TWENTY
GWYNETH
It was finally Sunday, my unofficial lazy day.
On Sundays, I slept in, made breakfast at eleven, and then I curled up on the couch in my pajamas with a topknot in my hair and my coffee and magazine in hand.
Needless to say, I looked forward to my Sundays.
I normally did Sundays alone because Mitchell always went into the office to catch up or prepare for Monday morning. I used to beg him to stay home with me. I tried to seduce him with the idea of staying in bed and eating only foods off each other, but I was never able to entice him enough to stay.
After a while, I began to enjoy my Sunday mornings alone, not even caring when he’d come home late in the afternoon and I hadn’t moved from my favorite spot in the corner of the living room for hours
Today, on this beautiful Sunday morning two days since I’d heard or seen Dylan, all I wanted to do was lay in bed and touch myself to the memory of Friday night. I want to come over and over again with the sound of his name on my lips and the memory of his fingers inside me running through my mind on repeat.
But none of that would be happening on this Sunday morning. I lay there stiff as could be with heat and hunger building between my thighs with every flashback of my moment with Dylan while the man I no longer wanted to marry slept beside me.
I had gone to sleep the night before with my decision made. Mitchell wasn’t for me. If he was, I knew I would have never let another man touch me the way I had let Dylan. If Mitchell was for me, I would have never needed another man’s touch so desperately.
But I did.
I had.
And now, I was craving more.
I couldn’t do that while being engaged. I couldn’t do that even though I knew if Mitchell found out he wouldn’t be heartbroken. Mitchell didn’t love me. He loved his position in my father’s company. He loved the idea of being married to the boss’s daughter, but he didn’t love me, and I wasn’t sure he ever did.
I closed my eyes, and the expression on Dylan’s face when he pushed his fingers inside me flashed before my eyes. He wanted me. He craved me. He couldn’t get enough, and I knew once he had made me come with his fingers, he wanted to climb inside me and go hard like a wild man.
I wanted that, too, but instead, we had quietly slipped apart. Me going back to my father’s office to freshen up in his personal bathroom, and Dylan leaving the party completely.
My clit swelled and throbbed with the memories of his touch, and my annoyance hit an all-time high as my thighs twisted together under our sheet. My pussy craved someone’s touch, and it wasn’t the man beside me in bed.
With a loud sigh, I turned my head toward Mitchell. His back was to me, and his loud snores confirmed he wasn’t getting up anytime soon.
I didn’t have time for this.
“Mitchell?” I said loudly, my voice filling the otherwise silent room. “Mitchell?”
He grunted, and his body shifted slightly so he could reply. “What?” he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
“Aren’t you going to work this morning?” I tried to sound casual about it.
“I’m sick.” There was a slight whine to his words, but beyond that, I could hear the scratchiness in his throat.
I stared up at the ceiling as my perfectly planned Sunday morning orgasmic high disappeared. I sighed, and the frustration of no release tensed my muscles.
“Babe, you think you could make me breakfast?”
He didn’t even have the decency to look at me with his request, and I found myself glaring a hole in the back of his head.
“Sure.” My teeth clenched in response, but if Mitchell caught on or cared, he didn’t show it.
I threw the covers back, and I was up and out of bed, stomping softly on the plush carpet of our bedroom floor. I shut the bathroom door, so I could collect myself in private. I debated touching myself and making myself come as Mitchell waited for his breakfast, but his voice filtered through the door and my mood was gone.
“Gwyn? Gwyn, can you make some coffee? My head is pounding.”
Throwing open the door, I didn’t even bother responding as I made my way toward the kitchen. I turned on the coffeemaker and then went through the fridge for everything I needed to make my normal Sunday morning breakfast. I wasn’t about to ask Mitchell what he wanted. He could eat what I made or eat nothing at all.
As I broke one egg and then another into a mixing bowl and began to stir, I thought about Dylan.
I had expected to feel a certain amount of shame over what had happened, but while I harbored a bit of guilt, I couldn’t bring myself to feel ashamed for what had conspired between us.
Technically, I had cheated on my fiancé, but since Mitchell and I had gotten engaged, it never felt like it was real. I tried, I tried so hard to make it work with Mitchell. I never wanted something like this to happen, but it did, and now, I would face the consequences.
My stomach turned when I thought about the consequences of my actions and those it would affect. Like my father.
How would he react if he knew I’d cheated on Mitchell?
Was he going to think I was just like my mother?
Would he hate me?
The unanswered questions made my stomach flip and roil until I thought about Dylan’s response to my declaration about not wanting to be like her.
You could never be like her.
Not that it made it okay, but my relationship with Mitchell was nothing like my parents were. My father loved my mother very much, and at one point, I think my mother loved my father just as intensely. I wish I knew when that had changed for her.
Mitchell never loved me, and I couldn’t see that changing after we were married.
Coming out of my thoughts, I blinked, staring into a mixing bowl of overly stirred eggs. I pulled out the loaf of bread and began to make French toast, extra scrambled eggs, and bacon. I kept Dylan from my thoughts long enough to finish making the food, and then called Mitchell out to eat.
I’d already sat down and started eating by the time he made his way out of the bedroom. He’d thrown a blanket around his shoulders, and his tousled hair and dark circles were evidence of his sleepless night.
“Your food is on the counter. Coffee’s still hot.” I didn’t look up from my plate as I flipped the page of my magazine.
When he finally sat next to me, he was eyeing me carefully.
“What’s up with you this morning?”
I lifted my head, my smile bright and forcefully cheery.
“Nothing. I feel great,” I lied.
I didn’t feel great. I felt a mixture of opposing emotions. Tension and relief. Guilt and excitement. Sadness and happiness.
I didn’t know what to do with all the feelings crushing me, but I knew I was headed in the correct direction.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?” he asked.
My spine stiffened.
Did he know?
Should I just tell him it’s over and move on?
Or should I wait until he was feeling better to sit him down and have a talk?
Again, I smiled. “I’m good.”
I looked away, my eyes going to the page of my magazine, and I scanned the title of the article centering the page.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered mostly to myself.
I set my coffee cup down so I could pick up my magazine. Folding it in half, I brought it up closer to my face so I could read the article.
I heard Mitchell scoff in disgust, but as he brought his coffee up to his mouth, he asked, “What?”
“I’ve been following this model’s scandalous secret love affair. Her name’s Marissa Lovato. I’m sure you’ve probably heard of her. Anyway, she was finally caught on camera with her secret guy in some sleazy nightclub downtown.”
The kitchen table and some of the tile floor never had a chance as Mitchell spewed coffee everywhere. I jumped up, pounding on his back as a series of coughs exploded from his chest.
“Oh, my God, Mitchell! Are you okay?”
“Water,” he squeaked, and I moved around the table, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water.
I turned around, and he was leaning over my magazine, skimming the article. I frowned, setting the water down in front of it.
“Thanks.” His response was absentminded as he continued to read the article.
“Since when do you care about this kind of stuff?”
He always made fun of me anytime he caught me reading about celebrities and their lives. I learned to save my reading time until Sundays, so I could save myself from the same lecture I got every time.
“Who is this guy?” he asked, and I could hear something in the tone of his question.
“I don’t know. She’s famous for her quick and fleeting flings. She’ll be on to the next in a few weeks.” I took my magazine back, and he almost looked like he wanted to snatch it back from me.
“We met her once. Do you remember?” I gaged his reaction because something wasn’t settling right in the pit of my stomach.
“What?” He suddenly seemed to be anywhere but there with me.
“Marissa. We met her last year at that banquet Petrova Technologies threw for the hospital. She’s really big into donating for the children. She was nice.” He didn’t respond, just stared into oblivion, and the look on his face was telling. “Mitchell?” I called, bringing him out of his daze.
“What?” He blinked, looking at me.
“Do you remember?”
“Meeting her? Yeah. I remember. I’m going to go take a shower. I need to go into the office.”
And then he was up and out of his chair, leaving me there as I watched him walk away looking almost … heartbroken.
And then I knew.
Without him saying another word, I knew.
“Mitchell,” I called out to him, making him pause in his tracks.
He turned my way, his face red and his lips tight.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
A forced grin pulled at his mouth, making it more than obvious he would rather be somewhere else than there with me.
“What do you mean?”
“You just seem really upset over this.” I motioned toward the magazine.
And then I saw it.
The tiny jerk of his head to the left. I realized I didn’t know much about Mitchell, but I knew that stupid jerk. I’d seen him in action a lot over the years in business and with his friends, and if there was one I knew for sure, it was that Mitchell jerked a bit before he told a lie.
He didn’t have to say another word, and I already knew the truth. Mitchell was cheating on me with Marissa Lovato, and he had just found out that she was cheating on him.
“Why would I be upset over some silly magazine?” he said, and then he walked away, leaving me with so much relief it made me feel sick with happiness.
Mitchell had just given me my out, and I would take it and run to the man I really wanted to be with.