Page 90 of The Husband Contract
I've never been a man who spends much time on self-reflection. In fact, in many ways, I've always felt only weak people reflect on the past and decisions that have already been made. None of us are time travelers, and as such, there's no point focusing on the past.
I can't change it, though. I realize how hypocritical I've been. I've spent over half my life focused on what happened with David. I'd made an oath to myself to never let Sergio or my best friends down, based on the guilt that I felt because of that situation.
And now I’m here, doubting my entire life's philosophy. Am I cold? Am I being stubborn? Am I weak?
My emotions twist up inside me whenever I think about Willow. She’s like a Venus flytrap: so innocent lookingbut wanting to consume me whole. I want to believe her. I want to trust her.
Jack's words replay in my head:Sergio doesn't always make good decisions, and that has nothing to do with you or Willow.
I think about Sergio and how many different times his heart has been broken. I remember the time he spent ten thousand dollars and took his best friend to Cancun only for them to get alcohol poisoning at a cheap bar. There was another time he met a girl in Mississippi, flew her to Beverly Hills, and took her shopping on Rodeo Drive. I think about the time he went scuba diving in the Maldives and then realized that he didn't like being in deep water and paid twenty thousand dollars for the boat to be turned around. Sergio has always had problems, and I've known that. But he couldn't help it. He was just reaching out, trying to find someone to believe in him and to love him. I was all he had—all he still has.
But yet I do wonder, in the back of my mind, what went on between him and Willow? Had they had any sort of meaningful relationship, or was it like she'd said—they just chatted for a couple of months, met once or twice, and nothing really happened?
I look at my watch. It's 11:00 p.m. I should go to sleep, but still, I find myself wandering along the corridor to Willow's room. I’ve been back for two nights, and we haven’t spoken since she’d told me she wanted Jack. There’d been no dinner, no nothing. I need to see her which is why I’ve stopped outside her door. I shouldn't go in. There's nothing good that can happen if I walk in. I debate knocking, but I know she won’t tell me to let myself in.
So I open the door.
For a few moments, my heart stills because the bed is empty. I wonder if she's gone—if she's escaped. But then, acouple of seconds later, she walks out of the bathroom, her hair flowing down her back. She's wearing an oversized T-shirt, and startles at seeing me.
She has a toothbrush in her mouth and shoots me a questioning look.
“Hey,” I say.
“What are you doing here?” she asks in a muffled tone.
“I wanted to talk to you about the contract.”
She nods slowly and holds up a finger. Then, she walks back into the bathroom. The faucet turns on, and then a minute or so later after she rinses out the toothpaste, she returns to her room. She walks over to me and stops right in front of me.
“So, what do you want to say?”
“I wanted to discuss exactly what the terms are because you said you don’t really understand it.”
“Is this where you’re going to tell me I have to sleep with you?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing in challenge.
“No.” I scowl at her. “I’m not the sort of man who will force a woman into having sex with him. You either want it, or you don’t. I’m not going to make you sleep with me. Do you really think that little of me?”
“It’s not like you think anything positive about me,” she says, her lower lip trembling, as her gaze softens.
I grab her hand and pull her toward me. “I would never force myself on you, Willow. I’m not that sort of man, and I want you to know that.”
“Oh, but you’re married me for shits and giggles. You already slept with me.”
“And I slept with you because I find you beautiful. That wasn’t a lie. I slept with you because you’re sexy and wanton, and my body craves you.”
She swallows and doesn’t say anything. Her eyes areveiled as she lowers her eyelashes, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
I put my arm around her waist and guide her toward the bed. She takes a seat, and I sit next to her. Her T-shirt rides up so that I can see the creamy skin of her thighs. Is she wearing panties? I want to ask her. I want to touch her. I want to see for myself, but I won’t.
She peeks over at me while playing with her hair. “So what do you want, Sebastian? You marrying me makes no sense. What revenge do you think you’re getting on me? Is it just so that I’m locked in your room like a princess in a tower?”
“That wasn’t the plan,” I say with a grunt. “But I am having doubts about…” I pause. “I’m just having doubts.”
She stares at me, and I run a finger across her lower lip.
“What are you thinking, Willow?”
“Does it matter? Does any of it matter?”
