Page 92 of Desperate Desires

“Okay, fine. I’ll see you Saturday.”

Excitement bubbled inside of me at the prospect of having this post-nuptial dinner in honor of mine and Ono’s marriage. I didn’t know how he would react to the news, but I was hoping he would be happy. Or tolerant, at least.

When you were a smart little girl, like I was, people didn’t often expect you to have the same dreams and aspirations as other little girls. But I wasn’t that different.

Sure, I made honors and was accepted to top universities, and I worked hard to get into prime pre-med programs many could never dream of going to.

But I always kept a diary where I would scribble down all my secret longings and desires, my hopes and dreams. I even had a vision board when I was in college.

And just there, tucked away in the right corner, had been a magazine cutout of a simple white dress and a solid gold band.

I looked down at my hand and bit my bottom lip.

The diamond ring Ono had given me when we said our vows was a little more than I’d imagined. The gem was huge.

Beautiful.

A perfect fit, and the way he’d designed it so the diamond was inlaid in the band was exactly what I would have chosen for myself.

He really does know me.

I used to secretly dream about getting married. But the thing I’d always been afraid to wish for, the thing I always wanted and was scared to even hope for, was love.

It was the one thing that seemed to elude me most of my life. Without the Volkovs, I might never have known it.

Seeing my besties’ parents together, watching the way those men and women cherished each other over the years? It fed that hope. It was the stuff dreams were made of.

Now that Ono had come into my life, I finally understood it was possible. I mean, I wanted a husband who loved me. I wanted him to love me.

But I knew asking for that might be too much. And maybe I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Would Ono even want to celebrate our marriage? I had no idea. But there was only one way to find out.

Ask him, Shelly.

I grabbed my phone and sent my husband a text, wondering if he was the type of guy who returned messages or ignored them.

Me

Hey, It’s me. Michelle.

Um, the girls want to throw a little dinner party for us on Saturday at the Stargazer. Well, more like a reception for our wedding.

Hope that’s okay? If it’s not let me know and I can make our excuses.

I heaved a sigh, lowering my head to the table. Why was texting Ono so hard? We talked all the time in person. It should have been no big thing.

But when I saw those three little dots, and realized he was typing a reply, I couldn’t help it.

A tightness gripped my chest, and it felt like my lungs were too small to fit the air I needed to breathe normally.

Finally, his reply appeared, and I knew I smiled so hard, my face actually hurt.

Tough Guy

You know you don’t have to tell me who it is when you text, Wife.

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