“Oh, yes, please. I’ll email them to you.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Maybe that’s not a good idea. What if your parents saw that I’d been emailing you?”
He shook his head. “Mom doesn’t know how to program the washing machine, let alone check my email. And Dad,” he glowered, “he doesn’t know my password.”
“Well, okay, then,” I said, reassured.
“What about David?” he said. “Does he read your email?”
I had a horrible thought that he probably did and Sebastian saw the doubt reflected on my face.
“Bastard!” he said viciously. “Set up a Hotmail account, Caro, and email me from there.”
“Okay,” I said faintly.
“And you’d better turn your phone off when he’s there so I can still text you, or he’ll want to know who’s sending messages. Then check in when you can.”
I was so bad at the practicalities of an affair. I wondered absently where Sebastian had learned such expertise. But then, I supposed, with two controlling parents, evasive tactics were fundamental to survival.
He looked at me, frowning.
“Are you okay, Caro?”
I nearly laughed.
“It’s just that I’ve never … done anything like this.”
“Like this?”
“Had an affair.” I blushed saying the words.
“Don’t say that,” he said heatedly. “That’s not how I think about us, Caro.”
I sighed. “Neither do I—but that’s what people would call it, if they knew.”
“I don’t care about anyone else,” he said, fiercely. “Just you.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned my head on his shoulder. I felt his body relax slightly.
“It’s going to be a long weekend,” he muttered, “not being able to see you.”
“You could come to our soirée.” I laughed mirthlessly. “Your parents will be there. David has invited all the right people.”
“Perhaps I will,” he said, quietly.
I looked up at him, horrified. “No! I was teasing. You mustn’t. I couldn’t … if you were there I know I’d give myself away.”
“But I could make sure that the asshole doesn’t touch you,” he snarled.
“Sebastian, no. I mean it.”
He scowled at me belligerently.
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“Stop it!” I said, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me go.
“I can’t wait four months, Caro,” he said, almost desperately.
I felt panicky, but at the same time, aroused by his need.
“We have to,” I said, barely able to think coherently. “You know what they’d do to me.”
He sighed and pulled me closer.
We’d survived another 24 hours, but it was getting harder.
I drove back with one hand in his. That small connection meant so much.
As was fast becoming our routine, I dropped him off several blocks from his home. I hated that moment of desolation when he slammed shut the passenger door and I accelerated away from him: it felt so wrong.
David’s sulk had finally come to an end. Whether this was because he was over his irritation or because we had a social engagement to live up to, I couldn’t say. It made things both easier and harder.
I dreaded the nights the most; that moment when he sank onto the bed. If he picked up one of his journals I could relax; if he didn’t…
After dinner and after he’d spent a couple of hours in his study doing God knows what, evening had passed into night.
I was already in my nightgown when he strolled out of the bathroom and eased himself onto the bed. The journal remained on his bedside table. He looked at me expectantly.
I tried to ignore him and he frowned.
“Is everything ready for tomorrow, Caroline?”
“I need to go to the store in the morning for a few things.” Everything, in fact.
“That doesn’t sound very organized.”
“I wanted the ingredients to be as fresh as possible.”
He grunted, then moved his hand down to his dick, pulling it out of his PJ pants and stroking it suggestively.
“I’m a little tired tonight, David,” I said, trying to stay calm.
“So am I. I’ll sleep better and so will you. Come here.”
I took a deep breath. “No, David. Not tonight.”
He looked irritated. “Well, the least you can do is relieve me, Caroline.”
I closed my eyes, but closing my mind to the sounds and sensations was not so easy.
When he was finished, I walked into the bathroom to wash my hands and stared at my impassive reflection in the mirror. David was already asleep by the time I could face going back. I stood looking down at him, wondering: who was this man I’d married? Why had he married me? Had there ever been love? I knew I had never felt this way before, the way I felt when I was with Sebastian. Was David happy? I knew he was frustrated by not having climbed the career ladder with the speed and success of other men. He didn’t have friends; he networked with people who could be useful.