Page 12 of Yours Suddenly

The culprit? Work.

Imaybe a little too clingy, having no family, no friends, and no love until I met Roman. Maybe I need to chill out.

But I can't help it. I'm paranoid.

I sit on our bed, waiting for him. I haven't spoken to him all day. He answered the text I sent him three hours ago a minute ago, saying he was coming up to me right now. Anticipationheats my skin. Today our dachshunds welcomed puppies the kids are obsessed with and I can't wait to tell him about it.

He walks through the door and my breath catches at how large he is. He sees me and smiles, but the expression is a little strange. It doesn't reach his eyes. He walks over to the armchair and takes off his jacket. I look at his wide shoulders lightly straining his dark dress shirt as he sits down.

“How was your day?” he rumbles in that deep voice of his that I swear shakes up the windows.

“It was great.” I walk to him but don’t sit on him and have no intention to have sex tonight. Tonight we're going to talk. “Roman, please tell me what's wrong.”

He looks at me, a little surprised. “Nothing's wrong,” he says, a little dismissively, and my heart sinks a little.

“You're stressed out. We've barely spoken this week. Please.” My voice sounds desperate.

“I'm a working man,” he says, and his voice is laced with impatience. “I have work to do. I have to take care of everyone. Of course, I'm going to be busy and stressed out, baby.”He regards me. The softness he usually reserves for me is still there, but faint. He mostly seems annoyed. “Now, please stop asking me what's wrong. Once things are sorted out, we'll be back to normal, okay?”

The softness grows, but it doesn't fully replace the annoyance. He gets up and walks past me to go to the bathroom, not even bothering to brush me with a kiss.

I'm left standing there, staring at a huge modern painting on the wall of a vase and flowers I bought three days ago for a quarter of a million dollars. I've added my own feminine flair to the room, less dark colors and more pinks.

“Okay,” I say, turning to face him when he walks back into the room, “I'm sorry. I have no idea what it's like to be in your position.”

He nods, grimacing slightly as he sits at the edge of the bed, taking off his gold cufflinks. He doesn't change out of his clothes to sleep in his boxers like he always does, but lays on his back, not slipping underneath the sheets. I can already tell he doesn't want to fuck. We haven't had sex in three days, a drastic drop from when he used to make love to me three times a day a month ago.

I wish I could fix whatever’s wrong for him. I feel like such a failure and bad wife just watching him stress away.

I walk around the bed and climb onto it, tugging myself under the sheets.

“Goodnight, Roman,” I say, brushing my lips on his.

“Goodnight, baby.”

***

It starts with me not seeing him at all for two days. Like at all.

He rises very early before I’m up and comes back very late when I’m asleep. Sometimes he doesn't even come to bed at all, sleeping in the study or somewhere in the mansion, the bed sheets next to me unrumpled in the morning. Other times he doesn't even come home and I toss and turn in our bed, breathing in his cedarwood scent that feels fainter and fainter with each passing day.

Soon it stretches to a week of not seeing him. I am drowsily aware once or twice of him slipping into bed at 2 or 3 a.m. Idon't say anything to him, just inhale his presence. I want to turn around and place my head on his chest and feel his heartbeat. A minute or two later, his breathing becomes even. A small satisfaction lodges itself in my chest. I want him to sleep, to get some rest. He works so hard for us.

Maybe I need to accept how things are now. Maybe this is normal. The honeymoon phase has faded away, and we're now transitioning into regular marriage. This realization, coupled with the likelihood he’s just going through a rough patch in terms of his business, is what comforts me for a while.

I wake up early one morning, and he's already gone. But instead of laying on the bed miserable, I text Adrianneso where are we going today?She immediately texts back, already up. She's another one who doesn't seem to get enough sleep.

we're going to the Rosemoor and changing up the furniture in one of the royal suites. It's trash

pic?I text. She sends it and yeah, the furniture is a little outdated. And is that a leather couch?

oh that won't doI text back.

you get itAdrianne texts.

On the way to the Rosemoor, which is Roman’s first-ever hotel development, Adrianne keeps glancing at me as we sit in the backseat, her bodyguard Freddy driving us. “What's up? You look tired.”

“Nothing. Just marriage duties,” I say.

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