Page 10 of Your Sharpest Edge
“So?”
“He understands. He would never touch you, but that doesn’t mean the others know the same standards.”
I wanted to scream at him and tell him that was the stupidest stereotype I’d ever heard. I knew plenty of cheaters in Russia, not like I was going to step out of this marriage, though. It would upset my family, and Dimitri would ruin everything for me. I needed to earn my place and show him I could be enough for him and a successful ice-skater.
“Okay,” I whispered, not wanting to argue with him, needing this moment to pass.
His entire body pulled away from me, his penis no longer inside me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing he hadn’t finished inside me.
“I can’t do this with you tonight,” he shrieked and then ran into our adjoining bathroom.
My legs dangled off the bed, and I wasn’t sure I was able to walk with all the pain from my hips, but quietly, I was grateful he was done.
I managed to get up and walk toward the mirror in the corner of the room, a room that looked nothing like what I’d want to live forever in. I wanted a house to feel warm, and this room was simply a bed with a large mirror in the corner and a few scattered windows that always had the shades drawn.
My nipples were cracked, bleeding, and raw, and indentations marred my hips. This was going to take a few weeks to heal. I was looking at the damage when I heard the bathroom door slam open. I grabbed the white blanket that was draped onthe bed behind me, wrapping myself up. I didn’t want to upset him further and show him what he’d done.
Whenever this would happen, he’d let me escape to the rink, where I could rehearse and stay as long as I wanted. It was his way of making up for the night before, as if a few hours on the ice could erase the pain.
Yesterday, he even transferred money into my account so I could buy a new pair of leggings for practice since mine were worn out and full of holes. It was a reminder of how dependent I was on him for everything.
“Dirks told me he was going out tonight at dinner. I’m going to join him.”
I looked down as he grabbed a crisp, white linen shirt from the closet.
“I can get dressed,” I said softly.
I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to socialize again. I wanted to be... alone.
“No,” he said, and my eyes darted up toward him.
This couldn’t be happening. There was no way my wish for some peace and quiet was actually being granted. We had only been married for a week, and during that time, I hadn’t even had the chance to use the bathroom alone.
“No?”
“I’m going out. I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
He put on his watch and then looked down at me, covered in the white blanket. “Go to bed.” He dropped a kiss to my forehead, and I flinched, hoping it was nothing more than that.
“Okay,” I whispered as he turned to leave without looking back.
It wasn’t until I heard the front door shut that I was finally able to let out a breath.
I was lying in bed earlier, utterly convinced that the clock was playing a cruel joke on me. It was ten o’clock, and sleep eluded me, so I found myself engaging in the only logical activity for the middle of the night—baking chocolate chip cookies.
Baking cookies was easy. I measured everything exactly, following the recipe to the letter. The process was predictable, the outcome certain. Cookies were safe—they didn’t yell, demand, or disappoint. They were the one thing I could always control.
“Ow,” I murmured as I reached down to retrieve the piping-hot cookies from the oven.
Following my husband’s rough sexual activities, bending down had become increasingly difficult.
Without meaning to, I’d doubled the recipe and ended up with two dozen cookies. As I divided them into containers, I paused, wondering if my new neighbors might appreciate some.
“Shit,” I muttered, remembering that Dirks was out with my... husband.
This was ridiculous. I wasn’t a baker. Why was I bothering with the other guys in the apartment building anyway?
