Page 44 of Dearly Betrayed

She tells me about home. I tell her about growing up in the casino. After a while, I realize we’re just talking, no fighting, no bickering, just sharing our lives like a normal couple trying to get to know each other would. I’m tempted to point it out but I don’t want to break the spell.

It’s comfortable. It feels good. I didn’t expect this—I assumed she’d be sullen and angry all night. Instead, between the wine, the incredible food, and the conversation, she seems more relaxed than she has since coming here.

“I want to ask you something, and I don’t want you to turn it into a joke.” She sits back with her arms crossed. The meal’s over and she’s looking slightly flushed. “Can I do that?”

“You can try.”

“Jayson, I mean it.”

“Alright, go ahead. No jokes. Ask me.”

“Why the bed thing?” She clears her throat. “I mean, why do you want me to sleep in your bed? Seriously, you don’t like me. I don’t like you. So what’s the deal?”

I consider the question. Can I tell her the truth? That I find her so attractive it’s like a knife in my guts? That there are two parts of me: one side that wants to strangle her to death, and the other that wants to fuck her into submission? If she understood how torn I felt, she might never want to come near me. Because I’m never sure if I’m going to make her come or kill her.

“I have this idea of marriage. Like I said to you earlier, while you’re mine, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. But I also want to know what it feels like to have an actual wife.”

“You want to role play being married? Is that it?”

“I’d be happy to role play whatever you want in the bedroom.”

“See, there’s the joking again.”

“I want to keep you close. Maybe that’s because I don’t trust you, or maybe that’s because I enjoy your company. I haven’t decided yet.”

Her lips press together. I can tell she doesn’t like my answer. But it’s as close to the truth as she’s going to get.

“I’ve never shared a bed with a man before.” She says it quietly, like she’s admitting to a secret shame. “I don’t want you to make some big deal out of this, okay? It’s not a big thing, it’s just the truth.”

“I don’t understand.” My ears buzz as I lean closer to her. My heart’s racing in my chest.

“I’ve never shared a bed with a man. Never slept overnight with a boyfriend. Never—ah, hell, I might as well just say it—never had sex before.”

I stare. My mouth opens. My tongue licks my lips and it’s hard for me to parse what she’s saying.

“You’re a virgin?” I ask.

“Don’t make a big deal.” Her ears are bright red. She looks like she wants to melt into the carpet. “I fucking regret saying it already. My stupid damn mouth again.”

“You’re a virgin,” I repeat as desire rips through me. She’s untouched by another man, which seems impossible. A girl so beautiful, so goddamn sexy, how could she be a virgin? A thousand men must’ve thrown themselves at her over the years, and she remains untouched. It’s a miracle. No, it’s impossible, but she has no reason to lie.

“It’s a clan thing, okay? It’s a stupid patriarchal bullshit system that values purity and all that damn crap. They drilled it into the girls when we were growing up, kept telling us sex before marriage was bad and we’d be sinners if we did it. Catholic stuff, yeah? But worse than that if you can believe it. Lots of clan girls bought into that shit just like me, though lots of them also rebelled and went way to the other side, if you know what I mean. Stop looking at me like that, okay? It’s not a big deal. I just thought you ought to know.”

I sit back and try to calm my racing heart. Desire burns through me like lightning. I was so close to her—I tasted her—I pressed my fingers deep into her tight, pink pussy. I made her come. And she’s a fucking virgin.

“You’ll be safe with me.” The words come out husky and strangled. God damn, I can barely control myself.

“The way you’re staring at me, I don’t think that’s true at all.” She throws back her wine. “There, now I’m properly drunk. You wouldn’t take advantage of me, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” She reaches out, grabs my glass, and drinks that too. “Then I’ll have to stay drunk for the next year.”

“I don’t think you can. I don’t think you want to.”

“No? Why not?”

“You felt what it’s like.” I lean toward her, burning with a need so fierce I can barely control myself. I want to crawl under the table, spread her legs, and get her off right here and now. But she’s right—she’s too drunk to sleep with, especially now that I know it would be her first time. I’m a lot of things, but I wouldn’t do that to my own damn wife, even if I hate her.

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