The Wrong Wife by Maya Alden
Chapter 4
Esme
Iwant to have sex with my husband.
I was twenty-three years old. I was inexperienced. The one time I'd done it, it had been a disaster for all involved, putting me off trying again.
I wanted to make love with Declan.
Especially now, when he wore jogging shorts and was drinking water in the kitchen after working out in the gym on the top floor. I was waiting for Declan to leave so I could use the gym and then put on my swimsuit and maybe take advantage of the pool. Everyone thought that because I was curvy, I didn't work out. I did. It was because I did; I was only what they called voluptuous and not overweight. In university, I used the gym five days a week, which wasn't easy with two jobs and a full course load so I could finish my masters in a year and a half rather than two years to save money.
Instead of gawking at my husband, I started the coffee machine and made myself a cup of coffee, black.
"How do you take your coffee?" I asked.
"Black."
"Me too." I pushed the cup I just made toward him. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"Calliope takes care of that," Declan told me. "She'll be here in a bit."
"I like to cook," I confessed. "How do you feel about scrambled eggs and bacon?"
His phone buzzed, and he picked it up to read a text message. "Sure," he said absently as he walked away. He called someone, and I heard him say, "Viv, you can't be angry that I married her," before disappearing into his bedroom.
Since I had said I'd do it, I made him breakfast. Fluffy scrambled eggs, the way my abuela taught me. Crispy bacon cooked to perfection in the oven. Toasted English muffins. A fresh cup of coffee and orange juice. I had set the table for both of us to eat together. I even plated the food to look like it would in a classy restaurant with some strawberries.
I shouldn't have bothered.
He was in a foul mood when he came out of his bedroom dressed for work. He wore a suit and looked ready to rule the world.
He ate without commenting while he went through his phone. When he was done, he didn't put his plate away, just left for his home office. He came out a few minutes later with a backpack and left.
He didn't thank me for breakfast. He didn't say have a nice day.
I had eaten about half of what was on my plate but lost my appetite and pushed the plate away. I was cleaning up when Calliope arrived. She admonished me for both cooking and cleaning.
"He never leaves this early," she scoffed. "I wonder what happened."
I wanted to tell her he got married and didn't want to hang out with his wife, so he ran away after conversing with my sister and his ex-fiancée, whom he wanted to marry and was still in love with.
I worked out and got ready for my day. I had a job interview at Keck School of Medicine at eleven. As a Hartley, I was expected to have a high-flying career, a lot like Viv did. When I didn't, my parents were embarrassed but not surprised.
Don't do anything to embarrass the family.
Why are you wearing that? It's hideous.
Why can't you have your hair done?
Get some contacts. Or better glasses.
It was primarily cosmetic—so all I had to do was hide in Seattle, and no one cared what I did and who I did it with. I had learned early on in my childhood to disappear. I had figured out that if I lived in the shadows, I'd have the freedom I wanted.
"How do I look?" I asked Calliope when I came out to the living room in a dark burgundy pantsuit I bought four years ago to wear for my bachelor's degree graduation.
"Uh…nice." Calliope seemed confused.
"What?" I asked, looking at my outfit to ensure nothing was out of place.
"You're very different from your sister."
"Oh?"
"She'd never ask if she looked nice."
I laughed. "Because Viv doesn't have to."
"I think you look much better."
Calliope was lovely, and I was grateful. I needed the confidence boost.
"I have a job interview." I walked up to the coffee machine and turned it on. I held my hand when Calliope wanted to take over. "Please, I can make my coffee."
"What is the job?"
"It's at the Keck School of Medicine. I'll work with mothers and young children if I get this job. It's what I want to do, what I specialize in. I just graduated with a Master's in Social Work."
The older woman looked even more shocked now. "You're going to be a social worker?"
"Yes." I took a sip of coffee. "This is such a great coffee machine. I've been drinking crap coffee for years; this is a gift."
"Does Mr. Declan know you want to be a social worker?"
"Yes, he does, and he's fine with it," I repeated. "I have to work, Calliope. I don't have a trust fund like Viv. I had a small inheritance from my grandmother, but that disappeared quickly to pay for university. Luckily, I won't have to pay rent for a year here."
Her eyes widened, and I realized that I had spilled the beans. Declan had said he didn't want anyone to know about our marriage—on the other hand, she did know we slept in separate rooms.
"You know, don't you, that this marriage is …well…you know?"
Calliope nodded. "Mr. Declan, let me know."
"You've been with him a long time. I can tell he trusts you."
She flushed. "Nearly a decade now."
"He's heartbroken," I said thoughtfully. "What does he like? How can I…I don't know, make him smile a little."
Her eyes became sad, as if she was pitying me. "Mr. Declan likes jazz and Cajun food; and in that order."
"Excellent." Food, I could cook. I had to learn significantly when my Abuela fell sick and couldn't do much around the house.