The Mother's Promise(59)

“I thought we could do something else.”

Sonja’s stomach clenched. Surely not? She was still tender from the evening before. In the past, after a night like that, she’d be safe for a few days at least. These days it felt as though she was never safe.

“George,” she started in a wobbly, unconvincing voice. “I’m not really in the mood.”

But George was already rising up over her, pushing her onto her back. At least it was the couch, she thought. No sharp angles or surfaces. But even as she had the thought, his hand tangled in her hair, and she realized what was coming.

Suddenly Dagmar’s words came back to her. When things start to get ugly—make sure you speak up. Tell him you don’t like what he’s doing and if he continues, you will leave.

“George,” Sonja said. “Please don’t.”

Too late. He yanked—sending a blinding pain into her scalp, so strong that she involuntarily bucked him off. He rolled onto the floor. His shock was so complete that she was able to slide out of his grasp and off the sofa, just out of his reach.

“I asked you not to do that,” Sonja said. “I don’t feel like it, and you were hurting me.”

George’s eyes widened slightly. It had just rushed out of her, but now that she’d said it, she wanted to choke it back in. It had sounded so prim. She watched him take it in for a moment before cocking his head.

“Are you serious?” he said.

Sonja hesitated, then nodded.

His lip curled slightly at one side and Sonja’s heart started to thud. In his lap, she noticed his hands were curled into fists. George had never hit her—at least not in anger. There had been the odd slap, or spanking, during sex. He’d held her down too roughly. But he’d never outright hit her.

He stood.

“What is going on with you, Sonja?” he asked quietly.

She took a tiny step backward. “Nothing. I … just … really want to watch Dexter.”

He was quiet, as if weighing something up. And, for the first time ever, she admitted to herself that she was scared of him. Scared of her husband. His breath was high in his chest. All these tales she’d told herself about her being in control of the situation were just that. Tales. She was, she realized, entirely at his whim.

Finally he nodded. “All right then.”

“All right … what?”

“All right. We’ll watch Dexter.”

Sonja watched him. His expression was hard to read. “Really?”

“Of course. If you’re too tired.”

George straightened up and reached for the remote control, while Sonja looked on. It felt like a trick. It was simply too hard to fathom that he’d just accept it and move on.

“Well,” he said, looking up at her. There was the faintest trace of impatience in his voice. “Are you joining me?”

“Yes,” Sonja said. “Yes, okay.”

But as she slid onto the couch beside him, Sonja was tense. She had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the end of it. Yes, she’d won this time. But sometimes the enemy you knew was better than the one you didn’t.





43

When Kate arrived home after dropping Zoe at her apartment, David was waiting for her on the doorstep. His top button was undone and his tie was loose. When he saw her coming, he rose to his feet.

“What are you doing on the doorstep?” she asked.

“Need to make sure the gardeners are doing their job.”

He smiled. She took the smile for what it was: a peace offering.

“I’m so sorry about lunch,” she said. “I should have—”

“It was just lunch, Kate. I know you have a lot going on. Come inside.”

He put his arm around her and led her into the front living room. For once the place was devoid of teenagers. Hilary’s brother was getting married in Mexico and they’d all headed off early that morning. Kate and David had even been invited—David, of course, still played golf with his former brother-in-law. They’d toyed with the idea of going but had decided against it after the miscarriage.

“Why don’t we open a bottle of wine?” Kate suggested. One of the few upsides of not being pregnant was a drink after work. Today she needed one.

“What a good idea. I’ll go to the cellar.”

Kate kicked off her shoes and fell onto the couch. Beside her on the side table was a candle and she lit it, then nestled into the cushions. David returned a moment later with two chilled glasses.

“Well,” he said. “This is romantic.”

She smiled up at him. He put the glasses on the coffee table.

“It’s so quiet,” he said. “I can hear myself think.”

“It’s lovely,” Kate agreed. “The whole place to ourselves.”

She let that comment hang for a moment, until he gave her a familiar look. And she turned to him.

It was nice, the sex. After the last two years, it even felt a little gratuitous. For so long (though David didn’t always know it) she’d been aware of exactly where she was in her cycle—and was always more keen during the “hot spots.” After they’d started IVF, sex had been something controlled—not for a few days before or after an embryo transfer. It had been forever since they’d had the inclination and just gone for it. And the beauty of infertility, of course, was that there was no need to scramble for a condom.