Mid Life Love (Mid Life Love #1)(79)

I felt Claire moving behind me and turned around. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to pour us both a glass of wine.” She held up the glasses and her eyes met mine. “You don’t want one?”

“Yes...” My heartbeat started to speed up.

“Is red okay with you?”

“It’s perfect...”

We both stood still and stared at each other, not moving, not saying anything. The second alarm for the breadsticks was blaring, but neither of us made an attempt to shut it off.

I closed the gap between us and wrapped an arm around her hips, looking down into her gorgeous green eyes, pretending not to notice how loudly her heart was thumping against her chest.

She reached up and placed her arms around my neck, pressing her body tightly against mine, standing on her toes to reach my lips.

I bent down to kiss her—watching her close her eyes, watching her take a short breath in anticipation, but then I stopped.

Fuck...

I cleared my throat. “We should eat.”

She opened her eyes and stepped back. “Yeah, you’re right...” She walked around me and grabbed a bottle of wine.

I waited until she sat down and we ate our food in our own special silence—though at this point, I wasn’t even sure if it could really be called “silence.” All we had to do was look at each other to have a conversation, words weren’t really necessary.

I could tell when she was thinking about work, when she was thinking about us, or when she was putting on her best poker face to pretend like she wasn’t thinking about me.

She put down her pizza crust and sighed. “Where do you buy your wine?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a wine room in every place you’ve showed me, even on your yachts. But none of the brands are domestic and I know my wine. You can’t buy most of your collection in America.”

I smiled. “Very astute. I stock up on most of it twice a year. I go to a collector’s vineyard in France. I’ll take you there on my jet this summer.”

“Okay...” She looked off to the side, like she always did when she doubted something, when she was analyzing us.

“What is it now, Claire? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing...”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I set my plate down and walked over. “I need to ask you another personal question, a very personal question.”

“Okay...” She sipped her wine. “Go ahead.”

“We’ve been having sex since what? Late January? It’s about to be May...”

“That’s not a question.”

“I can’t think of one week when we didn’t have sex at least once.”

“Also not a question.”

“Why haven’t you gotten your period?”

She spluttered her wine into the air. “What?”

“You heard me.” I wrapped my arms around her waist. “I’m not complaining. I just want to know why you’ve never mentioned anything about your time of the month.”

“Oh my god! You ask the worst personal—”

“And you always try to change the subject. I’m waiting...”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me about menstruation! Do you have any sense of shame or—”

“Claire...”

“Ugh...” She shook her head. “I was really depressed after my divorce. I can’t put how depressed into words, but... I couldn’t get out of bed, I had to force myself to eat, and I... I just couldn’t function...So um, after I’d lost about ten pounds from wasting away, I made myself go to the doctor and he prescribed some antidepressants. One of the side effects was irregular periods and—Do I really need to go into this?”

“You do. I need to know.”

She sighed. “I got my period every day for the first two months and they swore that was typical for first time dosage. Then I got it for six more months, and then it just stopped. I kept taking the medicine for a year after that, but when I decided to stop, it never came back...They ran test after test and said that everything was normal, that I was perfectly fine. They said that I may experience spotting from time to time, but I’ll probably never get a full period again. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped out of my embrace. “Which picture is of your sister Hayley?” She walked towards the fireplace.

“The one on the left.”

“She looks just like you...” She took the picture off the mantle and looked at it. She didn’t say anything, but I knew why she was scrutinizing it.

At first glance, Hayley was just a beautiful blue eyed girl in a yellow sundress. But upon further notice, you could see the hundreds of red lined scars and cuts that sat on her wrists; they completely covered her arms.

“That’s the main reason why I can’t forgive my parents so easily...” I cleared my throat. “Hayley started cutting herself once we were put in separate foster homes. That’s how she dealt with not having any family around...I’ve paid to have the majority of the marks removed, but she insists on keeping the ones on her arms.”

“I’m so sorry...Is that a Scrabble necklace she’s wearing?”