Page 110 of The Wedding Menu

“Nothing,” I say, the tremble in my voice betraying me. “I was drunk, and he was sleeping. I woke him up, and—”

“And?”

“He—” I choke on the next words.

I hear the sound of a light switch. “Amelie? Did he hurt you? Did he do something you didn’t consent to?”

A burst of laughter explodes past my lips. It’s not funny, of course, that he’s worried about something like that. But the truth is so far from it, it’s almost comical.

“Don’t laugh,” he bellows. “I was about to vomit.”

“Sorry,” I say, looking down at the blue duvet. “It’s… just the very opposite.”

“Oh.” He clears his voice. “He still won’t…?”

“No.”

He mumbles something I don’t understand, but before I can ask, he continues. “Are you sure he’s not gay?”

“No, he’s not gay. He’s straight. Just not into me.”

“The only straight people I know who wouldn’t be into you are women.”

I chuckle, my mouth filling with saliva as a sudden burst of nausea makes its way past my stomach and through my throat. Taking a deep breath, I let myself fall back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex, Ian?”

“No, Amelie.”

“About seven months.”

There’s an “Oof,” then a few moments of silence. “You’re climbing up the walls, aren’t you?”

“I am. Especially because…” I think of the last time we had sex. “He… he mostly stopped trying.”

“Mm-hmm. Can’t say I’m too surprised.” He sighs. “So you fake it?”

“Sometimes. When I don’t, he tells me to finish myself.” My lips pinch, the thought causing a new wave of rage to course through me. “Sometimes I masturbate, but it’s not the same thing. It’s not the orgasm but the intimacy I miss the most.”

When I’m met by complete silence, I feel my cheeks flush.

“Sorry. TMI?”

“No, not too much information. It’s not enough, actually.” He clears his throat, and there’s a little swooshing noise. I picture him lying down in his bed, the light on his nightstand on and a sleepy expression on his face. “I just… There’s a lot I’d like to say to that. I won’t, don’t worry, but—”

“No, say it.”

“Hmm… I can’t.”

“You can,” I insist.

“Fine. I may haveoccasionally, once or twice, considered sleeping with you.”

I can feel a smile curving my lips.

“And it’s not the thought of what I’d get out of it that makes itaninterestingscenario. It’s what I’d do to you, how you’d respond, that makes it—” He clears his throat again. “Let’s just say that knowing someone would use you for your body with no consideration for your needs and enjoyment is a fucking sin. A waste and a sin.” With a sigh, he adds, “I’ll leave it at that.”

I open my mouth, though I’m not entirely sure what to say. I just want him to keep talking.

“Well, okay, I’ll say one more thing. It’s not fair that you should spend the rest of your life faking orgasms. Your fiancé should take care of your pleasure, among many other things.”

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