Page 20 of Liberating Bells
“Izabel.”
The sound of my name again pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look back at Mark. He’s frowning at me. Gone is the concern that laced his voice the first time, instead replaced by familiar irritation.
“Sorry, what?”
“I was trying to ask you a question. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod and put my fork down, now making an effort to give him my full attention. “Yes, I’m sorry. What were you asking me?”
Mark narrows his eyes for a second, but then his expression lightens. “The firm is having a happy hour next Wednesday. Do you think you can be there?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Next Wednesday?” He nods. “I have a committee meeting for the Historical Society Gala that night. I told you that last week. I have to be there.”
Eyes darkening, he sits forward. “Izabel, this get-together with work could ultimately decide whether I make partner. I need to attend functions like this so that they know I’m committed.”
“Well, you are more than welcome to go, but I have my own commitments.”
“You have to go with me.”
“Why?” I ask and immediately regret it. Mark’s expression turns thunderous at the challenge.
“Why?” he questions, the volume of his voice increasing enough to get his point across, but not enough to make a scene. “You’re going to be my wife, that’s why. And when I need you to go with me to work functions, you will go. Understood? You’ll reschedule the meeting and come with me to the happy hour. End of discussion.”
I feel my spine compressing in my chair, and I pick up my fork again, stabbing a piece of steak forcefully. My stomach contracts, and I’m suddenly more nauseous now than I was before. “Fine.”
Mark sits back in his chair, the clouds and thunder disappearing from his features almost immediately. “Great. Thanks for understanding. It’s important they see us as a committed couple as well. All of the partners are married, and family is a big deal to the firm.”
“Okay.”
He goes back to his dinner, quickly polishing it off before he calls for the check. I still don’t touch my food. I’m too busythinking about how I’m going to reschedule my meetingagain. This will be the third time I’ve had to reschedule. They’ve been accommodating the past few times, not asking questions when I lied through my teeth about my conflicting schedule—or rather,Mark’sconflicting schedule. But I get the feeling that this time the committee isn’t going to be thrilled about it.
The Historical Society Gala is the biggest event of the year. I accepted the opportunity to head it up myself this year, and I seem to be flubbing it at every opportunity. The gala is less than a month away, and we haven’t even finalized all the details yet.
Mark pays the bill, and then we head out. My gut is roiling as he puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me out to the car. Neither of us says much as he drives. I keep my eyes trained out the window, watching the buildings and people rush by. The days have started to get longer, one of the sure signs summer is fast approaching.
Pulling the car into his parking space at his condo, he gets out, coming around to open the door for me. I crawl out of the car, making sure my sundress doesn’t fly up with the wind. My car is parked a few spaces down in guest parking, and I gaze at it longingly.
As if he can read my thoughts, Mark brushes the back of his hand down my cheek and asks, “Do you want to come up?”
I can hear the implication in his voice. It was a big day for us, and his idea of prolonging the celebration includes getting naked in his massive bed. While I usually wouldn’t turn him down, the thought of it tonight makes me want to throw up.
Glancing back at my car, I shake my head. “I’m not feeling good, Mark. I think I should just go home.”
Mark pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Okay,” he says softly, then leans forward to kiss me. I kiss him back, feeling him smile against my lips.
“What’s funny?”
“Just thinking that there won’t be a ‘your place or my place’ in a few months. It will beour place.”
I can’t help but stiffen as he cups the back of my neck and pulls me in for another kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips. As I reluctantly open for him, he dives in, his tongue brushing my own. I feel him take a step forward, until my back presses into his car’s passenger door, the length of his body aligning with my own. Mark’s weight is crushed against mine, one hand on the back of my neck and the other resting on my hip.
He rolls his hips against mine and pulls back slightly. A low grown releases from deep in his throat, eyes dilated with desire. “Yousureyou don’t want to come up?”
I can feel my lips tingling from the increased blood flow. I press against his shoulder, trying to give myself space. “I’m sure. I’m sorry. I just don’t feel good.”
Mark releases a frustrated groan, but then pulls away from me. “Fine. I’ll let you go. I don’t want to, though.”
“I know.”
