Instead of driving me home, he parked in front of a restaurant.
We’d been in the car for five minutes not speaking, and now I became even more tense when I realized he wanted to prolong our time together. I remembered how comfortable I used to be with him, like I could say anything without thinking twice about it, like I could tell him how much I wanted him and he’d never make me feel stupid about it.
But all of that was gone. “It’s been a long day. How about we just call it a night?”
He ignored what I said and got out of the car.
I was hungry, so the idea of getting some actual food didn’t sound bad. I just didn’t like the company.
We took a seat in the restaurant, ordered a bottle of wine and our entrees, and then returned to the uncomfortable parameters of our relationship. There was resentment from both of us, anger about the past, but there was also mutual need.
He basked in the discomfort, practically thrived on it. He stared at me with his hands on the table, occasionally drinking his white wine, but still never taking his eyes off me. The heat was in his gaze, like he meant what he said when he told me he wanted to fuck me. But there was also subtle anger there, like he would always hate me for walking out on him. He’d asked me to spend our lives together…and I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. It was humiliating, but it was also entirely his fault.
It was hard to look at him when he wore that expression of perpetual rage. He had such a handsome face, but that dark tint around his presence always made him slightly formidable. He’d come into my life at various stages, and I realized it’d been almost ten years since we’d first met. The more he aged, the sexier he became. Now he was thirty-one…and in better shape than he’d ever been.
I kept drinking. This dinner had to end sometime.
He still didn’t talk, as if he expected me to do all the work.
In situations like these, it seemed like marrying him was a bad idea. How could we ever be compatible? But when I considered my other options, I knew he was the best I would ever find.
I looked at my ring, watching it sparkle even though there was low lighting in the restaurant. It was a beautiful ring, given to me by a beautiful man, but I still felt so empty inside.
When I looked at him, he still wore the same coldness. “Why are we here if you’re just going to glare at me?”
“Not glaring.”
“You definitely aren’t smiling.”
“I don’t smile.”
It only happened on the rarest occasions. I think I’d seen it happen twice. “Well, is there something you want to talk about?”
“Our marriage.”
“That wasn’t clear…since we’ve been sitting in silence for twenty minutes.”
“You know I’m not much of a talker.”
I decided to play his game instead of letting the discomfort fester. “Alright…where should we start?”
“You and your mother will move in with me. My place has enough space for all three of us, and it’s much more secure than yours.”
“And what will we do with ours? It’s been in our family for decades.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Why don’t you move in with us?”
“No.” He didn’t give an explanation.
“You won’t even consider it?”
He took a drink then gave the same answer. “No.”
Asshole. “Fine.”
“If you’re going to be my wife, I expect you to behave a certain way—”
“I told you I wouldn’t submit to orders. Don’t expect me to do anything. I’ll do whatever the hell I want, alright?” My mother was an obedient wife, but that wasn’t me.
His eyes burned like frostbite. “Interrupt me again and see what happens.”
“Did you just threaten me?”
“Yes.” He held my gaze without blinking. “If you’d allowed me to finish, you would have heard me explain that you’re marrying a powerful drug dealer. That means you need to be aware of your surroundings at all times and allow me to do my job to protect you. No late-night walks. No solo trips to the grocery store. Nothing like that whatsoever.”
“So, I’m a prisoner now?”
“You can do whatever you want. Just do it right.”
This felt like an agreement between two lawyers, not partners or friends. “When are you going to be kind to me?”
“Have I ever been kind?”
“Yes…you used to be.”
“That was before you betrayed me.”
“That wasn’t a betrayal—”
“It’ll take time for us to move past it. Don’t expect it to happen overnight. I want to marry you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t resent you for what you did to me. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. It doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and pretend it never happened. But as time passes, our relationship will grow. We will be partners. We will be loyal to each other. Maybe we’ll even be friends. But you’ll have to be patient.”
At least he had an open mind about it.
“Let’s talk about kids.”
I stared at my wine for a few seconds before I lifted my gaze to meet his. “That seems premature.”
“I have no idea when you intend to start a family. Enlighten me.”
“I don’t know…maybe in two years.”
He gave a slight nod.
“You have no opinion about that?”
“No.”
“Do you ever want kids?”
“I told you years ago that I did. I’ll be thirty-three by that time, which is a good age because I don’t want to be ancient when my sons are grown men.”
“Sons?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. “How many kids are we having?”
“Two. Is that how many you want?”
“Actually, yes. But why do you assume they’ll be boys?”
He stared at me for a long time, his eyes unblinking and his chest stationary. The answer he gave was a direct contradiction to the length of his pause. “Just do.”
“Are you one of those men who would be disappointed if you had a girl?”
“No. I don’t have a preference, honestly.”
“Seems like you do.”
“It’s just a prediction.”
Our food arrived, but my appetite had disappeared. All of this felt so real, that this man would really be my husband, that I might be buried next to him someday, our corpses rotting until we were nothing but skeletons. “I want to keep my last name.”
He stilled at the request, about to take a bite of his dinner but having a sudden change of heart. “That’s funny.” He took a drink of his wine, washing away his bitterness. “No.”
“No?” I asked. “Taking a man’s name is so archaic—”
“The answer is no. Take my name, or don’t marry me at all.”
Damn. “Then a hyphen.”
“No.”
“You won’t even compromise?”
“My last name will protect you more than a bulletproof vest. Wear it like armor. And my sons won’t be using a fucking hyphen.”