Page 28 of Brutal Husband

After a handful of days, I realize it’s my fertile time while Nero is out, and I excitedly call and text him. There’s noresponse, but a few hours later, he marches through the front door like he’s on a mission.

With a fierce glower on his face, he points to the stairs. “Bedroom.”

My heart pounds with excitement. This is more like it. Breathless with anticipation, I hurry up the stairs, hyperconscious of Nero following close behind me. At my bed, I turn to him, hungry to feel his hands on me, his lips on mine, but he’s concentrating on taking off his clothes. I suppose getting naked is a good idea, and I start to undress myself. I haven’t taken off my clothes in front of my husband for such a long time.

When I’m naked, Nero doesn’t look at me at all.

“Lie down,” he orders.

I was reaching for him, but I lower my hands, disappointed. Maybe this is a return to how things used to be with him, where he was unpredictable and shocking, but I ultimately enjoyed it. A glance at his erect cock tells me he’s getting some kind of stimulation from this. I wish I could say the same for myself.

I lie down on my back, and he climbs on top of me, still without looking at me. An image flashes through my mind of one of those blow-up plastic sex dolls with stiff arms, stiff legs, and a vacant expression. Nero uses spit to lubricate the head of his cock, and he shoves it inside me. It’s not a painful experience unless you count humiliation as pain. His dead weight is pressing down on me, and I’m finding it hard to breathe as he thrusts erratically. I can’t get the image of the blow-up doll out of my head. I feel like I’m made of plastic and he’s jostling my squashy, inflated limbs.

I have to try and rescue this awful experience. I push his shoulders, hoping he’ll sit up so I can look at him. It felt better the first time we had sex, and I’m sure the position had at least something to do with it. “Nero, can you—”

My husband shudders and makes a grunting noise, and then goes still.

Oh.

He clambers off me with his face averted, gets off the bed, and leaves the room. I stare at the ceiling, wondering what the hell that was. Is it me? Is he so angry with me that I disgust him? I cover my face with my hands as tears leak from the corners of my eyes.

Nero leaves the house, and I lay there for a long time, feeling him leak out of me. The one spark of hope is that I’m pregnant. Everything except the act itself was perfect, after all, and the point is to have a baby. I want this baby so much, for me, and for its own sake. I desperately need to love someone. I have so much love to give.

Two weeks later, I get my period. It’s disappointing, but everything I read tells me not to expect to fall pregnant right away, and that it can take up to a year.

The next time I’m fertile, it’s the same experience between Nero and me. Mechanically successful, but passionless, disconnected sex.

And the next month.

And the next.

The deadline of our first anniversary that I set for myself comes and goes. I feel stuck because what if after I make a big fuss and leave my husband, I discover that I’m pregnant? On paper, we have a complete marriage. We wear our wedding rings, he provides for me, I keep house, and we’re trying for a baby. Maybe I just had a warped idea of what a happy marriage was meant to look like. What if Nero and I are…normal? I don’t know. I don’t want other men, that’s for sure. The thought of other men and the sight of other men, even handsome ones who smile at me, leave me cold. I catch myself dreaming wistfully of moments I spent with Nero before we were married. Wonderful,outrageous moments. No one’s ever made me feel like he did back then, and I can’t imagine feeling that way with anyone else.

I realize why I’m stuck in this empty marriage. I can’t leave my cold, heartless husband because I’m still in love with my fiancé. I keep hoping he’ll come back.

One evening I’m eating dinner at home with Mom, Mia, and Isabel, and they’re pestering me for details about me and Nero. Usually I can brush their questions off with a smile and a murmured, “Oh, we’re fine. He’s working hard,” and they’re satisfied, but tonight, they’re persistent.

Finally, I take a deep breath and say, “Nero and I are trying for a baby.” To divert any questions about me and my husband, I pull out my phone and show them the app I’ve been using. “We’re doing this properly. I’m tracking everything.”

What I don’t tell them is that it’s been five cycles already, and I’m still not pregnant. I’m starting to get frustrated. I don’t care what the experts say. Assuming Nero and I are both fertile, shouldn’t I be pregnant by now? Then again, we haven’t exactly been going at it like rabbits, which I assume would increase our chances. I’ve had five fertile windows, and we’ve had sex five times. Or rather, he’s ejaculated inside me five times. What we have can’t really be called sex.

Mom beams at me. “I knew you and Nero would get past any silly differences between the two of you. To think you wanted to throw your marriage away but, instead, you listened to your mother. I’m always right about these things.”

Oh, yes, how happy I am now. Thank you, Mom.

After Isabel and Mia have expressed their excitement, Mom muses thoughtfully, “I think I’ll download this app as well. What’s it called?”

I tell her the name, and then ask with a frown, “Why do you want to download it?”

“Because I’m getting married next month,” she tells me.

There’s stunned silence around the dinner table.

“You’renot,” Isabel exclaims.

“I am.” Mom’s smile is triumphant. “It’s all arranged. The Bianchi family will soon be connected to the well-respected Rosetti family in an arrangement that’s mutually beneficial to both of us.”

Mia stares doubtfully at Mom, and I can tell what she’s thinking. How could Mom want another baby when she barely acknowledges her third daughter?

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