FIVE
Two and a half weeks of sessions with Anton passed before Michael noticed the deductions from their account. Vivian had made Chicken Kiev with buttered baby carrots and asparagus. She tried to play the role of the dutiful wife because her visits to Dome were feeling more and more like an affair, and less like the coerced sexual abuse it was.
Because she now looked forward to the visits.
Anton hadn’t started doing anything too weird to her. He never got off. It was all about her pleasure. What he got out of it, she couldn’t ascertain, but she didn’t get the frightened butterflies in her stomach on Tuesday or Thursday mornings anymore. Massage days were a day she looked forward to, a day her body was held in an erotic limbo until Anton’s elegant and precise hands could be on her again.
She’d almost started to see him as a lover. Almost. But he’d told her not to get attached. She wasn’t the only woman he did this with, and some day she would move on. Did that mean he would get bored and release her from the blackmail? She should be happy at that prospect, but she felt nothing.
Michael had been civil with her, kind even, but he hadn’t tried to touch her again. Her mind screamed with
the possibilities. Did he suspect? Did he think she was cheating? Had Anton sent the pictures or the video? Surely if it had happened, her husband would have confronted her, and she’d be out on the street by now.
It was Wednesday and Michael wasn’t even pretending to have a nice meal with her. Instead, he stared at the laptop screen, the click-clack of the keys piercing through the silence every few seconds as he shoveled forkfuls of food into his mouth without bothering to look at what he was eating.#p#分页标题#e#
“Vivian, what’s this?”
She had no idea what he’d found, but the tone of his voice made her feel as if she were in a free fall. She put a bite of carrots in her mouth and chewed, trying to maintain her composure.
“What’s what?”
He spun the laptop around so she could see the screen. He’d been looking at their joint bank account. He rarely paid attention to that account since most of his money went through a separate, much larger account she didn’t have access to.
Her expression was perfectly blank as she looked at the screen, as if by pretending ignorance, he would go back to his Chicken Kiev and forget all about the matter.
“Twice a week withdrawals. What on earth are you spending that kind of money on? Jesus, Vivi, that’s four hundred and fifty a week.”
A drop in the bucket.
“We’ve got the money.”
“That’s not the point. What are you spending it on?”
There was no answer to give but the truth. The amount was too exact. Why hadn’t she been smarter about it? Had she thought he’d never notice?
Had she wanted to get caught so this madness would end? She could have used the check card at the ATM and taken out more varied amounts. Then she could have said she’d been shopping. Though that probably would have annoyed him, too.
She looked at her plate. “I’ve been seeing a massage therapist.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could take them back. Or rephrase them. It sounded like she was admitting to an affair. She chanced a glance up.
His eyes were cold, narrowed on her. He seemed ready to go off on his standard diatribe about money. You’d think they were starving, or even upper middle class.
“Why didn’t you clear it with me, first?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Dr. Smith sent me there. He thought massages might loosen me up.” She didn’t think her face could get any redder.
“You stopped seeing that therapist. You said he made you uncomfortable.”
“I know.” Her gaze was on her plate again, unable to bear the intensity in his eyes. Eyes that might see far too much of her.
“I’m freezing your access,” he said, slamming the laptop shut.
All she could think was, This is it. I’m out on the street. Anton will tell him everything. All at once, her attempt at self-sabotage seemed suicidal. She wanted to drop to her knees and beg him not to, but instead she fell into the pattern that felt like normalcy between them.
Anger.
She leaped up from the table. “Fuck you, Michael. You stingy son of a bitch. Have I displeased you once in the past several weeks? Has your breakfast or dinner been late? Has your house been dirty? Have your shirts been wrinkled? You can’t even accuse me of being frigid because you haven’t made a move toward me.”
Why am I bringing that up? Shut up, Vivian. Shut the FUCK up. If he fucks me, he’ll know something’s different.
She took her plate from the table and slammed it against the dining room wall, narrowly missing the curio cabinet. As the plate shattered, she looked at Michael in time to see his eyes turn to slits. He unfolded himself from the chair.
Vivian backed away and then bolted down the hallway, Michael on her heels in that slow, predatory walk like the villain in a horror film. So sure he’ll reach his prey. The hall ended with a door that led to a half-basement. She’d get out that way and disappear for a few hours to let him cool off.
The door was locked. She twisted the knob frantically as if she could make it open with added exertion.
She turned then, her back pressed flat against the door, Michael only a few feet from her. He caged her with his hands and large body. She felt her hips arch toward his, as if this were foreplay instead of potential danger.
Fuck. What’s wrong with me? He could have thrown her down on the ground right then and taken her from behind like an animal, and she would have orgasmed, maybe even before his pants hit the floor.
Her breath came out in shallow pants, her cheeks flushed from running. “Why is the door locked?”
He arched a brow. “I keep important business files down there.”
“Since when?”
“Awhile.” The word ground out between his teeth. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t know she was trying to distract herself from the aching throb that had settled between her legs, making her overwhelmingly conscious of his maleness.
Anton had ignited something in her, awakened a beast that had been in slumber. Her libido had never been like this. She’d never been this desperate for release. She’d never wanted Michael more.#p#分页标题#e#
“What the hell has gotten into you lately, Vivi? You’re not yourself.”
She looked away, unable to take that penetrating stare any longer. He knew her far too well to maintain a secret of this magnitude for long.
She shrugged.
“It stops now.”
A part of her snapped free, and she ached for something she couldn’t put a name to, something she had no context to understand. She felt her body flushing, her breath coming in huge, heaving gasps as she tried to get control of herself. One hand still gripped the door handle, while the other clenched and unclenched at her side. It took every ounce of willpower not to launch herself at him and provoke him further.
Provoke him to what? God, what the fuck is wrong with me? she asked herself again. Yet the answer didn’t come.
Michael stepped back, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. “I’m leaving in the morning on a business trip. I’ll be gone two weeks.”
She released the door knob. “What? Why?” She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been away. “What will I do with my access to the accounts frozen?”
“I’ll have groceries delivered. If you need anything else before I return, you can call me.”
“Are you having an affair?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she’d realized they’d entered her brain.
He laughed. Not just a chuckle, or a derisive snort, but a full-on laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“I can’t believe you’d care if I was.”
“So are you?” He hadn’t tried to touch her since the last time. The morning sex.
“You’re the only one I want, Vivi. And God help me for that.” His eyes softened, and for a moment she thought he’d sweep her into a kiss. Instead, he took another step back. “I’m going to pack. Clean up that mess in the dining room.”
She watched wordlessly as he turned and left her leaning against the basement door.
When Vivian had picked up the shattered china, used a carpet cleaner on the rug, vacuumed, and otherwise done what she would have after a normal dinner, she climbed the stairs to find Michael already asleep. His body sprawled across the bed as if he were sleeping off a hangover. His bags were packed and lined neatly next to the door.
Had they reversed roles? Was he the one now avoiding sex with her? Every scenario that played out in her mind revealed the same stark result. He had to know. But he couldn’t know the truth of it. He had to think she was cheating on him. But how? What had she done to give it away? And why wasn’t he confronting her or throwing her out of the house?
She’d thought she’d been discreet, except for the checks she’d written for the same amount every Tuesday and Thursday. Five checks. Over a thousand dollars paid to Anton to massage her in ways that weren’t on offer at the average spa.
Or maybe he didn’t suspect her. Maybe he was busy with his own affair. Perhaps all his time had been tied up in keeping secrets of his own. It was possible he didn’t notice how disheveled she was when he came home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, how she went to extra trouble with dinner on those days, as if offering apologies for something that wasn’t her fault to begin with.