals the same way I did his will be expected, right?

I put the beer bottle next to his plate smiling. My seduction skills weren’t the best, but I was managing. I would have liked to buy something sexy to wear, but I didn’t think it was wise when the whole point was to save money. Not in new clothes, at least.

“This week was crap at work,” he complains and my sails went down a little, he wasn’t in the best mood. But still, I decided to stick with the plan. “This makes it all better, to be received like a king in your house. Thanks, babe.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I replied smiling, not only for the compliment but for what was to come.

“I bought two shirts this week. They’re quite expensive, so be careful when you wash them. Or better yet, do it by hand. I don’t want you to ruin them in the washing machine.”

Lionel always told me he had to spend a lot of money on clothing as part of his sales strategy. No one would think of buying fine wines from a vendor who arrives at the door in rags, so I did my best to be very careful with all his stuff.

Washing and ironing clothes.

Polishing his shoes.

Packing his suitcase.

And, of course, making him something to eat for the trip.

Also, I had to be ready to go to bed with him at any evidence of fatigue. The truth is that I was exhausted. That week it rained almost every day, so I had to make sure my bees were dry, as well as making sure they ate enough by providing them with white sugar syrup and water. I also needed a back massage, a good fuck, and a good night’s sleep.

I waited for Lionel to devour everything on his plate and give me a few pecks too. After that, with another beer in hand, he sat in the loveseat we had in our little room to watch an episode of America’s Got Talent recorded on the device that he insisted we get. One more thing that would have to go. It was a luxury, after all.

It annoyed me when he put his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa in that carefree way. After all, we had bought it a short time ago, taking advantage of the fact that one of my mother’s friends from her prayer group had given me all his VIP points in a well-known department store.

It had counted as a wedding gift. It was pretty plain, rustic wood, but I loved it.

But I decided to shut up. Give in a little for the sake of triumph in the end.

“Come sit with me, Stella. I missed you this week,” he requested while he kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. We were newlyweds so hearing that he had missed me made my heart skip a beat. I was a woman in love. “And bring another beer with you.”

Kral brand romance, I thought. At least that’s what I discovered as soon as we returned to Carrollton with the signed marriage license in our hands. My mother almost had a heart attack, her only daughter married without warning and worse than that, it was a civil ceremony instead of in the church, presided over by Pastor Moore, her lifelong minister.

After taking another bottle from the refrigerator, I headed back to him, ensuring we were sitting close together, well, not that the two-seater sofa allowed for much space between us, but the proximity helped my purpose.

I ran my hand through the strands of his blond hair, enjoying the way it unraveled between my fingers.

“That’s it, babe,” he groaned. “Follow that path and I will take you to heaven later.”

And I didn’t hesitate for a second. Lionel was excellent in bed, generous, and passionate, so I knew he could keep that promise.

“Lionel, there is something I want to tell you…” I had to hurry up to give him the news before I regretted it. I knew myself well, I was going to end up making an excuse unless I spilled the beans at that exact moment.

“It better not be to ask for money to buy junk, you know the answer is no. We have to wait.” By junk, he referred to everything I had to buy to make our house a livable place, new sheets, pillows, and many other things like that.

“Don’t look at it as an expense, but rather an investment,” I said in a mellow voice. “An investment for our future.”

My hand went down to his neck. There I found two knots and began to massage them with both hands, relieving the tension. He was clay between my fingers, things were going according to plan.

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