Page 120 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Come with me,” he says, his hand pausing over my breastbone.

“Hm?”

“Tomorrow. Come with me.”

“Ask me again in an hour if you still want that,” I tell him.

“I’ve wanted you to come. This isn’t new.”

I make myself swallow, choked up suddenly. “What will Drew think?” I ask to buy us both some time.

“Drew’s all up to date,” he says, surprising me. “He gives it another two weeks max.”

I huff. “Good to know.”

“How long do you give it?” he asks.

“I’m not the one who’s relationship averse,” I remind him.

“No, I guess you’re not. But tell me anyway.”

“As long as you want,” I say, which is a cop out, but I don’t want to scare him with forever. I can’t think of another word for what I’d like, though. Maybe always? I’m quite attached, which, given all the time we’ve spent together over the last two and a half weeks, I doubt he’s missed.

“I’m not the one who’s married,” he says, as if I could forget.

I wish I could ask him what difference it makes to him, whether I’m married or not. He and I haven’t tried to hide our—whatever this is. I spend nearly every free second with him. My marriage may be an emotional drain on me, but it’s no hindrance to this. To us.

But now’s not the time to bring it up. He’s still in the fetal position.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, sidestepping the wife issue and the Hamptons. “Physically.”

“Fucked up,” he says.

“More than usual?”

“I feel like if I sit up, I might pass out.”

“Drink the water.”

He takes a pitifully insufficient sip. I grab the edge of the comforter and pull it over his naked body, annoyed it took me so long to remember to warm him up. Our scenes are intense. Since we got back from Rome, this is only our fourth. And each time, I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into a different space in my own mind. I’m more emotional, certainly, and attached as I’ve mentioned, but my recovery time is longer.

The fact that I need recovery time is, in itself, a new phenomenon, but I’ve certainly done everything I can to keep him around while I process all the tumultuous emotions our scenes bring up.

I’ve yet to get him to spend the entire night with me, such that we wake up together. On Tuesday, he fell asleep, only to be gone when I woke.

Since he did the thing I wanted and asked me to be his plus one in the Hamptons, I figure I can ask him for something, too. “Stay the night?”

“In here?”

“Is there someplace else you’d rather go?”

“My place. Yours.”

Sleeping in my apartment means the possibility of hearing Marianne entertain, which is something I’ve never relished. Less so, now that Avery’s been coming around more often. I haven’t seen anyone else doing the morning walk of shame since that one time, but I’ve also never left Marianne alone in the apartment at night. Someone is always with her. “Forget it,” I sigh.

“I don’t want to forget it,” he says. “I don’t mind spending the night with you.”

“Well…if youdon’t mind…”

---