The Unwanted Wedding

Chapter 19-- Scattered Breath

"There are many ways to please a man, but it is a woman's job to create pleasure to herself if the man ruts blind. Women are the stronger, we must make it our workings that make a man tremble and beg for the mercy we serve. Yet there is no sweeter thing than the trembling aftermath of making love. Even one with my experience can sometimes feel like an innocent young girl once more. It all depends on the man...."

-Book of Encounters

Reyna 

I picked at my fingernails in angry anxiety. Three nights. It has been three nights and I still have not been so much as had a hair touched by my husband. Every night I prepare myself for his assault, yet it never comes. Instead Vincent leaves and doesn't come back until very late at night or vastly early in the morning, but I always know he's home when I feel thin hesitant arms wrap around me. At breakfast he makes sure we never have time to say more than "good morning'. I sighed and sat on the edge of the desk in his study. I wore the cotton nightgown that he brought from my wardrobe; I rolled the long sleeves up to my elbows. The ankle length skirt slid up my legs as I crossed my knees, and pooled about my hips. I flexed my feet and gazed annoyed at the two medium paintings slackly hidden.   The paintings he had done of Cierra. One was horizontal and rectangular; the paper canvas was slightly torn and moistened by the paint.  The image held the beautiful sun kissed woman parting two crisp white curtains, her hair tied back and flowing off her shoulder. She wore his shirt, open baring a view of her stomach and the sides of her breasts.  Her chocolate eyes intense and alive, her head tilted and lips parted. I didn't recognize where she was, she was the only colour in the white room. Perhaps he didn't want to paint a background. I stared at the stunning woman for a few seconds more before my eyes travelled to the smaller square painting next to it. It was unfinished in blending and tonnage but the illustration already had realism. She sat on a bed gazing out of the painting, staring eerily at me. Her hair was bunned messily and a sheet wrapped to cover her.  She hugged her legs loosely. Her lips held a twitch of a smile. He must have painted it after they had made love. The thought hit a raw nerve, for all his words, Vincent still neglected to put meaning to them. Yes, he cradles me in his sleep. Yes, he sometimes takes the thought to kiss me, but only quick baby nips. Nothing to support his promise of desire.

I stared at the paintings of Cierra once more, and an impulsive idea steamed into my mind. I shrugged of the sheer black robe; it reached only to my mid-thigh and gave no warmth. But I will gain his attention one way or another. I undid the buttons on my nightgown and tossed it quickly aside, and dressed in the sheer, soft fabric of my robe once more. I was pleased to see that my skin underneath the fabric was visible. I retook my place on his desk. And waited for his to arrive home and enter.

Timeless moments passed, my hope and excitement began to fall, with a deep sigh I let my legs fall against the hard wood of the desk. I twisted my hands in my lap. My hair, a dancing curtain around my face. I bit and nibbled at my lip to still the trembling. I feel the sudden sting of unshed tears in my eyes.

"Reyna..?" I jump in surprise. How could I not hear him arrive home? My eyes drink their fill of him; he stands in the doorway, his coat dangling from his hand, his open shirt revealing his narrow lean frame. His breeches clung to his hips. His legs were bare from the knee down. I eyed the black bandana wrapped around his head; I noted he did that before going to bed. I thought it so I wouldn't stare at his angry cuts and scars, or comment on his cropped hair.  The blond hair had to be shaved off so the doctors could get access to his deadly wounds. His hair now was quite short, but very soft, not that I was allowed to touch it much. I finally was brave enough to meet his eyes, I gazed parted-lipped at him, nerves lurking in my eyes. He looked lost in confusion, though something in the tensing of his jaw and the intensity in his stare gave me optimism.