Page 24 of Bae

I reached out and covered it with mine.

He exhaled.

“So we don’t talk about Evie.” My stomach dipped a little when I said her name. “Maybe we just make it clear we aren’t getting a divorce. Satisfy their curiosity.” Or maybe going to sit in the stands at a game, no matter how hard it would be, could portray a silent message. A sign of my support and love for my husband.

He barked a laugh that was not humorous. “You know damn well they’d never accept that. They’d say whatever to get us into the studio, then fucking assault you with questions about the baby, and…” His voice fell away. A low curse slipped from his lips, and his free hand rubbed over his hair, mussing the blond strands.

“And they’ll ask me why I’m not pregnant again.” I finished softly. Yes, it had only been three months. In the media world, three months was forever, and it must mean I was unable to conceive.

Deep down, I had those fears, too, even though we hadn’t even started trying again.

“Fuck them!” he growled, chest heaving.

“Do you ever wonder?” I whispered, the words rushing out so fast I barely understood them.

Romeo stilled. Beneath my hand, his own jolted. “Rimmel.”

I looked up, beckoned by the way he spoke my name. Surprised yet also sad.

Tears crowded my eyes. I blinked furiously, holding them at bay, silently screaming for them to stay where they were.

“I know why you aren’t pregnant yet, sweetheart. I’m always present when we have sex,” he replied with a half-smile.

I shoved his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” All traces of his attempt to help me chase away the tears vanished. “You’re not ready.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “And that’s okay.”

“Are you?” I glanced up, staring into his azure eyes.

“Not until you are.”

He was sweet. Thoughtful. So caring.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel he only said that because he thought it was the right thing to say. Deep down, I felt like Romeo was ready to try again.

But I wasn’t.

And I didn’t know if I would ever be.

Romeo

There was a barrier between us, and I wasn’t talking about the condom.

Not that I really liked the condom.

Not really liking it = wanted to throw them in the trashcan and light them all on fire.

I’d grown way too accustomed to slipping into Rimmel bareback and feeling her silky heat envelop me. I missed it. I missed the friction of her skin on mine and the spontaneity of not having to wrap it.

Not that the sex still wasn’t good. It was better than good. Sex with Rimmel would always be my vice. She would always be who my body craved.

The condom was just temporary anyway. After Evie, she didn’t go back on the pill. It was unspoken that we would eventually try for another baby. But not right away. Her body needed time to recover. Both our hearts needed some time to mend.

I never really thought that three months later, I’d still be buying the latex in bulk, but I was, and there wasn’t one damn word I’d say against it. She wasn’t ready, not even for the possibility of becoming pregnant again. I heard the truth in the vulnerability of her voice when we were talking about the press.

I saw the war in her eyes before, when I asked her, as I always did, if the condom was still needed. She wanted to say no, but her heart wouldn’t let her.

That was the barrier I meant.

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