Fool and Her Honey (9781622860791) (11 page)

Bertrand was still reclined on the sofa, where I'd seen him last, his empty plate on the floor beside him.

“Got room for me?” I asked in my sultry sex kitten voice. The teddy I had on had my cheeks poking out the back, so I casually turned to let him see, then turned back to face him.

“You can sit over there. I'm comfortable,” he said, cutting his eye to an alternate chair.

After a second of hesitation, I tried again. “You can't just scoot over a little bit?” I offered him a glass, expecting him to take it and make room.

He pushed a sigh from his mouth as he reached for the glass. “Let me enjoy the game, Dina, okay?”

Was he serious? I stood for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was going on, but then retreated back down the hallway to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I had three different emotions going on at once. Firstly, I was confused as to why Bertrand was having such a crazy reaction to something that was really nothing. Secondly, I was hurt. He'd rejected me. Not rejected me in a pair of sweats and a raggedy T-shirt, but he'd rejected me in some lingerie. With my booty hanging out and all. Then, finally, I was angry, because I felt like he was being unreasonable and controlling. So what if I bought myself something? We weren't getting put out of the house because of it.

I sulked for maybe ten minutes before I semi-shrugged it off and grabbed my e-reader again. I'd been seeing statuses all over Facebook about people curling up with a glass of wine and their varied devices. It hadn't been my plan to try out that specific relaxation method, but I figured I might as well make the most of the moment.

I plopped down on the chaise in the corner of my bedroom, curling my feet beneath me, and got lost in a Zora Neale Hurston story. Before I knew it, her words and that wine rocked me to sleep. When I woke up a couple hours later, Bertrand had already gotten into bed, without bothering to wake me up. That was unlike him, especially because of the way I was dressed. If it were up to him, we'd have sex two and three times a day, every day, except the day when my period was at its absolute heaviest. So for him to be in bed without trying to get himself some was definitely out of the norm.

I stood, stretched, brushed my teeth, then crawled in bed and nestled up to Bertrand's back. I wasn't feeling particularly horny, but I had to get over this rejection I felt by offering myself to him again and having him accept. I wrapped my arms around him, then let a hand slide down to fondle his manhood. He placed his hand on mine, lifted it up, and moved it behind him.

“Stop, Dina,” he uttered, but I persisted, sliding my hand back across his hip and to his front. “I said stop,” he said more adamantly, and this time he tossed my hand away.

“What's wrong with you?” I asked, sucking my teeth.

“I'm ready to ask you that same thing,” he said, slightly looking over his shoulder toward me, but our eyes hardly connected.

“What do you mean, Bertrand?”

“You know damn well what I mean. All of a sudden you want to act like my wife, but a few hours ago, you must have been like, ‘To hell with my husband and our marriage. I'ma do what I damn well please.'”

“We're not even married yet, and it wasn't even like that. Believe me, I had no idea that me spending a few dollars was going to turn into a silly fight, else I would have called you first.”

“Oh, so this is silly to you?”

“The way you're acting is silly, yes,” I declared. “I mean, what is really going on that you are this bent out of shape over an hour's worth of time and a less than one-hundred-dollar purchase?”

“When you figure it out, you let me know.” He pulled the covers toward him and dropped his head on his pillow. “Until then I'm done.”

We didn't speak for about three days after that. I wondered if that was when he tiptoed out of the house to be with someone else.

Since SeanMichael's phone had been cut off, I couldn't wait to get home every day to get on Facebook to read his in-box messages. Luckily, he had Internet access at his job, so we were able to stay in contact.

The first thing I did when I got in was turn on my computer and log in, then warm up a quick Lean Cuisine meal. This extra weight was killing me, and I was determined to get rid of it before SeanMichael and I met, whenever that would be. Since I'd eaten poorly all day—doughnuts for breakfast and McDonald's for lunch—I thought the least I could do was attempt to eat right at dinnertime.

As expected, I did have an in-box message waiting for me.
Yes!

We sent messages back and forth for another two hours, talking about some of everything. He was such a nice guy, at least online. He was forever posting nice little sentiments, lines of poetry, romantic videos, and pictures of flowers on my wall to let me know that I'd crossed his mind throughout his day.

And to kill that noise about him posting fake pictures of what he looked like, we had begun talking live over Skype, so I was able to verify what he looked like at various times of the day. I'd seen him with his sleepy morning face on, I'd seen him at the end of his workday, and I'd seen him right before bedtime. His lips were thick and luscious, begging to cover my own when he talked. His five o'clock shadow gave his face character and sex appeal, and I always saw a smile in his eyes, even when he complained about being exhausted from work. A few times he'd hit me up with his shirt off, and the pecs on that man were nothing short of delicious looking. He looked like he could bench-press three hundred pounds without breaking a sweat. He was eye candy for sure.

He'd taken me on a virtual tour of his house, carrying around a Web camera and posting videos. It looked like a typical bachelor's pad. From what I could see, things were simplistic, a little grimy, outdated, and in a bit of a disarray, just like you'd expect from a bachelor. The pictures he had hanging on the walls didn't complement each other and looked randomly placed, as did his overall home decor. Everything looked mismatched and pieced together. I saw nothing that made me think that a woman lived there with him. His place could really use a woman's touch.

Finally, I logged off, got in the shower and then in bed. I felt silly about letting my imagination run away with me, thinking, What if SeanMichael and I did end up together? Even as I slept, I thought about how it would be to be Mrs. SeanMichael Monroe.

We'd not argued about my suspicions in nearly two months, but the tension in the house was apparent. Bertrand and I had been tiptoeing around each other, as if we were invisible to one another. I remembered how we used to kiss every morning and lay in bed for an extra two minutes or more, just holding each other, not wanting to pull away. Now he slept on his side of the bed, and I slept on mine, with enough room between us for Santa Claus to sleep comfortably. Our mornings started with silence, and our movements were careful and calculated so that we wouldn't end up too close to each other at any given time. It was painfully sad, but I didn't know what to do to make it go away.

There were some parts of my heart that wanted so badly to be loved by Bertrand again, but it all felt like a lie now. All that I'd believed him to be—honest, faithful, a man of integrity—had been washed away. Now I didn't know who I was looking at. I just couldn't act like those feelings and that pain didn't exist. Bertrand did try a little to kiss me, but I found myself turning away, not able to block images of him kissing another woman on the mouth, on her breasts, and below her navel. I wanted to enjoy him sexually, but I couldn't get past him sliding in and out of another woman's body, then turning around and experiencing that same pleasure with me. As great a sex life as we had, with Bertrand satisfying me completely almost every time, it just wasn't pleasurable anymore.

I remembered how he would often whisper, “I love you, Dina” while we were making love, and even afterward, when I lay in his arms, still overcome with ecstasy that had me shuddering and stuttering. “I love you,” he would say, and I believed that fool! It sounded so right, and it felt so good. Not just physically, but emotionally, it was divine. And then to think that all that he'd shared with me so passionately, he was giving away to other women too? I wouldn't go so far as to say I hated my fiancé, but I couldn't embrace him in the same way that I once had.

I prepared dinner with special thought tonight, because I needed to set a tone and atmosphere of calmness and peace, even if what I had to say wouldn't be the most peaceful thing he'd heard. The meal was simple, just some grilled chicken with mixed vegetables, some freshly baked bread, and some wine. This would be nice if the conversation were to be romantic. I just didn't want Bertrand to think I was acting out of anger.

He came in the door and looked surprised to have the aroma of a cooked meal hit his nostrils. It had been a while since I'd cared enough to cook a meal.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Hi.” I continued scuffling around the kitchen. “How was work?”

He shrugged. “It was okay.”

“I cooked dinner,” I announced.

“I see. What brought that on?”

“Thought we should sit down to dinner and talk.”

“Okay,” he said suspiciously.

“The food will be ready in about ten minutes or so.”

“All right. I'm going to go wash my hands and face, then.”

He disappeared down the hallway and into our bedroom. By the time he came back, the food had been on the table for fifteen minutes and had to be reheated in the microwave. The first few minutes of the meal were silent as I stared between his face and my plate.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he finally asked.

“Bertrand,” I began, then paused, as if I hadn't rehearsed the words in my mind and even with my mouth several times over the past couple of weeks. “Babe, I can't do this anymore. I just can't.”

He looked at me, chewing his food methodically but not commenting, then turned his eyes back to his plate.

“I've tried to forget everything that's happened and to go back to being how we were, but I can't do it. It's too painful, and I can barely look at you anymore.”

Bertrand nodded as he set his fork on the plate.

“I know that I really need to walk away from the situation, instead of growing more and more bitter every day, and I don't feel like I can embrace you or love you given how I'm feeling right now.”

“I love you, Dina. We're supposed to promise to be together for better or for worse,” he stated calmly.

“But we're also supposed to be ready to forsake all others and give ourselves to each other only. You violated that. You broke our pending covenant when you did that, Bertrand.”

He nodded again, but I couldn't tell if it was in agreement or simply in acknowledgment.

“And I don't feel like I can become your wife and treat you like a wife should treat her husband with that rolling around in the back of my mind nearly every second of every day. Every time I lay beside you, every time I want to make love to you, every time I want to miss you, it's in the way, and I can't move beyond it.”

“You can't, or you don't want to?”

I paused to think about what he'd said before I got offended. “Maybe I don't want to. It's not fair to me to force me to share myself with you after you've damaged the relationship and me. It's not fair to expect me to just accept your trash and swallow it, then say it was delicious and ask you for some more.”

Bertrand stared at me.

“You made a fool of me, Bertrand. You took advantage of my trust and made a fool of me. I can't live another day like this.”

“I understand. I effed up. I really did.” He rose to his feet, leaving more than half his meal on his plate. “All I can say to you at this point is, I'm sorry, Dina. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for breaking your heart and for cheating on you. I'm sorry for making you feel like you can't trust me. If I could take it all back, I would. There's no way in the world I would be the same fool twice.” He shook his head, looking across the room and out the kitchen window. “I'm sorry, babe.”

He walked out of the kitchen and into the den, where he switched on the TV.

Now that I'd said all that, what was I going to do? Business at the shop had picked up some, but not enough for me to be able to move out and back into my own place. Nothing had really changed with my finances. Sure, Bertrand paid the bills, but they were all his bills. He'd not taken on mine, like I thought he would. I did get caught up on my bills, but it would be too easy to get behind again if I moved out. Even so, I'd already had the conversation, so now I was going to have to figure out my next step.