Page 52 of The Perfect Marriage

“Sarah,” he says, his voice is quiet, almost like a whisper.

I stop and turn to look at him. “Yes.”

“Thank you… for everything.” His voice shakes. “You really didn’t have to do this. I… don’t really deserve this.”

My lip begins to quiver, but I bite down hard to stop it. I close my eyes for a second, and when I reopen them, they’re wet. “No, you… well… I have to go.”

Before I can take one more step away from him, he closes the distance, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into him. I want to stop him. I want to tell him no. These are the same arms that used to hold Kelly. To be a source of strength and comfort to her. I know he doesn’t deserve to hold me, but I don’t fight it. I let him hold me. I bury my face into his chest and I cry. I practically fall apart in his arms. He cries too. He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me tight. He tells me he loves me over and over again. I look up at him—my cheeks are wet; my heart is pounding. Tears are running down his cheeks onto mine.

I pull him in for a kiss. He kisses me back. Our mouths open and close in sync. His hands run all over my body. He picks me up. My legs straddle his waist. He walks me to the island and sets me down, his lips never leaving mine. He moves to my neck and then to my collarbone, kissing every part of me he possibly can.

“I love you, Sarah,” he whispers in my ear.

“I know.” I pause. I stop kissing him and search his face for an answer, for what to say. Caressing his cheek with my hand, I finally speak as his eyes lock with mine, “I love you too.”

He can’t help but smile. “I love you so fucking much.” His voice trembles and I stop him from saying anything more with a kiss, a hard and passionate one. His lips are soft and hot. His hands travel all over my body, pulling off my suit jacket, massaging my breasts, pushing up my skirt. My breath is ragged as his tongue and lips leave their mark up and down my neck.

He unzips his pants and pulls me closer to the edge of the counter. He bends down, pushing my legs apart and my panties aside—and then all at once, reality sets in for me, I push him away, my legs snap closed, I slide off the counter, pull down my skirt, and put on my suit jacket. He loses his balance and sits back on the floor before quickly regaining himself and standing. His eyes widen, and his mouth opens to begin his protest.

I put my hand on his chest. “I can’t do this yet… I’m still mad at you for everything you did to me. I can’t help but still picture…” I say trailing off. A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away and sidestep him, quickly leaving the house.

“Sarah, wait!” His voice rings loud from the house, but he is trapped, an invisible perimeter preventing him from pursuing me.

I climb into my car and slam the door closed. What the fuck am I doing? I need to clear my head, and this is not the place to do it.

32

Adam Morgan

I’m sitting on the couch, sipping my second glass of scotch and eating a New York strip with my hands. Sarah left over an hour ago, and it took fifteen minutes to beat the memory of her out of my dick. It felt good to be close to her again. Like there was a chance at reconciliation, but she left suddenly. She’s always leaving suddenly. Mom called to check in on me. She would have come over for dinner, but apparently she has a massage appointment. I have a feeling she’s up to something though. She would never turn down dinner with me, her only son.

The phone rings. It’s either Sarah or Mom. Those are the only two people that call me these days. I scooch over to the corded phone on the end table and with no caller ID, I’m forced to pick it up to find out who it is, like some mystery. “Hello.”

“Adam?”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“It’s me, Daniel. How the hell have you been?”

Ahh, good ol’ Daniel. Daniel is my literary agent and has been with me since day one. In the beginning, I was a gamble. Then, I became a hot commodity and people tried to poach me from Daniel, but I stuck with him. Now, it’s him who is sticking with me. I have been hearing from him at an ever-decreasing rate over this four-year lull, and I don’t blame him. “Oh, hey, Daniel. Fine, fine. I’ve been fine, how about yourself?” I resituate myself on the couch to get comfortable.

“Forget about me. What’s this I hear you’re on trial for murder?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, it’s true but I didn’t do it, this is all…” I take a drink of scotch.

“That’s great!”

“What? No, Daniel, I said it’s true. I am on trial for murder.”

“Oh, I heard you, buddy boy, and it’s the best fuckin’ news I’ve heard in ages.”

“What? Why?” I press the phone harder against my ear to ensure I’m hearing him correctly.

“Think about it, Adam. This is a murder. You’re a writer, put ’em together, and whattaya got? A tell-all, the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“But, Daniel, I didn’t do—”

“This could be yourIn Cold Bloodexcept even better, cause I mean you don’t have to interview the murderer… it’s you!”

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