Page 141 of Dirty Husband
"When you're the help… people look at you, but they don't see you."
"I know what you mean."
Does he though? Shep has always been well-off. He's always commanded attention.
"I know you think otherwise, but I've always seen you, Jasmine. The first day at school, in Honors American Literature. You were chewing the end of your pencil as you readHuckleberry Finn."
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything. The way you rolled your eyes at me. Then blushed, because you couldn't help but invite my stare. You thought I saw you as a scholarship kid. But that wasn't it."
"You were thinking about what you wanted to do to me?"
He nodsexactly. "Even now… when I see you in that pencil skirt. I'm sure there are people who look through you. But all I can think is that I need that skirt at your waist."
"Oh." My chest warms. My tongue twists. He's so handsome. And sexy. And the look in his eyes… there's desire, yes, but there's affection too. "I meant more… that people don't think you matter. You're not a person to them. You're a tool. Like a word processor or a coffee machine. It's the same as when I worked at Mai's restaurant."
"You're invisible."
I nod. "I thought I hated it. But this…" I hold up my left hand. "It's a whole different challenge."
"It's a lot of attention, the spotlight."
I nod.
"It will pass. We'll marry, people will talk about it for a few weeks, then they'll lose interest."
"And we'll just…"
"Live."
"But what will that look like?" I dunk my tea bag three times. The water gets a little darker. A slightly deeper brown. More flavor.
I take a sip. It's okay, not great. The water isn't warm enough for a proper steep. The tea isn't ready to unfurl. It isn't ready to reveal itself to me.
I swallow another sip. "Will you keep working late?"
His eyes stay on mine. He studies my expression, looking for something. "I always work long hours."
I'm not sure what I want, really. If this was real, I'd want it all. Happy dinners, long walks in the park, lazy afternoons on the couch. A family.
But this isn't real. I haven't spent time picturing my perfect fake marriage. "Do we sleep in separate rooms? Do you visit me to fuck me when it's convenient for you then leave?"
His gaze softens. "I don't want to give you the wrong idea."
"You can spend the night in my bed without giving me the wrong idea."
He studies my expression, deciding if he agrees. "Okay."
"Okay?"
He takes a sip of his coffee. "I'd like that."
"Oh." My heart thuds against my chest. He'd like that. It shouldn't mean so much, but it does. "And I… are you only going to take me out when you need to show me off?"
"Is there something else you'd like to do?"
"It would be nice to have dinner without worrying about what image I'm projecting."
