Frayed Silk(8)

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

I nod. “Yeah. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

He withdraws from inside me, turning me onto my back to gaze down at my face. His blue eyes glaze over with something other than lust. No, it looks like tears. And it’s then I realize that I’ve never seen him cry before.

He cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb over the apple of it.

“Some days … I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am.”

I give him a watery smile, nuzzling into his hand.

“You most certainly are,” I joke with a laugh.

He grins, and I stare at his straight white teeth, reaching out to run my finger around the outside of his lips.

“I need to feed you,” he murmurs.

I roll my eyes. “Soon. Stay here with me.” I grab the back of his head, my fingers sinking into the disarray of his sandy blond hair.

He rests his lips over mine as we just stare at each other.

“Why can’t we just stay in bed forever?” I whisper.

He sucks on my lip, releasing it before saying, “Because we’re not in college anymore and real life awaits. But … you can.” He moves away, and I reach for him. “No, come back.”

He chuckles. “I know you, wife. You may be happy now, but if I don’t feed you soon, you’ll turn grumpy, or you’ll start crying at TV commercials again.”

He has a point.

I shamelessly stare at his taut ass. Muscles bunch on his back and arms as he bends, picking up his basketball shorts and walking off into the bathroom. He returns a moment later, shorts on and a washcloth in his hand that he uses to gently wipe between my legs.

It makes me giggle. “You’re taking this whole caveman thing way too far.”

He finishes cleaning me, his brows lowering as he looks down at me. “Lia, you’re my heart and soul, and you’re carrying my child. And shit, you have no idea what that does to me. So just let me do what I need to, okay?” He leans down to kiss my nose, and I melt into a puddle of hormones as he deposits the washcloth in the hamper before leaving our bedroom.

“Ice cream. I need ice cream!” I call out as I slowly sit up to get dressed.

“You’ll get ice cream after you’ve eaten a decent meal.”

I huff, smiling to myself as I stand, sliding my dress over my head and tugging it down over my stomach.





I pull into the driveway and turn the car off, taking a moment to collect myself as I stare, unseeing, at the garage doors in front of me.

Memories are funny things. Some are so palpable that you feel as if you’re right there, experiencing everything all over again. The scents, tastes, the weather, the sliding of skin on skin, and the feelings that made your heart swell double in size.

Whereas others flit away, like cast off threads in your mind, feeling forever out of reach. Forgotten. Until one day, they decide to unravel from your conscience and knock you sideways by taking you back. Back to someplace you’d give anything to forget, or that you’d sell a piece of your soul to revisit just one more time.

This pain in my heart feels physical. Like I could march into my doctor’s office and demand that they fix it. But I know there’s no cure for this. There’s nothing anyone else can do besides him. And maybe that’s why I’ve allowed myself to sink even further inside myself, becoming someone I hardly recognize when I look in the mirror.

I can’t keep waiting on him.

I can’t keep hanging on by a frayed thread.

I think it needs to snap, once and for all. Let the pieces fall where they may.

Because if he won’t do it, then the only person who can fix this pain and make me happy again is me.





“Greta! Where’s your school skirt? It needs to be washed,” I call out from the laundry room when I can’t find it. She comes running in a few moments later, wearing her school skirt, a pink t-shirt, sunglasses, a sparkling scarf wrapped around her neck, and a pair of my Manolo black peep-toe heels.

“My, my, and what do we have here?” I ask her.

“I’m a Bratz doll,” she declares with her hands on her hips.

I smile at her. “You look fabulous, poppet, but I need to wash that skirt. Can you go find a regular skirt to wear instead?”

“But it’s not the same. I need it,” she whines.

I give her my best mom glare, and she sighs, stripping it off and passing it over.

“Thank you.” I toss it into the washer with the rest of the clothes and grab the laundry soap. I pour it in and close the lid before turning it on.

Greta waves like the princess she is and trots off out of the room in her underwear with my heels clopping against our expensive hardwood floor. I cringe, but let her go. Leo hates it and is always asking her to take them off. But once he catches sight of her pleading puppy dog eyes and her ridiculous outfits, he always gives in.

I hear my phone ringing in the kitchen and hurry from the laundry room to answer it. My mom’s name flashes across the screen, and I can’t help but feel a little nervous as I answer it. She doesn’t know how bad things have gotten between Leo and me. She adores him, and she’s so happy that I ended up with the life I did. It might cause her to worry.

“Hello?” I sing, trying to put some pep into my tone.