Consequences(163)

“Really? You’re bored?”

Resiliently she answered, “I am.”

“And you didn’t catch the end of the conversation?”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t. I’ll stay out of your way, and we don’t need to go out on the town. I just want to get out of this house.”

“You’ve received many invitations for outings.” He remained too close.

“What? What kind of invitations? And why didn’t I know about them?”

Tony explained, “You didn’t know about them—because I chose not to pass them on to you”—Claire waited while he continued—“During our wedding preparations you were extremely busy, sometimes you weren’t home when I returned—I didn’t like that”—his cadence slowed—“besides, on New Year’s Eve, you seemed to have memory issues. I decided going out as Mrs. Rawlings alone, wasn’t something you’re ready to do.”

Claire felt the anger building within her chest and feared if she spoke, her words would fan her husband’s fury—not subdue it. Therefore, she concentrated on keeping her lips pressed together as he continued, “And, I like knowing you’re home, safe and out of trouble. I have too many things on my plate right now—I don’t need to worry about you having another accident.”

She had remained silent as long as she could. Claire asked assertively, “From whom?”

“Excuse me?” Tony understood her tone—he wanted clarification on her meaning.

“The invitations I’ve received—who are they from?”

“I believe your ability to understand has diminished with your memory. I said I chose not to forward them to you. I decided you will stay home, safe. Good night.” Tony lay back on his pillow.

She lay still for what seemed like hours. Finally, his breathing slowed and became rhythmic. For the first time since he’d proposed, she didn’t want to be with him. Claire decided since they were in his suite, she could go to hers. She waited until she felt certain he was asleep, and then gently lifted the covers. Feeling for her robe she heard his booming voice rip through the darkness. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m aware the conversation is done and that I have no control in my own activities. It’s all in your hands, but at this moment, I’m also aware you don’t consider me a spouse or a partner. I’m going to my suite to ponder this information.”

“No, you are not.” Without a doubt—a conclusive statement.

At a little over 6’4” Tony’s arm span was immense. Perhaps if she hadn’t been tying her robe and putting her feet into slippers, she might have had better balance. Nevertheless, in less than a second he grasped her arm and her world tilted. She was once again lying on his bed. The weight of his upper body pinned her to the mattress. Memories of their wedding pictures came to mind—she felt small and defenseless.

“Tony, remember your promise.” Her voice sounded falsely formidable.

“Which has always been contingent upon yours.” Her chest suddenly became heavy—not from the weight of his body—but from his words. He continued, “You’re right”—she didn’t speak, unsure of her correctness—“The conversation is done and I am in total control of your activities, including where you will sleep, and which invitations you’ll accept”—the tears began to pool in her eyes—“however, you’re also mistaken. I don’t consider you a spouse—I know you are my wife—you belong to me.”