Page 35 of What Happens This Christmas
I have other pants
NICK
Taking my seat at the dining room table, I looked across at Candy. She had her notebook open in front of her. Her long blonde hair draped over her shoulders in such a way that made my cock twitch. Her face was devoid of makeup, only adding to her appeal.
“Are you ready?” she asked, eyeing my empty hands. To Candy, these weekly little meetings where we went over details of what was going on, where we were expected, and how certain subjects would be handled were of the utmost importance.
Usually, I held my phone and took down whatever I thought was noteworthy, which admittedly wasn’t much. Today, though, I wasn’t in the mood to play along.
My eyes fell downcast, taking in her notebook. “Yeah.” Truthfully, unless one of her topics had to do with us, I didn’t give a shit. But Candy was much too proper, even with me, to bring that up. Especially how the last time we had been in a room together to do anything besides eat or sleep, I ate her out on top of the grand fucking piano.
The stupidest, most ridiculous present in the world that became my new favorite thing in this house full of meaningless crap. A thing that held a new memory for me. A new, cherished memory for me.
For me.How true those two words were. It seemed to have no impact on Candy at all. Her whole demeanor after suggestedas much. The way she’d blinked and then left the room like nothing had transpired. It still baffled me.
I’d never been good at talking about my feelings. Never cared much for it, in fact. But that might’ve been the right time and place to start. With something along the lines ofmaybe we should table this divorce.
I knew I asked for it, but it shouldn’t have been surprising that I’d had that thought repeatedly since making my decision.
The way I felt about Candy was…
She was…
We were…
Everything.
I would never stop loving her.
Mention of the divorce only seemed to loom over our heads like a category five hurricane intent on mass destruction.
But walking away felt like my only option, because no matter how long I waited for something, anything at all, to change, it never would. Experiencing blue balls would be more likely.
“You look good,” I said, blowing the silence that consumed us to smithereens. Not even a damn library was this quiet.
Candy glanced up at a sloth’s pace and tucked the strands of hair that were framing her face behind her ears. “Thank you, but we should get down to it.” She glanced at the diamond watch I’d given her for her birthday last year. “I have an appointment to get my hair done.”
“Your hair?” It looked fine to me. Better than fine actually.
She gulped. “Of course.” The pen she held between her manicured fingers tapped the notebook. “So, let’s start.”
Funny, I had a better idea of how she could spend her time. Like under me, against this table, as I pounded into her so hard and fast that she struggled to walk afterward.
After clearing her throat, she began, running through a series of miscellaneous bullshit.
The Christmas cards that she’d put a rush on printing and mailing out.
The time off she’d given our chef.
The fact that Teddy and Irina’s party was coming up.
“I have the tailor fixing the hem of your pants,” Candy added in relation to the party. “After the last time they went to the dry cleaners, the hem on one leg fell a bit. Not to worry, though, they should be delivered before the party. I’ll make sure they go in your dressing room for you.”
“I have other pants, you know.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Candy’s eyes met mine across the table. “Yes, but those pants match the jacket I’d like you to wear. The whole look pairs nicely with what I’m planning on wearing.”
I nodded, unsure what I was supposed to say to that.
