A Duplicitous Union

I hate my husband.

There are times when I wish he were dead. Truly.

Don’t get me wrong, there was a time I adored him, maybe even loved. But there is only so much a heart can take. Continuous absences and prolonged silences, I have come to learn can whittle away at anything.

A marriage that was seemingly mutually beneficial now feels suffocating. I once would have done anything for it, now all I want is to run away.

My cutlery scraps against ceramic as I slice into my chicken. The sound far too loud in the empty expanse of the dining room. Dinner has always been a solo affair. Every meal for that matter, the only exceptions being public events and business dinners. It’s overcooked. I don’t need to taste it to know I forgot the salt. My mind seems to wander more frequently these days.

With a heavy sigh, I get up and take my plate to the kitchen before emptying the contents into a container. I should be able to salvage it tomorrow when my appetite hopefully returns. Perhaps a pasta.

My body moves on autopilot as I pack away the dishes. I move to the lounge and grab a random book off the shelf before settling down on the sofa. I switch on the floor lamp next to me as I glance at the clock and tuck my feet into the blanket. 10.40. He will be home soon. I skim the page taking nothing in.

Our union was not the product of love but a simple deal between two businessmen. A united front sealed by my hand in marriage. Nothing else can proclaim unity better than becoming family. At least that is what my father said the day he announced my upcoming nuptials at his annual Christmas party. I had no prior notice of course, not of the announcement nor my engagement.

Omar Reyes is a man who is used to getting what he wants. His public image and reputation mean more to him than anything else. His words and actions have always held the weight of his power. He is not the type to be denied, not even by his own family. So when he drags them along to his whims, they could never say no, especially not his doting daughter.

Three months later, my wedding was held with a grandeur of royalty. The location, decor, food, and especially my dress screamed of a wealth and elegance that would leave nothing more to desire. Our guest list was no different, with every seat occupied by someone who held influence, from business to entertainment and I knew every name and every face. Nothing less could be expected from the socialite daughter of one of the most powerful businessmen in the country.

The front door creaked open before clicking shut. Soft footfalls echoed against the wooden floors as they made their way to the lounge. My husband has always been light on his feet but I suppose today must have been a long day. He pauses at the entrance behind me, surprised to see me still awake. I glance at the clock once more. 11.15. He is unusually late tonight.

A moment passes before he makes his way to the adjacent couch. He neatly lays his coat over the back and places his car keys on the coffee table before slowly settling down. He undoes his tie, a few veins protruding the olive skin as his fingers work at the knot before slipping the fabric off. Every movement elegant and smooth, trained.

There were many nights that I would wait for him here and I had fallen asleep every single time. I would wake up a few hours later to find his car keys on the table, the only sign that he had returned.

I watch him in the corner of my eye and count to seven before turning the page. He slouches into the chenille cushions and runs a hand through his dark hair before resting his head back. His eyes cast to the decorative ceiling. The intricate details shrouded in shadow against the only light in the room, the floor lamp beside me.

Andreas was always handsome, more than conventionally attractive. But it was his charisma and charm that drew me to him when we first met, especially his smile, which is now something I only ever see in public. A smile that always seemed to make my heart stop.

I look back down at the pages before me and resume counting. I turn two more.

"Happy Anniversary." My voice sounds distant even to my own ears. The first words spoken between us in five days, ironically. He turns towards me, my eyes never leave the pages.

"Huh, it's been two years already." He says more to himself. A deep humorless chuckle escapes his throat. "Where has the time gone?"

Not with me apparently.

"I had dinner with your father today," his tone is casual. I'm not surprised. "You brother was there too."

My spine instinctively straightens and he notices. He always notices.

"I wonder what your father had to do to get him to sit at the same table as me," he ponders slinging his arm over the back of the sofa, crossing his legs. He is in an awfully chatty mood.

It is no secret that my younger brother dislikes him. Leo had never taken a liking to him and his emotions only intensified with the engagement. Leo was the only one who opposed our marriage. It was the first time his obedient son had defied him, and my father was not pleased.

"You are still his brother-in-law. An occasional meal with a family member is a common courtesy." I can't resist the subtle stab. Though having more dinners with your father-in-law than your wife is unheard of.

"Your father asked about you," I tense. "He wanted to know why you could not make it today."

My father has a monthly mandatory family dinner we always attend on the last Friday of the month. The three of us would simply sit in silence for the most part with the only conversation flowing between my father and husband. Leo usually tries to skip out by using work as an excuse. Meetings, trips and clients. He always arranged the most important for the end of the month. It was the only reason my father would allow his absence.

"I told him that we had plans, given that today is our anniversary. So we would make up for it with brunch tomorrow. I left you a message and updated your calendar." In truth, I just did not want to be around my father today.

"My phone died. I haven't had the chance to charge it." As if to prove his point, he pulls it out of his pocket and glancing at the screen. Odd. His calendar was jampacked with meetings all day. He definitely would have made sure his phone was charged and to carry a power bank.

"And what did you say?" I meet his eyes, knowing that I will need to work around whatever he says.

"I told him that you were planning something and asked me to come late today. Though I had no clue what." I can work with that.

"We will just sum it up to our latest baby-making endeavor. He will be pleased," I reason. "Though we will still have to attend brunch tomorrow."

"Of course," he agrees. "After all, he hasn't seen his precious daughter all week." True.

I last saw my father last Friday for our monthly meeting, where we discuss my upcoming schedule, the people I need to meet, events I have to attend, the meetings he will need me for and the ones he won't, which are very rare. We go through his schedule as well, his meetings and plans with me offering advice and changes where needed. My father has always been receptive to my ideas. Though I never get credit for them. I have made my peace with that. If anything, it works in my favor. He includes me anywhere he can and I am grateful to spend any amount of time with him, however short it maybe.

I never told Andreas about these meetings and even leave it off my calendar. I am not the type to discuss such things, neither is my father yet my husband seems to be well informed.

"Yes" I say simply, closing the book and pushing it and the blanket aside. "I suppose I will call it a night." I get up to leave and he moves with me blocking my path.

I was never fond of our height difference, especially when we were standing so close. I can feel his breathe brush against the top of my forehead as he looks down at me. I keep my eyes down as his broad shoulders fill up my view. Our shoes are only centimeters apart. Heat radiates off him in waves and the woody notes of his cologne waft by my nose. I can feel him watching me. I focus on my breathing and try to calm my heart. Even after all this time, his presence still has an affect on me.

I take a moment to steel myself before looking up and take him in. The lamp casts a soft warm glow across his face, highlighting his features. His sharp jawline is a little softer with his head tilted down. I force my gaze to not linger on his parted lips before moving higher, up to his straight nose and developed cheekbones before they lock with his own. Which soon proves to be a mistake.

His eyes bore into me. The pupils dilating just a fraction swallowing the brown. He leans forward a little, moving closer. His breathe fanning across my face. The faint smell of mint tickles my nose. My heart beat rises with each breathe he takes. I’m trapped. I can almost feel the gravitational pull of his stare as if I am being sucked in. As if it is forcing me to open up and bare all my secrets, desires and sins.

I can't seem to break away from him. I force my brain to think of someway to escape to take back control.

"Floral," I blurt. He leans back confused and that is all I need. I quickly gather myself and level him with an even stare as my facade falls back into place as best it can.

"I will be wearing a floral sundress tomorrow," I elaborate. "The yellow one."

He always coordinates our colors when we go out together regardless of how informal the occasion, even if it were a tie or something as small as a handkerchief or pin. I fell into the habit of letting him know in advance so he could prepare.

"Ah." He breathes. He's staring.

"For the brunch," I continue slowly. "I will have it prepared in the garden so don't wear anything too formal. Shall we leave together or separately as usual?" Talking is helping. I can feel the control of my body slipping back to me with each word.

"As usual." He seems to come back to himself.

Relief washes over me as I ignore the tiny pang of disappointment I feel at his rejection. After all this time, it still hurts, though not as much. There are worse things to feel than disappointment over something you know the outcome of. At least it will save us from an awkward drive there.

I gesture for him to move with a soft smile on my face. He immediately steps aside allowing me to pass. I briefly cast my gaze down to make sure I do not step on him and catch the faintest hint of mud on the heel of his shoe. Something he would not have caught from the top.

It is not until I leave the room that I let my frown set in. His shoes are usually clean.

I had been so caught up in hiding things about me that Andreas should not be privy to, I had not realized that he may be doing the same. There are a lot of things I do not know about him. I have been so caught up in my own plans that I may have overlooked him entirely. Perhaps I should start paying attention.