The Other Man(15)

It was apparent, as he made his way to our group, that he only had eyes for one person in the room.  And the way he looked at her, God, like he wanted to swallow her whole.

By the way Bianca’s gaze stayed glued to him, it was apparent that the feeling was very much mutual.

He went straight to her side.  She rose to greet him, and he kissed her lightly on the forehead, then waved her to sit back down, taking the space that had opened up next to her.

His eyes left her only to alight on what she’d been drinking.  He touched her wine glass pointedly, licking his lips.  “How many have you had, love?”

“This is my second,” Bianca answered, looking a bit exasperated with him, “but the first was hours ago.”

He swallowed and nodded, tearing his attention from her to greet the rest of us, politely and warmly.

I knew what that strange interaction was all about.  It had come up in our group therapy before.  James hated alcohol with a passion.  He felt it impaired a person, and for a long time Bianca hadn’t had so much as a sip in an effort to cater to his strong opinion on the matter.

But Bianca didn’t share his opinion, and though she wasn’t much of a drinker, (I’d never seen her have more than two drinks, and even that was only over a four hour or more stretch) she did enjoy a drink from time to time.

She never drank enough to impair her judgement, something she slowly, over time, had made James understand, and so the couple had eased into the understanding that, though James would never touch alcohol, and that was fine, Bianca would enjoy the occasional drink with her girlfriends, and James had learned not freak out about it.

Their love story was one that touched me, as well.  Both had suffered through dreadful childhoods.  Bianca’s father was such a monster that she still celebrated every year at the anniversary of his death.  She was not a hateful woman, so it wasn’t lost on me how awful he must have been for her to do that.

James had suffered through some rough stuff of his own, but I wasn’t privy to the details of it, and I’d never be boorish enough to ask.

But I had seen his sex tape (before I knew either of them, mind you), and I knew he was into some seriously kinky shit.

From what I’d gathered, he’d introduced Bianca to said kinkiness, and it seemed to be a lifestyle that worked for both of them.

Even as I had the thought, I saw him fingering her collar, his eyes on hers, the two of them so immersed in each other I doubted they even remembered where they were.

What I’d give to have a man look at me like that, with his whole heart in his eyes.

When I lay down to sleep that night, in my big empty bed, in my big empty house, my mind lingered on my marriage.

Why had I not expected more from my husband?  How had I settled for such a sterile marriage and not held out for something like what I’d witnessed tonight?

The only answer I could come up with was that I’d never seen it, hadn’t known that love like that was out there to look for in anything aside from fiction.

My parents were good people, but they’d had a sterile marriage themselves, and though their parting had been more amicable than mine with my ex, it had been just as inevitable.

I’d always known their lack of love for each other was why I’d been obsessed with romance novels since I was fourteen.  It only just occurred to me then, though, that their loveless marriage had perhaps inspired my own.

The twenty-year-old me that had settled for Eduard had never seen anything like the way Tristan smiled at Danika, the way James looked at Bianca, the way Stephan doted on Javier.  I’d always been attracted to the idea of a love like that, but that’s all it had been to me—an idea.

The realization made me sad, but I could hardly regret my marriage.  My children were my everything.

Still, I felt a small change in me that night, a slight shifting, as the resolve in me stiffened.  I’d be alone the rest of my life before I’d settle for less than a man that flat out adored me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A FEW WEEKS LATER

I ran into Dair at the market, and we wound up going for coffee again.  We chatted easily, and I marveled that I could know someone for so long, be interested in them, and have things stop dead at friendship with every encounter.

It was the polar opposite of what had happened with Heath.

I knew that wasn’t good.  I should want to pursue something further with Dair.  That would be the healthy urge, because clearly Dair was a good guy, and there was a potential for a future between us.

Instead, I was relieved when we parted ways with just a brief hug a few blocks shy of my house.

I should have felt disappointed that he didn’t mention going out sometime, or calling me sometime, or doing something, anything, that could be considered a date somewhere down the road.

Instead, I was stuck firmly at just being disappointed that I wasn’t disappointed.

I was almost to my house when I felt someone move in close behind me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a gravelly voice said close to my ear, “Who was that guy?”

I swung around, hand flying to my chest, wide eyes on an agitated looking Heath.

“You scared me,” was the first thing I said.  But the first thing I felt upon seeing him was much more embarrassing.

I was so relieved.  Whatever had happened between us, that crazy, passion fueled lunacy from weeks ago, I didn’t want it to be a one-time deal.