Page 28 of Dearly Unbeloved
“Okay…”
“Well, I did, actually. Her name was April, and she didn’t care that I’m married.”
“And the problem is?”
“I care!” I shout without meaning to, and Rose’s eyes widen. “Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my face.
“This seems like a bigger conversation than I thought,” Rose says, sitting up and putting her bookmark inside her book. She sets it down on the table and looks back at me. “Okay. What’s going on here?”
I suck in a long breath, trying to get my thoughts together. “Marriage means something to me, Rose. I grew up watching my parents so happy and in love, and all I ever wanted was a marriage like that. And I know it’s just a legal contract, and it doesn’t really matter, but I never expected to be thirty and married to someone who hates me, with the intention of getting divorced in three months.”
I can tell from her expression that she doesn’t get it, and of course she doesn’t. “And this stopped you hooking up with this April person because…?”
“Becauseyouare my wife.” I’m shouting again. “Sure, it’s not real, but I already feel so fucking guilty for lying to everyone we know about this marriage. I can’t handle the guilt of feeling like I’m cheating on you.”
“It’s not cheating. We’re not in a relationship. None of this makes any sense.”
“I know that! Logically, I know that. God knows I don’t fucking want to be in a relationship with you, but it doesn’t matter. Look, you’re free to sleep with whoever you want, but I can’t do it. This is all too much.” I turn on my heel, heading toward my bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Rose asks, sounding completely baffled by my outburst.
I take a steadying breath. “Since I’m apparently going to be celibate for the next three months, I’m going to give myself an orgasm. Put some music on or something if you don’t want to hear it.”
14
ROSE
You realize you’re my wife (ew) not my mother, right? - S
P.S. Still 81 days. Boo.
Sierra is usually so laid back she’s practically horizontal. Seeing her this rattled is… something else.
I have to force my jaw closed as I watch her go, her black hair streaming behind her. What the fuck was that?
Not that she was particularly clear with all the shouting, but I can’t wrap my head around the problem. Marriage is nothing more than a legal document—it’s not a big deal. It’s not like a marriage makes a relationship. Well, not an emotional one anyway. I can’t imagine Jazz and Liam’s feelings for each other changed just because they signed a piece of paper, or Maggie and Cal, or Eliza and Danisha. Or Sierra’s parents. Marriage has nothing to do with how strong their relationshipsare.
If it meant anything, my parents would have some kind of affection for each other, surely. And if a little piece of paper had any bearing on feelings, Sierra and I wouldn’t hate each other the same way we always have. We’ve spent more time together in the past two weeks than we have in a year of living together, and, while I have a newfound appreciation for the ease with which she lies, I still can’t stand her.
It’s not like she’s had a personality transplant since she put the ring on her finger. Or since I did, I suppose. I eye her heels, kicked off by the door, and sigh. She still has no regard for our shared space.
I throw off my blanket and walk toward the door, picking up her heels to put them back neatly. They’re nice shoes, and her legs did look amazing in them. And the pants… God, the pants. Tight burgundy leather that accentuated every curve. Then there was the semi-sheer lace shirt. Knowing about the snake inked on her sternum has admittedly been a little problematic for me. It’s not like I think about itallthe time, but it pops into my head at the most inconvenient moments.
She really was onto something tonight, going out and trying to meet someone. I didn’t exactly check that off my list in Vegas, thanks to her. It’s been a while. But the thought of finding someone on an app, getting all dressed up, going out, and trying to impress them sounds exhausting.
I look toward Sierra’s bedroom door. I can’t hear anything, but I am on the other side of the apartment. My mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t, wondering aboutthings I have no business wondering about. Like how she touches herself; how she likes to be touched; what she looks like writhing in the covers; what she sounds like when she?—
Shit, no. I shouldn’t go there. Because once I think it, I can’t unthink it. And as tempting as it is to drag my feet across the floor and knock on her bedroom door, if I open that door, I can’t close it. And casual sex between roommates is a bad enough idea, let alone casual sex between roommates who hate each other and are also kind of married.
Things are already complicated—I shouldn’t complicate them further.
But…
Thingsarealready complicated. What’s the worst that could happen? We already don’t like each other, we already wish we weren’t living together, so there’s no danger of us fucking up a civil living arrangement.
And while I don’t think I’d have the same hang-ups about sleeping with other people as she does, there’s always a worry I’d run into a colleague or a friend of a friend while out flirting with someone. I don’t want to go three months without sex, and I bet Sierra doesn’t either.
This has all gotten so out of hand.
