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Chapter Seventeen IV
Staring at the whites of the ocean she could hardly see through the veil of night, Blue felt father cheated that the wait at the drive-through for dinner had stolen the sunset view Vincent promised so eagerly. Yet, despite that, she did find refuge in the city lights that twinkled from the peninsula’s bend as though peering coyly over New York’s very shoulder. Blinking rapidly with each twinkle. The smoke plume and fiery wick of a distant factory its exhale. And somehow, however slightly, the sight of the moon breaking through the clouds as though it was lone gnocchi surfacing from its murky, boiling water soothed the pretentious aesthete that had roused after Vincent had played David Attenborough instead of Mayday that afternoon. Turning to glance at her husband who sat quietly, his burger little more than a crumpled wrapper in the cupholder between them, she decided that co-existing with someone else wasn’t quite as awful as she had always thought it to
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Blue found no joy in admitting that she spent more time with Sandra than she did with her own husband in recent times. Vincent left before she awoke; planted a gentle kiss on his sleeping wife’s shoulder before he dressed silently. He’d return by the time she begrudgingly fell asleep, that much she had gathered. Staring at the sleeping man as she awoke mid-sleep for reasons that eluded still, she admittedly wondered if Richard had succeeded in keeping them apart sans some diabolical scheme.But the dates that she longed for at a quiet cafe had become brunch with her mother-in-law; the change room quickies she’d enjoyed once upon a time had been traded for designer handbag shopping and tiny sandwiches. There was only so much “watching her figure” for the wedding she could feign before pregnancy nausea began to look like anorexia.“What are you doing at university, darling?” the question alone was enough to make Blue clam up with
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Vincent had been staring for quite some time.Bordered by a simple frame sat a photograph that did far more harm than it did good. Blazoned by twisting silver arms, his wife’s smile enclosed in its abstract metal frame, peered back a woman so innocent. Bright blue eyes narrowed. Nose scrunched. Shoulders hidden by a tangle of blankets. Glittering wedding bands clutching the duvet over her chin. From their honeymoon. The rather last-minute trip he’d never felt more intentional. Days on end of lying in bed with his woman, hiding from the cruelness that had become her fortunes. Richard had been forgotten. All that mattered those few days were concerns over which restaurants they’d have time for or what films would best put them to sleep.It was hard to believe they’d married in secret, no matter how necessary it had been. He’d battled the urge to confess what he’d felt on the balcony the night they met. How as their lips met that first
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“Any last words?” Staring down at his wife, Vincent smiled softly. Her face bright with a nervous blush. Lips red and bitten. Cracked, dry. Hair tangled where his own hands had wrapped. Mock neck blouse covering the blossoming bruises from his teeth creeping up her chest. Skirt creased where she had sat on his lap. She smiled back. Leaned towards him invitingly. An invitation he found rather difficult to refuse. “It’s not too late to leave,” “We’re already here, Blue,” “That’s for me to worry about,” “You stole my line.” “You weren’t using it.” “No one likes a smart ass,” Quickly, he took the woman’s face in his hands. Pressed his nose to hers. Breathed her every breath. Considered kissing her, stood at her mother’s doorstep. They’d be on the awkward first date they never had. Vincent would walk her to the door, fingers brushing, far too shy to twist his hand with hers. He would wrap her in his coat; give her a reason to telephone him
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“You and your uncle seem awfully close.” Blue froze as Vincent spoke, halfway through shrugging off her jacket. He had been silent the whole way home. She’d considered fleetingly that he was upset another man had been attempting to slide a hand beneath her skirt. Though some part of her knew he wouldn’t have known unless he’d gotten to his knees and looked under the table. He hadn’t. Was he jealous? “What’s that supposed to mean?” “He’s more interested in who you have to marry than Richard is and you’re marrying the fool,” “Am I?” Suddenly, Vincent paused. He eyed his own two rings carefully, perched on the woman’s finger. Warmed by the sun where they’d been stored in his car cupholder. Catching on the afternoon through the windows. “Maybe you should.” “If that’s how you feel I think it’s a little late for that.” “I have to show you something,” While Blue hoped rather earnestly the man was about to unzip his trousers and present himsel
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Hugged his sides with her knees as he scooped her onto the kitchen counter. Sighed in recognition as his hips rocked into hers and he pressed her with the very bulge in his trousers she was afraid would shatter her resolve. And as the fingers of his left hand laced through hers and she felt the cool press of his wedding band against her palm, Blue considered surrendering to the man’s mouth, lips on her neck with the love she wasn’t so sure of. Flipping the hem of her dress from her thighs and over her stomach, Vincent braced between her legs with his fingers as he had over and over. Traced her through her dampened underwear. Braced her collarbone with his teeth. Eyes cast to the ceiling, Blue found it rather easy to forget the ceremony that had meant so much to her had meant so little to her husband. The stranger suckling on her exposed breast as though he was the child she would bear him. Wrapping his large hands around her shoulders as though he’d prized her as much as he’
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As she made her entrance, hand clasped with Richard’s to keep her on a leash far more than it was to confess any fondness, Blue averted her eyes from the black hair she hoped rather earnestly wouldn’t be Vincent. It had been trimmed, cropped at the neck, she could see the loose waves falling around his ears in a way she wanted so desperately to run her hands through and tug at encouragingly. Screamed internally as her fiancé led her around the table.Taking a seat across from the man, she looked up rather reluctantly. Met his eyes. Stared at him with the same bewilderment he had. He’d shaven. A mustache hid his upper lip. Made him look so cruel in the very way that had always made her want to tear off her underwear and open her legs. His hair fell over his forehead. Bare cheeks looking rather gaunt, lined delicately with age. She could have laughed at the fact she felt they were meeting for the first time. Two altered versions of themselves.
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