Tia

I toss and turn all night, visions of Salinger’s brothel playing in my mind.

What was that man thinking to take me there?

The worst part was, aside from the jealousy I’d initially felt, I found myself ridiculously intrigued with the bar. At least, until I realized what it actually was. The music was from another era, the bartender playing the part, the sultry smoke, the deep red velvets, and thick brocade curtains. All of it felt like a slice out of a history book.

Yet, lying underneath all that glamour was the truth: my husband slept with those prostitutes and he hasn’t slept with me.

My chest squeezes and a new rush of jealousy mixed with frustration bubbles inside of me.

Fallon comes to my room when I get home, asking if I’d like company. I know what he wants. I can see the lust in his eyes, the need. But my mind is too cluttered. I’ve never turned down one of my husbands, but I need to be alone tonight.

But after a few hours of tossing and turning in my bed, I regret not asking Fallon to share my bed.

I’m emotionally drained, exhausted beyond reason, and the fact that I can’t sleep only adds to my frustration. Rolling onto my belly, I try to understand why Salinger thought I’d like to see that place. The only conclusion I can come to is one that makes my throat tight. He trusted me enough to show me his deepest, darkest secret. He was offering a piece of himself to me.

And I pushed him away.

Forget being his wife, what kind of friend am I?

I need to talk to him. Listen. And try to understand.

But looking at the clock, I see that it’s too late to go to him, and yet still hours until dawn. Everything I want to say will have to wait until tomorrow.

With a groan, I roll out of bed and go the bathroom, turning on the shower, then stepping in once it’s steaming.

I let the hot water roll down my back and shoulders, the jets messaging my stiff muscles. I should be happy. Giles is coming home, and because of Sal’s mother, I have hope that my father and Lawson won’t find me. Even if they do, I believe she’ll fight for me.

Unlike her son. Even as I think it, I know it’s not fair. He’d fought with his parents for me. But then why won’t he fight for my attention, for my affection? It wouldn’t take much. I just want him to come to me.

Salinger. God, the man baffles me. I’d thought I’d known him when I’d first arrived. All dimpled smiles and quick, witty remarks that could have me laughing without even trying.

But he’s withdrawn more and more into himself over the past couple of months. Which is why his confession today confused me even more. And then he stayed there - with the women. His actions and words contradict each other, and yet I don’t think there’s a deceitful bone in his body.

I trust him. He’s the only one who knows the truth of my identity, and while he could have come home and told the others, he’s kept my secret. That has to mean something.

But I still don’t know what he wants from me. Not really. There’s a part of me that wants to steal into his bedroom and give myself to him. Forget insecurities and take a chance that maybe that’s what's holding him back too.

I run my hands through my damp hair, over my shoulders, and across my breasts, down my torso, imagining what Salinger’s hands would feel like. I don’t know his body the way I do the others. And I want to. Want to get back to the playfulness we had before his suspicion of me put his guard up.

But the fear of rejection is so terrifying.

I’ve caught him looking at me, have seen those dark eyes of his roam down my body, hunger flashing in his gaze. A look that I could almost feel like a caress on my skin, even now.

I want his hands on my body, like my own are now. The ache between my thighs increases, imagining Salinger taking me for the first time, and I slip a finger into my pussy, rubbing the sensitive bud until I’m on the cusp of pleasure.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t make myself come. My orgasm is just out of reach. Finally, after several frustrating minutes, I lean against the cold tiles and sigh.

It’s been weeks since I’ve tried to please myself. I haven’t had to. Not when my husbands were always more than willing to make my body sing in pleasure.

Except for Salinger and Banks, who have both created barricades around their damn hearts that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to bring down.

But I need to try.

I’m still not tired enough to sleep when I’ve dried myself off, combed through my damp hair and dressed for the day.

My body may be spent, but my mind won’t stop spinning. I know there’s no way I’m falling back to sleep, but it’s too late to wake one of the men. Sure, I’d get no complaints from Huxley or Fallon, but it wouldn’t be fair to them since they both must work in the morning.

Walking down the hall, I open the linen closet and get fresh sheets and blankets. Then I push open Giles’ bedroom door, wanting to air it out and freshen it up before he comes home later today.

Despite my frustration with Sal, I am also eternally grateful for him. Because of his connections, Giles is free of the charges against him. I know Sal doesn’t want to admit it, maybe he doesn’t even see it himself, but our family’s greatest chance of survival rests on his shoulders.

After I change the sheets on Giles’ bed, I lay down, wishing he were here now, knowing it’ll be more than just physical injuries that will need to heal when he comes home. The man has been to hell and back, all to keep me safe.

I don’t even realize that I close my eyes, but when I open them again, the sun is shining through the windows and Salinger is standing beside the bed, watching me.

“Hi,” I say groggily. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“No.” I rub my eyes and sit up. “Giles was supposed to be here by now.”

“There’s been a small change of plans.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But he frowns when he says it. “He was transported to the medical facility on the base. My father thinks there’ll be less talk if we pick him up, rather than having a car bring him back.”

“Okay.” Still, something doesn’t feel right.

“I know,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

“He’s requested that you join me.”

“Why?”

Salinger sighs and drags his fingers through his hair. “He’s asking that you take the pregnancy test.”

“No.” I shake my head, getting out of bed.

“Think about it, Tia. If you’re pregnant, it could mean--”

“It could mean me dying.”

His lips tighten, his face pales slightly and he nods. “There is that risk. But it could also mean your freedom. Real freedom.”

“I’m not pregnant,” I whisper. I know my body, and I’d have felt something if I was carrying a child. Wouldn’t I?

“Most likely you’re not. But there is a chance. And our scientists have been working on new treatments that if applied during the first trimester can significantly increase survival of both mother and child.”

“You sound like Banks.”

“I’ve been reading his research.”

I’m taken aback. “Why?”

“Do you really have to ask that?”

“Apparently, I do.”

He shakes his head at me. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

It’s a good answer. The right answer. But is it the truth?

I take a step towards him, wishing he’d pull me into his arms. Hold me. Kiss me. Do something, other than words, to show me that he cares.

He doesn’t.

“We need to go. Fallon and Banks are meeting us there.”

“Do they know? About the test.”

He shakes his head. “We’ll go to the labs before they arrive.”

Trepidation dances in my stomach, but I offer the only reply I can, “Okay.”