Like Real People Do - sneak peek of part 16

unedited

“I…” you cast a doubtful look over your shoulder, fingers clinging to the edge of the door like you’re caught in a head wind and holding on for dear life. Riley laughs from living room, at what he doesn’t know, but it lightens those lines of stress marring your beautiful face. You swallow. Take a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He says gently, steps inside as you gesture, soft click of the door closing behind him. The tension in your spine is so strong he can feel it, and he hates that he’s the cause, that there has to be this, in order move forward. The only way out is through. “It’s just dinner.” He reminds you, and you nod.

“Just dinner. Yeah.”

“Hi Simon!” Riley pipes up, stumbling around the couch and he smiles.

“Hey little Riley, how’s it going?” She beams at the nickname, something he called her last week on the way to school while you held onto your bag in the front seat with a death grip, glaring at him.

“Good! Daisy says you’re makin’ us spaghetti?” Your lips twist, and he nods.

“Convinced her to finally let me come hang out.” Convinced is a single word attempting to sum up a week of a full court press, breaking you down, enough cajoling and sweetening to rot his teeth.

“I don’t need you inserting yourself into my life. Our life.” You slam the locker. “And you shouldn’t even be in here!” You do need me, he wants to bark back, but holds his tongue.

“I’m not inserting myself into your life, Daisy, I’m already in your life. We’re married.” You open your mouth to protest but he distracts you with a hand at the small of your back, guiding you out of the locker room to his office. You obsess over every footstep, every word echoing in the hall, terrified someone will see. You’re still holding onto this shield, this non explanation you’ve managed to give everyone, passing the ring off as something to be discussed later, always disappearing before anyone can ask anything but a superficial question. “I’m your husband.” He chides as he closes the door, and your gaze turns tormented, confused, trapped in a tug of war he needs to yank you out of. Your resistance is a fortress.

“On paper. For appearances.”

“Baby.” He moves as you do, mimicking the slide of your feet, the jerk of your shoulders, cutting you off.

“Don’t.” You stare past him, brow furrowed, mouth set in a firm line. “Don’t call me that it’s…”

“It’s what?” It gets to you, he knows. Softens you. Weakens you. Bends you a little bit, day by day. He’s been slow and methodical, carefully building up to the next explosion, preparing for your claws, your fight. “We need to spend time together, get to know one another. You don’t think no one noticed how distant we seemed at the charity gala?” Your hands clench into fists, and he strikes, a snake injecting venom into your veins by uncurling your fingers and wrapping them into his. “We need to spend time together, we should know each other.” He leaves out the part where he knows enough about you to fill a book, or two, an entire library maybe, and waits to see if it’s enough, or if he needs to push more. Harder.

“Just dinner.” You whisper, resigned, and he squeezes your hand.

“I’ll cook.” He rubs your knuckles, unwilling to release you, drawing the contact, the moment, out. You raise your eyebrows.

“You can cook?”

“A few things. ‘M not entirely useless.”

“Can you make spaghetti? It’s her favorite. Well, one of her favorites.” Easy enough.

“No problem.”

“This is really good.” Riley smiles, big glob sauce on her chin, and you lean over to wipe it with the pad of your thumb, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe we can get try getting everything in our mouth instead of on our face?” She laughs, but wiggles in her chair as she clumsily twists her fork into more noodles, barely managing to gather more than three together. It’s a fine motor skill, and she’s a little behind. Worry niggles in the back of his mind.

“Glad you like it.” You study your plate and take your own bite, keeping your gaze occupied by anything other than him, only giving him a glance here or there. It’s brutal, this fight for control, his grip on the reins constantly being tugged, trying to be pulled free.

“Do you like horses?” Riley grins at him, and he shrugs.

“Dunno. Haven’t really been around ‘em too much.”

“Oh right! You’re from…” her little brow knits together and she trails off.

“England.” You softly supply with an encouraging nod, and she catches up.

“England! Daisy, can we take him to meet Molly? Please?”

“Uh, maybe. Why don’t you focus on eating your dinner before we move onto other things.” Her lower lip rolls out, but you give her a look. “Riley.”

“Fine.” Simon doesn’t have much experience with horses, didn’t have any exposure to them growing up. They were for rich kids, snobby bastards whose parents sent them to private schools with drivers and the like. All he knows is they’re animals, big animals, and he doesn’t love animals.

But they’re a part of your life, so they’ll be a part of his.

Though he doesn’t plan on getting too close to them.

“Maybe I’ll take you to meet Mabel.” You smirk at some private joke, and Riley looks aghast.

“That’s mean!” She turns to him, fork clattering to the plate. “Mabel was my mom’s horse, but she’s not nice. Like Daisy.” Your facade cracks a little bit, a fissure of pain breaking through.

“Riley, don’t say that.” Her arms cross in front of her chest, chin down with agitation.

“It’s true! You’re mean like Mabel.” Hurt shatters your mask, something Riley doesn’t notice, but he does. He sees it all.