The Private Serials Box Set(2)

Both of our fathers had started their businesses from the ground up, and both had become immensely successful CEOs, so both Derrek and I were familiar with the lifestyle of the upper class. We’d played different roles, but they complemented each other. Derrek was being groomed to one day take over his father’s role in the company, while I was expected be a wife to someone just like him. I hadn’t planned on becoming someone’s arm candy – I would have my own life and my own career – but I was expected to make a good match for someone important one day. My parents would not have been happy if I had married a starving artist. I was expected to marry someone who would fit nicely into the life my parents had made for me, and honestly, up until a few years after I was married, I had no problem with that notion.

But there I was, seven years into my marriage, and I was anything but happy.

I pulled myself out of the memory of meeting Derrek and slowly walked to the garbage, dropping the anniversary card on top of all the other trash inside. I didn’t understand why he’d given it to me, other than perhaps he was trying to stave off an argument. But we hadn’t argued in forever. To argue, one had to communicate, even if it was angry, loud, harsh communication. The most we said to each other over the past few weeks had been stilted, forced conversations pertaining to upholding our appearances. We still went to functions together, still played the part of a happily married couple, but when we came home, we separated.

I always found myself alone in our king-sized bed, and he always found himself asleep on the pull-out couch in his office. We could go days without seeing each other if we tried, and sometimes I did try. I tried to pretend as if he wasn’t there, as if I wasn’t trapped in some loveless marriage any longer, but even that was depressing. If I wasn’t married to Derrek, I was living an empty life in an even emptier house.

Something needed to change, and in that moment, I decided, perhaps, it had to be me.

I had loved him once, a long time ago, when careers and expectations hadn’t been on our radar. When we’d been young and, in many ways, free. When love hadn’t been a means to fulfill the wishes of our parents, but had been born out of our inability to stay away from one another. Truth be told, I still loved him; loved the idea of him, of us. But that need for him had disappeared. I wanted it back – desperately.

I made the decision in that moment to try to fix us. To do whatever was needed to make my marriage work again, and not just be a roommate to my husband. I wanted to be his wife again.





Chapter Two


When I heard the front door open that evening, it signaled Derrek was home from work and also signaled the beginning of my attempt to win my husband back. My heart nearly stopped and I had to talk myself down from the proverbial ledge. I was nervous to be alone with my own husband, apprehensive about putting myself in the line of fire. But something needed to change;

something had to give. I’d been ambitious my whole life – a doer. If I saw a problem at my job, I fixed it. In all other aspects of life, if something needed attention, I focused until I was the victor. I was determined to make my marriage work and not be miserable for the rest of my life.

“Derrek, is that you?” I heard his footsteps falter. He’d been making a hasty retreat to his office, as he did most evenings upon arriving home. My question caught him off guard.

“Yes. It’s me.”

“Would you come to the dining room, please?” There were a few seconds of silence, and then I heard footfalls coming closer. When he entered the room I tried not to be discouraged by the expressions that crossed his face. At first, I saw annoyance, more than likely that I’d asked something of him. Then the annoyance gave way to surprise, which eventually turned back into annoyance. I watched as his gaze floated over to the table, taking in the lit candles, the use of our wedding china, the beautiful meal I’d made, and the bottle of expensive wine airing.

“Lena, what is all this?” he asked, as his hand made a sharp jab toward the table and then fell to his side.

“This is the anniversary dinner I made for us,” I said with a shaky smile, trying so hard not to sound desperate or false. I attempted to sound like this was something he should have been expecting – his loving wife preparing a delicious meal to celebrate seven years of marriage.

“Lena…” he said, with defeat heavy in his voice. I could fill in the blanks, say the words he was thinking; I’d thought them for so long, too. This is ridiculous. I don’t know what you expect from me. What are we doing? How long can we keep this up without ruining our lives? I knew what was running through his mind, but I needed to stop him from uttering the words, because once we said them, once they were out in the open, we could never cover them up again.

“Please, Derrek, sit down. I made your favorite. Beef roast. Just sit.” I was begging my husband to have a meal with me.

He sighed heavily, but set his briefcase on the ground near the entryway and sat down at the head of the table. I smiled to myself because this was the first hurdle, and we’d already jumped it and landed on the other side unscathed. I walked to his chair, hoping to catch his eyes admiring me in the dress I bought to impress him.

I was nearly thirty, never had children, and worked very hard to maintain my body. My dress was black, tight, and just a little short. I watched his eyes, hoping they’d roam over me, hoping that seeing him appreciate my form would spark some sort of fire within me.