Page 29 of Promised at Birth

“That side is yours, Gwen.”

The other side holds my new wardrobe that Vanessa picked out. I also see boxes of my clothing and possessions, along with my school backpack, sitting on the closet floor. My father must have had my things delivered earlier today.

I follow Bobby out of the closet. He tosses his jacket and tie on one of the sofas.

He opens the door to the left of the bed.

“This is your bathroom. Mine is on the other side of the bed.”

I walk into the luxurious, whitish-grey Blanco Carrara marble bathroom. Huge. Bright. Amazing. Oversized marble vanity. All jet-black fixtures. Heated floor. Separate remote-controlled, walk-in shower big enough for four people – thick crystal-clear glass door. Free standing heated tub. Brand new toiletries already on the shelf in the shower and on the vanity.

I wonder what Bobby’s bathroom looks like. I walk out my bathroom.

Bobby holds a glass of champagne in his hand. Another glass sits on the nightstand next to the left side of the bed. My side. I am nervous. I know I am supposed to submit to Bobby. Consummate the marriage. I cannot.

Bobby raises one eyebrow. Very sexy. He walks over to me.

“Turn around.” He orders.

What?

I turn around.Why am I obeying him?He starts to unbutton the back of my wedding gown. I pull away from him. I turn around and face him.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Strip! Take your clothes off.”

“That is not very romantic! Don’t you think we should at least get to know each other before we hop into bed?”

I am not ready. I need more time.

“No. I don’t need to romance you. I am your husband – you will do your marital duty as my wife.”

Well.This sucks.No romance. No seduction. No tenderness.Is making love to his wife just another business transaction for him to suffer through?

Bobby sighs. He unbuttons his shirt. He grabs my shoulders, whirls me around, wrenches open the buttons on the back of my wedding gown. I hear buttons hit the wood floor. I panic.

“I can’t.” I say as I turn and face him.

“You can’t or won’t?” He asks as he glares at me.

“I can’t.”

I look down. Embarrassed.

“Why the Hell not?” He shouts.

I flinch.

He takes off his dress shirt. I stare. Naked chest. Broad shoulders. Muscular. 6-pack abs so sharp they could cut like a knife. Delicious trail of black hair leading from the V of his tight stomach to underneath his pants. Gorgeous. All man. I reach out. Almost touch him. He raises one eyebrow. Hot. I clench my thighs. I look away.

“Um, well this is embarrassing. I, I-“ I stutter.

“What?”

He looms over me. I hear the AC come on. The cool air revives me.

“I am having my period!”

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